·Evil and sinful people [L An evil/wicked and adulterous generation] ·ask for [seek; demand] a miracle as a sign, but they will not be given any sign, except the sign of Jonah [see 12:40; Jon. 1:17]." Then Jesus left them and went away.
Matthew 16:4, Expanded Bible
Dearest Rachel -
To be sure, when Jesus invoked the name of Jonah, as a 'sign' for the doubting Pharisees, He was specifically referring to the time the prophet spent in the belly of the great fish, and how that would relate to the time He would soon spend in the belly of the Earth. That particular analogy doesn't apply here – at all. But what does apply is the fact that two of us are pondering over where our paths seem to be going – and whether we are called to go in a certain direction, or if we are running away.
Now, I know it's not entirely mine to tell, honey, but since it involves you in a peripheral way, I'm hoping she won't mind if I give you at least the bare bones of the story. Kerstin was expecting to finish out her assignment in Beloit this coming week, and take a few weeks off (to the point of collecting a couple of weeks of unemployment – which, since her posting has provided her with hours and recompense nearly double what she's accustomed to getting paid here, would provide her for those few weeks very nearly the same as she would ordinarily receive for working here, except she could spend a little time with her remaining children and home). However, a few days ago, she received a new posting assignment that would start up this Monday – thereby cutting her current one short (although at this point, she in her fifth month of a two-month posting, so calling it a "cutting short" seems a bit strange).
While she does wish she could spend more time in town with her children – nearly all of them are grown and out of the house, but her youngest daughter, in particular, would still be living with her if she were at home – the money from these postings makes the separations nearly worth their while; you know how it's been for her for the longest time. The difficulty comes in where this new posting is. First of all, it's much farther away; with Beloit, she could drive home at the end of the week in a little over an hour, and spend the weekend at home with her family and friends, whereas now, that trip home would take at the very least four hours, and really, closer to five.
Secondly – and you might just have guessed this from the distance I just described, and the fact that I said this story related to you – it's in your hometown.
Understand, honey, that aside from Ellen – whose mother still lives there, and by virtue of it being her childhood home, she doesn't have the same association of it with you exclusively as the rest of us – none of us have been back to Macomb since before the accident. And to be quite honest, I don't see that changing any time soon, as there's nothing there for Daniel and me at this point. The house is in Twofeathers' hands, and life has gone on down there, to where I might not recognize it much. Not that I was necessarily paying all that much attention; you were the focal point of those trips, as it was your folks, your town, your people that we were going down to see. Without you, it becomes just another small Midwestern college town, no different than any other, apart from the vague familiarities developed over time. I can find my way around it in a way I can't say of any other such place, but that's because of you. And that realization has a way of picking at the wound.
To a certain extent, the town holds much the same place in Kerstin's heart and mind. Sure, she didn't visit it nearly as often as you and I did, but she did go down there with you a couple of times. So she has a similar association of it with you. Moreover, she hasn't had the same opportunities as I have to cope with your absence as I have; while I've been doing things like cleaning out and remodeling the house, as well as getting out of it from time to time, she keeps busy with the same routine of job and family as she had before you were gone. As a result, she will occasionally be struck by things – a flash of the color purple, the name 'Violet' on a street sign – and find herself thinking of you with melancholy. To be required to spend a prolonged period of time in the place you once called home would have your presence – or more to the point, your absence – hammered home to her to a potentially unpleasant degree.
But, upon discussing it with the girls and myself, she's decided to go. She's had the option to decline (and go on unemployment a week earlier), but it looks like she'll be taking the position, at least for the four weeks she's been told it will be (although we've heard that before). For now, she's decided to accept the calling, considering it a form of grief therapy, and hoping some good can come of it – well, apart from the obvious pecuniary aspect, of course.
Meanwhile, I've found myself torn about the fact that, by the time she returns, I won't be here. It's not that I can't greet her on her return that bothers me so much as the fact that I feel like I have responsibilities here to deal with that, by resolving to go on this trip, I'm abandoning and running away from. I'm literally getting on a boat, and from there, I'm fleeing to the opposite side of the world, as opposed to staying at my post, where my family needs me.
Or do they? Is my presence absolutely required at Dad's side at this point?
That's been the crazy thing about both the buildup to this trip and the turmoil of his recent illness. For the longest time, it's been him who has been looking forward to seeing me off on this trip more than I have – it would seem that I haven't shaken Basel Syndrome to this day (and quite possibly never will going forward). To a certain extent, I find myself wondering if, since he's concluded that his travelling days are over, he could at least sort of relive those days vicariously through my own continued journeys. And I'm fine with that; if he wants to read these letters in order to keep up with me, I'm more than happy to oblige.
But once he took what appeared to be deathly sick, I thought my luck had caught up with me yet again, and I would have to scrap my plans. In fact, I had to keep quiet about my disappointment, as it would be unseemly for me to be upset about a mere missed trip when he was essentially dying. Compared to what he was going through, I had no right to complain about what was going wrong in my life. And so, I kept silent for a while, even as he began to claw his way, yet again, from the brink.
At this point, however, it's entirely possible that he'll be able to go home – small 'h' home, you understand – before I ship out. And while Mom will need help tending to him as he continues to recover, in terms of professional care, it seems likely that it won't even need to be 24/7 care.
All of which makes it sound like everything is going to be okay, doesn't it? The crisis has passed once more; the shadow has climbed up the steps yet again. It's even gotten to the point where Dad is once again asking me about how my plans are coming along: whether I've gotten my passport back (not yet, but the company arranging things has instructed me to call back if I don't receive anything by this Wednesday), where my stateroom is located in relation to the fitness center (and when I plan to work out regularly, as the place apparently doesn't open until eleven in the morning, precluding my recent habit of going out in the wee hours of the morning), and what I might acquire in terms of souvenirs for friends and family (he's recommended Kona coffee for Mom, for starters). Apart from the fact that he has yet to be released to go home, everything seems to have gone back to status quo ante, and I shouldn't worry myself overmuch about gallivanting off to the other side of the world, especially since I've poured as much planning and money into the operation already.
And yet, there's this nagging sense of unease about all this. Consider how things were three months ago; so much has changed in that short amount of time. Yes, they're slowly returning to what might be considered normal (although not quite), but suppose something else might happen. I won't be able to turn on a dime and make my way home, if something should go awry in my absence. Moreover, if the worst should happen, I wouldn't want to be absent; I should be at his side at the end, so he would know I was there for him if he needed me. To do otherwise seems… wrong.
Except… I think I'm staring at the axe again, honey. There are too many 'what if's about this. Judging from the past month, since he was transferred from the hospital to the convalescent home, the next few months seem like a trend toward continuous – even surprising – improvement. If I figuratively chain myself to home, lest I be caught off guard by his sudden passing, only for him to slowly grow that much more hale and hearty while I miss out on what effectively is the trip of a lifetime (I mean, there are news reports about this journey, for crying out loud – this is as much a chance to be part of history as it is to see the world), both of us will be disappointed by it in our own way.
So, even though I wonder if is the right decision (and if I might be shirking a certain measure of my filial responsibility), I'm going to head out. I suppose that, if I find myself dealing with a major storm and a threatening Leviathan, I'll know I chose poorly. Until then, though, keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I'm going to need it.
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