Like Hamlet, I had a soliloquy—but only in my mind: To go or not to go. Our annual clan 3-day reunion, now on its 80th year (and therefore a grand one), would happen in two days.
But Tony begged off, “I don’t think I can manage the travel.”
He had a point: that day he lost his usual appetite for gourmet food; he had insomnia; and a semblance of diarrhea. Nothing serious, I thought, but with his comorbidities, his condition could turn for the worse.
We were all packed, had paid for accommodations, and set to leave as scheduled. “To go or not to go.”
I first told son #1 of my secret decision not to go. He protested but finally understood. I was not sure about son #3, who had already worked out final arrangements.
I told my sister about it, then Mother Teresa, then our driver Sammy—all in confidence. Because if Tony knew, he would surely protest vehemently.
Finally, son #3 understood as well.
Without any inkling that I would stay behind, Tony bade us all goodbye as the car drove out of the garage. On the road, I got down, waited a few minutes and rang the doorbell.
Aie called the decision Solomonic. The next day, Tony’s condition got worse, so we hied to the Emergency Room, as advised by his cariodioloist.
For four long hours, Tony, Sammy, and I waited for his test results in an isolation room. Meanwhile, I updated son #1, #2, and #3 in a group chat I created for this. When the results finally came, the doctor said we could go home. She had been in touch with Tony’s cardiologist for the prognosis and prescription.
After paying our bill, we headed home.
My roommate of 54 years is still feeling ill as we await the New Year, but by God's grace, we were spared from spending the beginning of 2005 in a hospital room.
Have a blessed 2025 dear friends!
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