I got a call this morning letting me know that my father had been hospitalized. It was not a surprise, really. He has been ill for a long time. Years. I have been coping with living far away from a father I adore and admire. One who is slowly fading away. For many years. It never gets easier to receive that early morning phone call letting me know that he is, once again, in the hospital.
My first instinct is to drop everything, to get on the first plane, to see him, to be with him, to hold his hand again. But I have responsibilities to handle here before I can do that, so I hold it together as long as I can, as much as I can. I talk to my sister, to my mother. I gather what information I can from them in order to make a reasoned decision under the circumstances. I try to remember that caring for others must also involve some self-care. I know self-care will be thrown out the window in the next few days, hours, minutes, as the situation warrants. I think I am going to have to get up and get dressed soon, but not yet. Just a few moments of pretending everything is OK before I face the reality out there. I don't want to do this. Not yet.
Well, at least tomorrow I have an appointment to get my highlights and manicure done. A little pampering goes a long way, I suppose.
I'm rambling. Time to go face the day.