When things go wrong for the people you love, you want to help. You want to be able to be with them, hold their hand and offer reassurance. You know you can't make it better, but you want them to have the comfort of your being there; and you want the comfort of being there with them. But that isn't always possible - and it hurts.
The man I love lives hours away from me. He works very hard and doesn't see his children as often as he wants. This week he worked about 70 hours and - since he always counts the minutes till the children can be with him - it has been a very long one. So it has been especially hard that, this weekend, something should happen than meant he needed to go first to the optician, then to A&E, then onto a ward, and that the children should have to go back to their Mum just hours after they'd arrived. Having just returned to school after the summer break, they will have had so many things to tell him, so much that they will have wanted to squeeze in that precious 2 days with Daddy. It breaks my heart.
And me? I am sitting at home, unable to drive, unable to get there, sending text messages with offers of help that I know are futile; waiting to hear what the doctors say.
Waiting.
I'm not good at waiting.
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