Last month my dad underwent some surgery, and he’s homebound for the next three months or so. His creditors keep calling me and leaving messages to give to him, but he gave me a dud phone number. Whenever he calls it’s always been during class or work, so I miss his calls. He left a message on Friday wishing me a happy Thanksgiving. I wish I could call him back.
Sometimes when I try to call my brother, the line actually connects and we talk for a good long time. It’s fun. Other times it just rings and rings, and I have to wait until he wants to talk or is available. Sometimes that takes weeks. He seemed to be doing well the last time we talked.
Just got off the phone with Mom. She has pneumonia.
I’ve been relatively healthy so far. Outside of a summer cold or two, and then a sore throat that didn’t progress this last week, I’ve been quite okay. Keeping warm in the mornings waiting for the bus, even though I have to delayer by the afternoon. Avoiding touching door handles or grabbing uncommon areas of door handles if I have to pull open a door. College students can be just as bad as toddlers when it comes to illness. Since they’re students, and since they’re Mormon, they’re dedicated and come to class ready to share their germs as if the Law of Consecration specifically enforces it.
I am sick, though. Homesick. I wish I could sit in a room full of the people I love and I could see them, and we could talk and laugh. There’d be hugs and smiles and lots of eye contact and inside jokes and reminiscing and catching up. This feeling does wax and wane but it never really passes.