My Dad
I think whether we like to admit it or not, we tend to get wrapped up in our own lives and to neglect people around us. This was hit home for me last month. I phoned my mom for the ‘obligatory’ call home. You know the one.
She was hysterical as she answered the phone. The ambulance was there. Dad wasn’t responsive, he had no pulse. I did what I had to do, packed the kids, pjs and toothbrushes, dropped them at a neighbors and let my husband drive me the hour to the hospital. It was dark and snowy (of course), and slippery (or course), and the drive lasted an eternity. My heart sank when I finally got to the ER and it was a social worker who greeted me. I’d heard stories of these people, the harbingers of death and terrible news.
The night was a scene out of a bad hospital movie. I didn’t know so many horrible things could be done to someone. My dad. The respirator, the scissors, the CT scans the tubes and monitors. My dad. I should call the rest of my family the social worker said. My dad was gravely ill. I told her we were all there. All three of us.
I’m not ready to tell you about everything that happened. I can tell you that a month later he’s okay. I can also tell you that everything has changed. I have time to call. I make time in my day every day to speak with him and mom. I make time to listen to what they want to say, to what they need to tell me. I’m lucky. I guess it’s true, you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s (almost) gone. Was it luck or fate that I called when I did? That’s something else to think about.
20 Mar
