He has a lot of tattoos. Maybe not a lot but more than most. My mind is elsewhere. This is good. We have a rhythm now. The moment will take care of itself.
I can’t read them all but I see “Father”, “Respect”, “Honor”, “love”, “Son”, engraved on his chest and arms, and angel wings on his shoulders. What does he want to be reminded of? What is he trying to remember? He too, is a father. This is a circumstance? Joy? Burden? Love? Responsibility…that I don’t understand. Suddenly, I realize how tenuous our connection is. We are professionals and it is the confidence in our own ability that brings peace to the room; is the beat to which our rhythm is attuned.