I wrote a grant proposal. I got the grant. It may be the death of me.
Don't get me wrong. I'm excited to get the grant. It means I can retrace some of my father's steps in Germany during WWII. But it's a long time until I am on that plane in June and I may have an ulcer by then.
My father is supposed to go with Jim and me. We are seeking to find a church and town near Munich that my dad has fond memories of. It is also an opportunity for my dad to return to a country he has always wanted to revisit. The week after I mailed my proposal, Dad was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer. According to the experts, it is the worst and most aggressive form of cancer. He underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatments through November to January. It is a daily roller coaster ride to know whether or not my dad will actually go. First, we needed to know if I got the grant. After a three month wait, I received a letter of congratulations. Two days later, dad flew to Arizona to visit my oldest brother. It was a horrible travel experience for him and he spent his second day there in the emergency room. It seems he had pneumonia. That would make anyone feel horrible. He flew home the following Tuesday. Another bad travel day. That night, he told me that his traveling days were over and he couldn't go on the trip. Needless to say, I was devastated. In March he was feeling much better and thought he would still go on the trip. He has been waiting for different appointments with doctors to get the go ahead for the trip. Two days ago, his cancer doctor said if he didn't go to Germany, she would go on the trip with us! Great! I talked to Dad last night. All plans were a go and I was to call him today to make the final flight arrangements. This morning, he doesn't think he can go. He just doesn't feel well. He told me to make flight reservations anyway. If he loses the money, he loses the money. This indecisiveness has occurred two to three times a week over the last month or so.
I think I'm going crazy. But it's okay, because I'm still going to Germany. With Jim. And Dad. I hope.
I write for me.
What's up with those shoes, you may ask? After driving 30 minutes to work one fine day, I looked down as I got out of the car and saw this. Good thing I work with middle school students! I used it as a teachable moment to show them how one could survive something stupid and laugh at oneself in the process. Invariably, whenever I wear the "giraffe" shoes, a student will comment that, "Hey, you're wearing the same shoes today!"