We Wait

I'm typing this on the hospital's public computer in the lobby and the keyboard doesn't feel right. But as difficult as it is, being here feels right. My sisters and I are taking turns sitting with my dad as he travels toward heaven. For us, it's a slow journey. For him, who knows? He's still close enough to speak to us sometimes, if we can understand his laborious words. And sometimes, it's obvious that he's well on his way and seeing sights we can't see. When this journey is over, we'll be sad, but all right. After 94 years, Dad deserves the joyful rest of heaven, and because of that we can choose to be "happy sad." But Dad has no estimated time of arrival for this journey. And so we wait.