Thursday, August 1, 2013

On any other day such as this one, I would’ve thrown up the “we’ll be back” message and gone completely ghost, but I’m trying a different tack tonight for posterity’s sake. I told you about the general state of affairs a while back, and little has changed. My mother will undergo spinal fusion surgery in just over a week. That’s the most imminent thing. Success rate is high, according to what I’ve read, and yet it still weighs on my mind, after witnessing no fewer than four parental deaths recently with friends and acquaintances. It’s a reality we all must face, I realize, and yet you always hope you are spared–for another time, another place.

A few days ago, I signed for a registered letter from my old man. Plain yellow envelope. Neat handwriting on its face. I finally got around to opening it yesterday evening, and a single line in the first paragraph jolted me to the core. Tried to assess the information quickly and compartmentalize it, but ultimately had to confide in Cheshire. “It’s a bombshell,” she said. No argument there.

But where we differed was how I’m going to respond to this letter. She believes in being completely genuine in both the response and sharing with immediate family members. I’m not so sure. When I play out these conversations in a totally honest, come-to-Jesus context, they simply don’t end well, as relieving as it would be to unburden myself. Sometimes, I think, you have to take what you’re told and bury it deep down for reasons larger than yourself–to spare other people heartache. Bury it. Make your peace with it. Bury it some more.