Waiting is the Hardest Part

It’s Fatherhood Friday at Dad-Blogs so when you’re done here, head there.

The warning signs came out of nowhere earlier this week. It caught me off guard. It caught everyone off guard. I quickly realized whatever was wrong was not going to fix itself, so I reluctantly enlisted the help of professionals.

I filled out all the necessary paperwork, dropped her off and then made my way to the waiting room. I hate the waiting room.

First of all, if you’re there it means something bad has happened. But how bad is it? That’s the question everyone desperately wants answered. They sit there with their toes tapping and their thumbs twiddling. Worry, panic, frustration and anger all ebb and flow, hitting each of them in alternating cycles. Each time the man in the white overcoat approaches, the whole room takes a sharp, collective breath. They simultaneously hope it’s their turn for answers, but also fear the truth.

One by one they receive the news.

Some people display relief when things aren’t as bad as they thought. Others already knew it was dire and were expecting the worst, so they take the news with resignation and acceptance. But then there are the tragedies. The unexpected and untimely demise of a loved one. The guy next to me fell into this category and it was absolutely horrible to watch the bad news delivered to him. As the man in white delivered the crushing blow, the poor bastard let out a pathetic sob as he buried his face in his hands.

“Three years old dammit,” he muttered inconsolably to himself. “This can’t be happening.”

After witnessing that fiasco, I was really climbing the walls. The fear and worry really ratcheted up a few notches. It was taking too long dammit. If it was something simple they’d know by now. It must be something awful. And what if it’s fatal? Even if it’s not fatal it could still be life-shattering. Do I even have the money, the time or the means to embark on that path to recovery? I’ll have to ask family and friends for help getting through this. Wait, calm down. Maybe it’s not that bad. Oh shit! Of course it’s fucking bad!! And on top of everything else going on, now I have to deal with this too?? I can’t take it. I CAN’T TAKE IT GODDAMMIT!!

“Mr. Gouveia?”

The man in white. Oh shit.

“That’s me. What’s the verdict?”

“It looks like you recently had your air filter replaced and the people who did it failed to put a hose back properly. That’s why your check engine light came on. So all we’re charging you is the $47.50 to look your car over. You’re all set.”

I didn’t celebrate in front of those who were/will be mourning their deceased vehicles. But when I got outside, I was like Wesley Snipes in “Major League” after he made the Cleveland Indians. At the 3:35 mark.