Starting to feel sleepless, but tired. My eye started to twitch the other day. Tonight began the un-necessary acid reflux. I didn’t realize Christmas was so close until I heard Christmas music in the mall. Thanksgiving still feels like it should be months away. I’m pushing it all forward because I don’t want this season to be here. I don’t want to rehash what happened a year ago, and I don’t want to have to think about it.
Looked through the pictures on my phone and realized (as I have before) there was a clear gap between photos of my sister and husband in the hospital waiting room and me sitting on the couch with my dad’s dogs. I skim the events of the week leading up to the inevitable and I wonder how stupid (or overly hopeful) we must have seemed to nurses, doctors.
The night I slept in the room with Dad because Janet hadn’t slept at home in weeks. The night (the same night) that I basically stayed awake the entire time, hearing the ventilator scream when it wasn’t working correctly (which is horrifying), praying things I’d never thought I would have to pray.
The night my sister, step-mom and I stayed at the hospital, all together, after a particularly rough emergency surgery. Being incredibly vulnerable, we all knew each-other in a whole new way. We laughed loudly, nervously, in the McDonalds at Kosair.
I think I’m still in a sort of denial. I have been since the day he was put on a ventilator. My dad was big and strong, I knew this. But the (military) men and women who worked with and under him were very concerned, and this threw me for a loop. Do you know my dad? Because he’s better than this. But the men and women kept coming, became family, but I still didn’t understand. He’s strong. (Notice the present tense? Yeah, I didn’t mean to do that. It just happens.)
The day it happened, when all of them were there, in the hospital room. I held my dad’s big, strong hand (and believe me, it was huge), and all I wanted was a squeeze back. The only movement was his chin, which moved with the ventilator.
I want so badly for him to be home. I want to spend Christmas morning eating breakfast with him and my step-mom. I’d give anything to share this new relationship with my step-mom with him, too. I’d give anything to talk to him about our family, and the stupid things I remember about being his daughter. I’d give anything for him to be around when (if) I get married, and when (if) I have kids. I wanted my kids to stare in awe of his size, just like I saw my sister’s kids idolize him. I’d give anything for him to see me be successful. I didn’t want to be a barista in his eyes. I wanted him to be proud. I wanted him to be here, now.
I’m thankful for every moment that I’m told I’m anything like him. I would be elated to have even half of his character.
He's proud of you, barista or not. Don't doubt that for a second.
ReplyDeleteMy gosh you're a good writer. And he was very proud, I'm certain.
ReplyDelete