This isn’t the post I planned to write for the final day of Settimana dell’ Amore, but sometimes “life happens” and things don’t go as planned.
I think it is every expat’s worst nightmare … the middle of the night phone call, the strained voices, the uncertain hours and the anxiety of an 18-hour trip back home where you have nothing. to do. but think.
I won’t go into much detail-both to protect the privacy of family members who don’t broadcast their lives in the blogosphere and because there is still so much to learn, but Wednesday night I took that call.
It was my mom who said, “It is your dad.”
I’m not sure what she said after that.
As many of you know, it was my father who encouraged me to write. He was an editor. A journalist. A newspaper man. And I’d *love* to find the words to say something now …
But I can’t.
So, bear with me over the next couple of weeks. I will be in Texas … in fact, I am probably already there.
I’ll be back posting soon. And don’t worry, we’ll have that drawing when I return.
For my daddy …