My respect for single parents was more lip service until this week.
Granted I don’t have it all that bad, but with Kyndall gone I feel strangely stranded and even a little helpless. It makes me respect the people who face this every single day and still come out on the other end as normal people.
Saturday afternoon, Kyndall’s mom called en route to the hospital where Kyndall’s grandpa was admitted. His critical situation called his children to his bedside one last time – those wheels were already turning.
Kyndall wanted to go and that was reasonable – the rules are different at these times. In the “shake of a lamb’s tail” Kyndall was on a Missouri-bound flight and I was putting two girls to bed on my own.
Indeed he died that very day.
In selfish personal reflection I am brought back to when my own grandfather died; the sadness and unexpected happiness I felt when he passed. It defined me for a while. An interesting pool of emotions I can dip back into again at any time with no effort at all.
Anyway, funerals take time and now she will be gone until Wednesday. A whole new set of logistics comes around. How can I go to work? We have never had any daycare kind of thing. But then along comes my church and before Sunday lunch the situation is solved with more people volunteering that I probably even need. Wow.
But I’m still alone, if you think about it. Putting the girls to bed my heart felt a small tug, a burden for those who don’t have an upcoming Wednesday or Thursday when Mom or Dad are scheduled to come home; a small pain for those who set a place for “aloneness” at every meal. Bless them.