You drive 240 miles from your home to listen to this man talk for three days and find out your daughter is getting incredibly sick. Fevering. Coughing. Vomiting.
What do you do? You can’t just drive home—you are stuck.
It is a string of events that started out last night while you were talking to her on the phone and her battery went dead abruptly, disconnecting you without warning. You only have the two cell phones so there was no other way to find out what happened to her. You only heard, “Oh shit!” then silence. You called her back but there was no answer—all of your calls went straight to voicemail. Eventually she would find her way online and tell you that her battery had died as your daughter was getting ready to throw up and she had been dealing with the aftermath.
You would get a call at 6:30 A.M. to tell you that your daughter had a fever of 103.2 and she was lying amongst a throng of cool washcloths but that she probably needed to see a doctor. And you, you are up there, 240 miles north. You know there is no family here to watch your son and your other daughter while your wife is taking the sick one to see a doctor. You know you really don’t have any friends around to help her out.
These events compound with the conversations you have been having over the past few months about moving; moving somewhere north of that imaginary line that turns people back into real people and not the selfish, evil bastards that seem to populate most of this state. You know if it is possible to telecommute and travel in to work once every three weeks or so, you will do it. You know that when you go back you will discuss it as a serious option.
Something has to change and you, my friend, are the only one that can change it.
(Photo taken with Samsung cameraphone.)