A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-Two-Hundred-And-Forty-Three

As Melissa and I were just about to head out of the house for her to catch her flight to Ohio, we received a call from one of the hospice workers who helps care for Anne and were told that things were not going well and they expect she will pass soon.  I threw a bag together so that I could try to get on the flight and go with her, but it didn't work out, and right now, the only flight I could book doesn't leave until Thursday morning.  I am trying to see if I can get up there sooner if I leave from another airport, but I don't know what is possible, and I am worried that, even if I could make it up right now, I am going to arrive too late.  I really wish that we hadn't decided that I would stay here this time, but had just booked tickets for both of us to go.  I also have to say that I am quite disturbed about this happening right at this time of year, within a few days of the anniversary of my Father's death.  It is just unsettling, and one cannot help but assume there is meaning when things align in such ways.  I think I am going to sit down and cry for a bit after I finish this, that may well be the best thing I can do tonight.

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