Today, I’m sitting in my recliner with my toddler, listening to his nonstop chatter about the Duplo car in his hands.
Tomorrow, I am hoping that the weather will cooperate enough for me to make a painfully short trip back to my home town.
Wednesday, they will bury my grandmother, my Oma, my father’s mother. Both of his parents are gone now, reunited in the afterlife they believed in. I do not want to miss her funeral. I was a pallbearer when my Opa died, and I will be honored to do the same for his wife.
Thursday, my wife and her parents will celebrate Thanksgiving, a rare occurrence that they get to spend that particular holiday together, though hopefully more frequent in the years to come. I hope to be there, again, if the weather cooperates, and my travel from home is not impeded.
On Friday, I will go back to work, putting in as many hours as I can to prepare things for the inevitable arrival of our second child together. I am hoping that he doesn’t attempt to make an appearance too early. Because right now, that’s my big fear. Not the impending blizzard, not being able to get to my parents’ house in between waves of storms. I’m afraid that if I go, I’ll get stuck, and new baby will decide that’s the time to show up.
So, yeah. I’m going to make the most out of today, because there’s a lot of joy and sorrow to be found in the days ahead.
The Swords of the Ancients 