Three years of unexpressed yearning; two months of sweetness; three months of hoping while in non-communication; one month of moving on... doing the right thing has never felt more miserable.
Strangely, I find my personal misery is keeping me from feeling what I might be feeling if all I had to bear was my father's comatose condition. Maybe two different pains cannot occupy the same space. While my mother and sisters shed tears at the grim possibilities before us, I am still shedding tears from something entirely different.
I guess in my father's case, hope does not hurt me. I see the reality before me but I can still hope for a miracle. This hope buoys me up. I will shed tears later when no hope is left.
As for the other... I have to keep reminding myself of the realities. There is no hope here, only delusion. There is no hope for me here, so I shed my tears now.
Thank you, Lord, for this strange blessing: that the heaviness of one cross helps me to better bear another.
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