When I spoke with Daddy today, he asked about the weather. I took this as a good sign, as most of our normal pre-stroke conversations usually involved atleast a few minutes of weather discussion. Being the dutiful daughter I am, I asked if he’d like me to look it up for him and he said yes.
“Looks like it’s about 70 degrees, but the heat index is 76,” I said.
“Oh? That’s pretty good,” he responded.
“Yeah, and the humidity is only 42%.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” He replied, and I agreed.
Daddy’s doing better and 70’s-and-sunny seems pretty nice, but I couldn’t help thinking about the weather yet to come. There are going to be some stormy days ahead. Cold days. Brutal days. Hail when I least expect it. Wind that threatens to blow me into next year. I’m sure there will be days of unadulterated sunshine and warmth that are challenged by dark days that will rock me to my very core. Dad’s got a long way to go, and my sister and I have some tough decisions ahead. Much like the weather, none of us have control over those days to come. We just have to let the wind blow us, the rain pelt us, the clouds press on us. We have to hold on to our hats, and each other, and just weather the storm.