A letter to a silent father

These days have been an absolute madnes, I wasn't able to really concentrate on anything in particular as the pressure of May 15th and its consequences both to my physical state and my relationship with God became unhingedly madning. What if He doesn't answer? What if the recover never happens? What if I'm just becoming paranoid focusing over and over on the thing that has defined myself for half a decade now?

I've been distracted, like really. I went to seek noise and other scapism methods as the waiting became unbearable, and the events within it more powerful and meaningful to a mind at the end of it's wit and a body tired of fighting. Today, for example, I went to sing with the choir to a wedding and I was totally on my word, even using the phone at mass trying to decide  which Linux distro should I use on the laptop I bought today at 5 am. I know I'm convoluting a lot of things, but I'm on 2,5 hours on sleep and feeling the urge to write this down as a form of introspection  and, somehow, prayer.

So, this week I've managed to get some real work done with the PhD, the clients finally signed the bill proposal and I've been so happy behaving like a proto-dad at the convenience store looking for drills and other stuff just in case I may need it in the future as an indepent adult. Still, the weight of my wager on God started to feel so heavy, so unsettling, so utterly absurd and scary to carry, and it devoured me (and currently is), because the outcome of maybe the most important date in recent times is completely out of my sphere of action, out of my wit and intellectual capacity, out of every framework and reasoning I've tried to land before. Mine is a "study case", most doctors are as lost as I am. I've had to observe my body and its reactions slowly, train it, endure it, stretch it, battle it and make peace with it in order to lift the curse even just a bit, so this day depends heavily both in the medical report the pt has yet to craft and my own insight, which, in the medical field, is close to zero. I am entirely on His hands, and there is nothing I can do about it, because even if I try, I won't be able to tame Him. I've not yet lost to the angel, but the mental is lacking and the body is panicking, which, to be honest I do not know if its a good omen or a bad one.

Yesterday I went to a mass I was actually capable to pay attention to (in some parts). We went to a cathedral to sign to the Marian apparition of Health (Virgen de la Salud), and the psalm was something like "Soul of mine bless the Lord, for He shall heal all your illnesses". It was such a coincidence for that to happen a week before the big day, or maybe it's just life. I do not know. I still choose to believe.

Afterwards, I went to have dinner with the close friends I've made at the choir, which I enjoy doing as I can relax and not perform as they are not as jaded as older people and genuinely interesting; there is this guy heavily passionate about cars whose girlfriend is in a severe illness condition due to an accident, so hanging out with him let's me see what my fiancé has been going through lately. He worries sometimes, then he doesn't, and I understand, because that's human. Then there are this brothers who are heavily invested into singing, the younger one trying to figure out himself and just living as a young prodigy and the elder brother, ankward, passionate, that somehow reminds me of my younger self; cheerful, caring, innocent, kind and full of hope for a better tomorrow. Then there is this youngster cuban teen who plays multiple instruments and likes music and is just so ankward and so just a kid in modern times that I couldn't help but to befriend him, and of course there are more, like our pianist, who is also a helicopter pilot. Amongst these people I've found a place where I belong; a group that is not necessarely profound nor spiritual oriented, but feels like home and has a deep sense of belonging and comradery. There are plenty more interesting youngster, but to keep it short, I will move on. Just one thing, as I sung the salve regina I felt chills, like HEAVY chills, like electric flow chills through my body.

Then I went home, got and got myself to sleep only to be awaken by a severe rain, a storm. I was kinda scared; my eyes weren't able to actually focus and I was seeing flashes of lightning in my room that I first thought were something strange but later I rationalized as, well,lightning. I wasn't unable to go back to sleep so I went seeking advice for a new laptop, as the prior one, the warmachine that accompanied me during almost 9 years died honorably using Xubuntu. Rest in peace, friend. Or, well, do whatever machines do. Either way you've served well, you stayed during the law degree, the master's degree and my first international congressess, even when I went to Italy to talk. Thank you.

So, as I was saying, I couldn't sleep, I bought a laptop and then took a shower and went to sing yet again with the choir. After coming back I fucked up with my fiancé after a poorly chosen conjunction of words, but luckly we made up, I went for a walk and then, before playing some guitar, I kept thinking about the big day for hours.

I cannot stop thinking about Teresa D'Ávila when I came to visit her tombstone and promiser her that I would become something better, greater, as now I feel lost and like I failed a friend I didn't have the chance to talk to but whom I understand perfectly. I will tell the full story here after all of this passes, I promise.

Thinking I remembered this tale my mother told me about when I was little. It goes like this:

I was in my small old village, and I was like a year or two, enough to be able to walk and take my first steps. The thing is that I was really skinny as I refused to eat most of the time, and my balance wasn't exactly remarkable (same as nowadasy), so grandma had an idea, a flabbergasting idea, taking into account everything I've written so far: He gave me fucking bread after I woke up.

Yes.

I was able to walk a little if someone was holding me, so she thought that using bread buns, one in each hand, it could work, and it did, and I spent the whole evening t-posing my way through my first steps, only to, later on, be able to walk alone.

After remembering this I couldn't contain myself, and at this point, it's obvious why.

Other tale I want to tell, takes place on my first semester at the master's degree:

My fiancé broke up with me due to some sort of me fucking everything up moment and it shattered me. I was in a foreign city; it was the same were I studied the master's degree but none of the OG's remained, so I was all alone. The illness got worse there, I was isolated, I got tinnitus, I cried intensely as the illness got heavily worse during that time, and when I was at the verge of my fortitude, I yearned, but to my parents.

My relationship with them at that time was disastrous, I learned to close up emotionally and not tell them mostly anything relevant about my life besides college subjects and dull aspects of daily life, but at that time I felt like I wasn't capable of doing so. So I screamed, I cried. And, to my surprise, both of them responded worried and caring, offering me to quit the master's degree to re-take it somewhere else the next year, then my father offered me his guitar to pick up the instrument and learn with the "Tuna" of Law School and to pick up again saxophone for recreative purposes (which I did but later abbandoned due to the lack of goals). I was overwhelmed by a kind of love that only shows up when I am completely depleted and at the absolute end of my capacities, when the ego is killed and everything that remains is a child asking for help. I'm starting to notice a pattern here.

Old Man, you've heard me, you've changed me, you've sculpted me, you've helped me immensely with minor tasks and major ones; my fiancé getting back after six months of no relationship, the initial spark of light at the illness, the choir, the guitar, the friends I made, the wit I had to develop. And yet, I cannot endure this anymore.

Please, end this. I am not demanding, I am not asking, I am supplicating at the verge of insanity, scared and anxious and terrified about a medical appointment. Maybe I've become mad, but still, I am asking, humbly, to the blessing to be given.

C'mon Old Man.