So tonight I went to visit the little guy in the hospital. He looked happy to see me, but being the dude he is, he had to play it off like he didn’t care. I love that kid.
I think, for me, it was more difficult to leave my sister in the hospital than Nick. I’m the older sister. I’ve always been the one who takes care of everyone. I can’t stand to see her looking worried, trying to be nonchalant. I fed her; I brought her clean clothes and makeup; I brought her food and drinks for tomorrow.
Then, when I left the hospital, there was a hispanic couple, standing in the driveway. They looked so distressed. I heard them speaking Spanish. I saw them, and when I got into my car, I started to cry. I can imagine myself, in a foreign country, living my dream, with my kid in a foreign hospital. I thought of not being able to communicate fully with the medical staff. I imagined not understanding exactly what was occuring. And, even as I type this, I want to cry.
I’m sitting here watching LA Ink. I am anxiously anticipating seeing one of the guys whose blog I read daily, Carlos Whittaker get his tattoo. Maybe I’m a geek, but I’m really excited. When I meet him in person one day at Northpoint or at Buckhead, I’ll be sure to tell him that I watched him get ink on LA Ink. Maybe I’ll have the opportunity to visit Atlanta sooner than later because we are opening an office in ATL by the end of the year, and that manager is in our office for the next month or two 🙂
Peace out. Gotta watch and then get some sleep.