Writing anyway

A couple of Saturdays ago, I received a call that my father was found disoriented and dizzy in town in Puerto Rico. Thanks to the officers and fine neighbors he was returned home safely and I flew in as soon as I could get a flight.

My spouse was supportive as always, and took on the role as apartment bathroom renovation overseer. This wasn’t easy because under the tiles and behind the walls the contractors found HGTV disasters.  I’m  on the island now and our puppies wait for me by the door but know I’ll be back. My job supervisors and coworkers have offered every support as we construct a solution for my absence.

My Dad and I are waiting to see his doc who was on vacation. He is still confused and absolutely refused emergency services. How do you spell “stubborn” not a new trait but one I’ve come to accept throughout my life. He joked a little yesterday and we made bacalao and ñame. It was pretty delicious and brought me back close to my roots. He’s eating well and listens to me, mostly. I walk around in flip flops and shorts and post beautiful pics on social media. Photos that I took on furtive trips to the beach where I meditate when I feel it’s safe to go out. I chat up my friends on the phone and take deep breaths when I think of how temporary life is.

The path of solution is created with one small pebble or rock at a time and I’m patiently doing my part. With all of my anxiety and dis-ease added to my Dad’s, I’m flabbergasted that I’ve been able to write. My vision of writing in Puerto Rico, in an unhurried state has manifested. Of course I didn’t want it this way. This is a bittersweet time and I’m going along with the spiritual guidance that is whispered to me from the majestic waves of my Mother Ocean.

In the meantime, I write anyway. The overwhelming message that I’ve received is one of caring for myself during this time of change from my family, friends, and my very lovely neighbors here on this island of mine. Writing is saving my life, while I walk along with my Dad, just as reading and playing dolls saved my life as a little girl. My characters live and share their stories with me as they witness the creation of my narrative. So, as I ‘one day at a time it,’ I will continue to be in gratitude for all I’ve received and for the opportunity to give my Dad what he has given me- love.

To be continued…

Happy writing!

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