Last year on Father’s Day, my father was in a coma.
I didn’t know if we’d ever have another conversation. For 6 weeks, I waited and prayed for you to give us a sign of life. The doctors told us not to expect much, or even for you to live thru the night that day of your cardiac arrest. I couldn’t believe it. My whole life was wrapped up in yours. I never realized that until all those hours holding your limp hand in the hospital, all those words I spoke to you with only the heart monitor beeping in the background. How very badly I needed you to come back to life. I couldn’t bear the thought of being in this world without you.
I brought my IPOD and portable speakers to play you some oldies music. If anything could wake you up, my sister and I singing along to Sha-na-na’s “Blue Moon” in our tone-deaf pitch would probably do the trick.
But nothing did the trick except time. We were all at the uncertain mercy of time, and boy did it suck. Aspiration pneumonia. Three different hospitals, one of which accidently pierced your lung during heart surgery. Once again, you had to be under heavy sedation until they knew you would live through it all.
You finally came around. Foggy; but you were alive. At first, we had to remind you that your parents passed away years ago. That was hard. You were cranky as hell somedays, and did some things which weren’t in your normal demeanor. I.e. : Slapping a nurse on the ass.
It was just good to have you back.
I’m so lucky you made a full recovery. Going through what we did, I realized how silly any animosity about my upbringing was. How silly and naive to expect “perfect” parents. I didn’t want an ideal childhood; I just wanted you. Almost losing you made me understand what LOVE really is.