Our Apartment, Makiki, Hawai`i
Fortunately, I'm not worrying about war anymore. I'm just excited, and a little confused.
I checked my e-mail before turning in, and found a note from Jen. A short note, reporting matter-of-factly that she and Katie will be back in Honolulu on June 9, not June 27 as previously (and frequently) bemoaned.
Now, since the day I was told my sun and moon would be away for six weeks, I could do nothing but complain about how long we'd be apart. And for the first few days she was in Florida, struggling with jetlag (and Katie's jetlag), she was having serious second thoughts. After a little gloating, though, I convinced her that this visit was a good idea, especially for her dad, who wasn't able to make it out here when her mother and aunt visited last month.
Besides. She said moving her flight up would cost no less than $400.
We missed each other terribly, and I've made no secret of my apalling bachelor-esque lifestyle, but slowly we adjusted.
Soon enough Katie warmed up to her grandparents (and being spoiled), Jen got in touch with her best friend from high school and made plans to hang out, and all seemed well out there. Meanwhile, I started to make more constructive use of my time, finally hooking up with Josh to finish his long-overdue Amnesty International newsletter and calling a few friends just to catch up. In fact, next weekend, I'm hoping to hang out with Wayne (recently and suddenly unemployed), Donica, Martha and anyone else we can shake out.
Jen and I basically came to terms with our time apart. But now she and Katie are coming home early anyway.
I'm a little concerned about how much this is going to cost. (She says $75 per ticket, now, but I'm unconvinced.) But, ironically, I'm more concerned about whether the next two weeks will be long enough for Jen and Katie's visit to still be worthwhile, and... well, whether it will be long enough for me to get into enough mischief to last me the next however many years of domestic tranquility.
Well, at least I got out to see a couple of movies...
Well, something else has been on my mind, keeping me up. Although I hesitate to put it into words out of fear of somehow trivializing it, and at the same time perhaps overreacting or making a big deal out of nothing.
Mom's going to the doctor this morning, a neurologist in fact, to get a more thorough diagnosis of an unusual condition discovered a few weeks ago. Though she can't remember any of the long, complicated words her regular doctor threw out, in short, it's related to the arteries in her neck, and "potentially serious."
I know it's rare, and that risk of stroke is the greatest concern. I also know it's not lifestyle related, merely genetics and fate.
It's impossible not to worry.
It could be nothing. Even if it is something, the fix is most likely drugs, not surgery. But it's impossible not to worry.
And I admit, part of it is selfish. Like anyone else, I don't like to acknowledge my parents' mortality. In my mind, my mom is still 38 the age she gave when I first remember outright asking her how old she was.
In a way, though, she is, and that's one comforting thought. I always tell her that I think she's younger now than she was ten years ago, that she's probably got more spunk than I do. Hanging out with all those crazy high school kids? That energy is definitely contagious.
One thing's for sure: she's going to lunch with me tomorrow whether she wants to or not.