It’s 10.05 p.m., and later has come more quickly than I imagined.

My dad broke his hip in a fall today, surgery is set for 11.30 tomorrow morning.  Any surgery is dangerous, but for an 80 year old man with congenital heart failure and lungs that don’t get nearly enough oxygen to it on a regular basis, it’s that much worse.

I have work that needs to get done, commitments that I have made, clients that are counting on me to finish projects and make recommendations.

And you know what?  They won’t get done tomorrow.  Or Saturday.  Or Sunday.

Like I have been writing for a year, you don’t take away from your children or your parents when you are stuck as the jelly in the sandwich generation.  You take from yourself.

You don’t find the balance.  You find the answer.

And that means being with my dad.  Holding his hand before surgery, even if he isn’t awake enough to notice. Being there (if and) when he wakes up.  Helping him understand where we go from here.  And crying on my older brother’s shoulder in person, instead of doing it over the phone as he and I talk about the next steps and all the possible repercussions.

I hope to write again soon, and I hope in advance that everyone understands that now is the time for me to be selfish.

It’s my dad.