Is there a purpose in waiting? I feel a bit like it’s a vigil, which makes sense. I know it will mean a bevy of time, a tsunami of pain, a gasping of fear.

I can do that.

What it doesn’t require is my personal presence, but most definitely my spiritual presence.

And I can do that.

What it doesn’t promise is a requested outcome, allowing only my prayers.

What is does promise is waiting. I don’t mind waiting, and yet I hate it. Or maybe I don’t hate waiting, but I hate the reason.

Some reasons are joyous. Some, uncertain. Others, life changing.

And the time it takes to receive an answer of “yes, it’s this, and it will be okay. Probably” is both momentary and lifelong.

And the time it takes to receive an answer of “yes, it’s this, and I’m sorry,” is also both momentary and a lifetime.

Lifetime. Lifelong.

I’m not sure I like those words anymore.

I like the word forever. And ever and ever and evermore.

“The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.”
― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

Love to All