“Can I go see him? To Germany?” I ask.
“Afraid not. I asked the same thing for myself. He’s getting the care he needs, and he needs to stay focused on healing.”
It’s my turn to look at our joined hands.
“But he’s alive,” I whisper, tears rolling down my cheeks. “He’s alive.”
Uncle Will swallows hard. I can hear it, so I look up. “He may not be the same after this, Jillie Bean. Things like this, they change people.”
I nod, knowing it’s the truth. Dad’s explained all that to me time and time again. I know the chances, the risks.
“I don’t care if he’s decided to be as surly as Oscar the Grouch or if he started singing opera. He’s myDad. I love him no matter what. And I know,” I say cutting him off, “Iknowhe may not want that. I know.”
He nods. “Yeah, you’d know. He’d have told you all of that.”
“How long do you think he’ll be there?”
“It’s really hard to say. Could be six months, could be a year, could be two.”
“Yeah. Can you find out if I can send him stuff? A letter? Some of his favorite things? I ask.
“I can ask.”
I look at him. “He’salive!”
Uncle Will smiles, leans up and hugs me. “Thank God.”
I don’t know when Aunt Ruthie left, but when I look over, her chair is empty. I hope she knows I’m not leaving.
