The Waiting

One of my favorite friends, Penny, calls it my "Irish Temper." It's in my blood. The inability to know what to do with anger and frustration. I, personally, choose to internalize while my face gets crazy red. I don't know exactly how John handles it, the frustration, but I'm sure the "Irish Temper" runs through his veins, too. And it's hard to look in those eyes and see it when we're just so glad he can open them in the first place.

John is doing so well. And yet, I'm not sure if he knows it. I can't blame him. He's in rough shape. But he's here. And he's getting a little better everyday.

But the frustration with where he is, his jaw being wired shut, the tubes and the wires, the long days and nights, the nurses and the doctors and the tests.....and us. I know he's frustrated if not just flat-out angry. We try to do the best by him. We try to keep those away who don't need to see him. We try to visit as often as possible all the while trying to let him rest. We try.

But we love him unconditionally. And I'll let him be frustrated because with it comes appreciation for little things like holding his hand, wiping his brow and reading his books aloud. And we wait....for the frustration to subside....for now.