When he looked at me, it was clear my father wasn't
sure who I was. And as I looked back at him, I wasn't
sure who he was, either.
My father had just endured two heart surgeries and 6
days in intensive care. He'd returned to the hospital
where he'd worked for 40 years. It was the hospital
where all his children had been born. And as he sat in
his bed gazing at me, I knew he might never be the
same. The doctors said that he may have a long period
of confusion after the surgeries. And because he's
eighty-six, it may be many months before he returns to
normal.
It's also possible he may never be "normal" again.
The roller coaster of feelings we've had the past week
have settled a bit. Now, we simply wait. We wait to see
if the memory comes back and the confusion fades. We
hope that he regains what he once had, as we realize
who he was may be "gone."
It's a realization that feels a lot like death.
To spend two days wondering if your father will live or
die brings you many things. It allows you to appreciate
every moment of life. It fills you with memories, and
it fills you with pain. It reminds you of something
that can easily be forgotten as you run around in your
busy life: life is incredibly fragile, and can be taken
away in an instant.
I sat there in this hospital room, spoon-feeding the
man I've seen as powerful and capable my entire life.
It felt like the full circle of life had come around
us. It was both satisfying and frightening. It felt
good to support him, yet part of me wanted to tell him
to "be normal" again. I wasn't sure if I was ready to
accept the full meaning of it: that my father may never
be that powerful and capable person again.
My mother has been married to my father for sixty
years. During the darkest time before the second
surgery, she said, "You have sixty years with someone,
but you just want more."
Pain and suffering have visited my family, as it will
visit all families. And while we hesitate to face pain
and suffering, it has great lessons to teach us. Pain
and suffering are well outside of the boundaries of our
everyday life. When it comes, it shatters these
boundaries and turns our world upside down. We become a
family with all of the others who have known pain and
suffering. And we have another chance to prioritize
what's truly important in our lives.
This crisis will pass, and we'll all be changed by it.
The healing hands of time will do their work. I'm
thankful that I've told my father everything I've
wanted to say to him. And I'm thankful to have my
family to lean on during this difficult time. We'll all
be challenged by this to show more support, care, and
love. This is as it should be.
Sometimes, it takes a crisis to remind us of why we're
all here.
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