Remember to make connections, at home and at work

The virtual wheel on my iPhone spins and spins. "Connecting," it says. I wait for the connection.

I'm sitting in my parents' house in Yankton, S.D., trying to find a cell signal so I can connect to the Internet and check my email. It's strange being here, in the home where I was a boy, now trying to be a man and help as my dad recovers from a health emergency that caught us all by surprise.

That emergency meant days in the hospital for him and a last-minute plane ticket for me. It also meant a radical change in vacation plans. We had been planning to drive to South Dakota as a family for a long weekend, but instead, I'm here alone.

I can't remember the last time it was just me in the house with Mom and Dad. I guess it must have been back when I was in college, more than 20 years ago.

I look again at the phone and that word, "Connecting." Since it looks like the Internet connection is going to take a while, I let my mind wander.

I realize that I'm here to connect with my mom, dad and sister. While I don't feel I've been all that useful — my mom and sister bore the brunt of the emergency as I tried to get my travel plans in place — I am glad I came.

And I think I've helped, at least a little. I've served as a chauffeur for the hourlong trips to and from the hospital, allowing my sister to get back to her regular life in Iowa for a few days. I've taken my mom to the grocery store and marveled at how little food it takes to feed two — now, temporarily, three — people, as opposed to the six people in my household in Utah. I've tried to be useful in other small ways.

But mostly, I'm here because it's where I should be. I needed to come home to connect with my first family — to be available to them, even if I'm only doing simple tasks and providing a bit of comic relief.

The wheel on my phone stops spinning, and now, according to this technological marvel, I'm really connected. I can read email and catch up on what I've been missing at work. I can provide input. I can be proud of the way my friends and coworkers in Utah have picked up what I had to drop and kept things running without missing a beat.

A little while later, I use that same piece of technology to call my wife and children back home. I decide to make a video call so I can see them in real time. I dial the number and wait. There's the wheel again. "Connecting," it says.