It’s a sad thing to be standing at the stove, stirring a pot of pudding, and realise that your father is dying.
It’s the kind of sad that bids you back to the keyboard, because your blog is the only person who would understand the confliction that you feel–along with the clarity.
The clarity that tells you that nothing really matters but family, and those friends who become family. It doesn’t matter the things they do or say. It doesn’t matter if they’ve ever hurt you.
It just matters that they are there, and that someday they won’t be.
And you hope and you pray, through tears you never thought you’d cry, that they know how much you love them, even if sometimes you weren’t even sure yourself.