The calls are becoming more frequent. It's each day as it comes.
For months it's been a battle of quality time vs maintaining normality. No regrets vs no worries.
I had to believe I would know when the balance shifted.
"The doctor says it could be weeks," mum told me. The words I'd been dreading since my step dad was diagnosed with mesothelioma in April. Call it common sense or call it blind panic, "I'm coming home," I told her. The balance has shifted, life doesn't have a rewind.
His birthday is in 2 weeks and I have annual leave booked to make the most of it. Mum is concerned the impromptu nature of this visit will worry him. I'm conflicted. No regrets vs no worries. Fortunately, my brother is visiting this weekend too. I've not seen him for months, he's my cover story.
I had to get through a day at work first. I've slept on it, maybe I'm over-reacting. It's only two weeks until I'm home anyway, I don't want to worry him. I come out of Vauxhall station to see dark clouds in front of me and bright sunshine behind. There's a rainbow somewhere, but I can't find it.
I speak my thoughts aloud to friends. Vocalising them provides a clarity the echo of my inner thoughts can't. I look out of the window as I leave. There he is; my rainbow of reassurance.
Five years ago I began to question my faith. How could a god allow my dad to suffer? I couldn't see a reason. I couldn't see God. With rainbows my faith was restored. A different faith. A faith in my dad and a faith in the universe.
So when I got home on Friday ready to pack for a weekend at home, I didn't see just what a van, I saw an affirmation. I saw the message I needed: trust your gut.
"If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world."
For months it's been a battle of quality time vs maintaining normality. No regrets vs no worries.
I had to believe I would know when the balance shifted. The time is now.
