Waiting

Waiting is a big part of life. And I am impatient with that. We are waiting to see if my sister's cancer treatment works. I am waiting for her to call because I am always the one to call. Those six months of weekly zoom calls, that she never initiated, ended one month before her C diagnosis. "You have to stop calling that catfisher person!" I admonished my older sister who gave thousands of dollars to this man from another country who pretended to love her. My brother and I, her psychologist and physician finally realized she could no longer handle her funds. We wrestled her money from her pocket, safely managed now by her son, her guarantee payee and fiduiciary. No more mainline to the catfisher. Now she can pay her rent and keep her car. She lied and still does so often it's like acknowledging the fact that she has grey hair. Well, she's bald now but the grey hair is there. Does she wonder about me? I wonder about her all the time. I am waiting for my stomach, wrenched from the thunder of life all around, to settle down. Yog helps. So does sitting quietly and feeling my feet in my soft, fake leopard slippers. Warm and cozy with room to wiggle my toes. Faith can work but sometimes that's on the other side of the damn room. Working out until my face looks like a tomato works, usually. Blood pumping. Right this moment I am waiting for my hsuband to wake up and make noise on this quiet early morning with just me, my geriatric lab, and the magical forest that has woken up all around me. The forest so full of life and greenness it gives me hope and reminds me what waiting can bring.