Right now. . . .
I am drinking a cup of piping hot coffee out of a mug with Isaiah's soccer picture glazed onto its side . . and I'm thinking that it's really, really good. I am looking at this mug and looking at my son and feeling like my heart could not love him more or his brother more. I am asking myself how something as simple as a cheap mug from the cheapest photo package could make a person so happy.
Right now. . . .
I am thinking about the fact that this exact time last week, I was sitting in the same chair drinking from the same mug. . . except instead of blogging I was somewhere in between reflecting and praying. You see, this time last week, my father was on a stretcher in an ER on the other side of the country. His chest "felt funny" so he went in. The tests suggested something could be going on with his heart. . .on Valentine's day, no less. He has a "heart history." His daughter is a doctor who happens to know that "heart histories" are the number one things that take beloved patriarchs and matriarchs out in this country. So last week, with all of my medical knowledge and such, all I could do was sit in this chair, pray to my God, and wait to see what would happen next.
Right now. . . .
I am feeling thankful and full at the mere thought of my father being okay. Cardiac catheterization confirmed---the pipes were clean. I am also smiling because I realized that it didn't take this to make me realize how much I love-need-respect-adore-cherish-everything-else my father. In fact, it is for that very reason that I could focus just on him and his heart instead of me and mine.
Right now. . . . .
I am thinking about my good friend Michele T., who is the same age as me and a mother of two like me except instead of sitting at her kitchen table with a cup of joe, she is lying on an operating room table getting ready to have breast reconstruction. She is a survivor in every sense of the word. Resilient in a way that you couldn't get your mind around unless you knew her. And peaceful? I've never known a more peaceful human being. Right now, my heart is touching and agreeing with her heart and I am holding her hand even if she can't feel it. And I'm claiming the best.
Right now. . . . .
I am surprised at how much Isaiah has grown up since that very first time I put him on the school bus in August. He sprinted toward the bus this morning, and literally said to me, "I'm good." He's good? Really? Wow.
Right now. . . . .
I am reflecting on a world that is so terrible that it includes people who shoot their children out of frustration, people who languish in jails for things they didn't do, and that oppresses people just because they have two X chromosomes instead of one. . . . .but marveling at how the same world is so beautiful that it includes Zachary looking at me last night and learning how to wink his eye from across the room, and also wild dandelions on the side of my driveway for Isaiah to pick and hand to me in imperfectly perfect bunches. A world with hugs so tight from my husband that they feel like they'll suffocate me for sure.
Right now. . . . .
I'm thinking that I'm okay with right now. And you know what? I think I'm good, too.
well-written. I'm glad your dad is ok :o)
ReplyDeleteWow, it's quarter past 6 in the morning, and I'm crying already! Thank you for sharing this. I'm so glad your Dad is okay, and my thoughts and prayers go out to Michele.
ReplyDeleteGlad your dad is ok!
ReplyDeleteGlad your dad's ok. I mean really glad. I acted real cool when the doctor told me how good the graphs looked . Especially after more than eleven years. As they rolled me the room, I was upbeat and chatting with the nurse. But I knew there was a possibility that instead of telling me how great the graphs looked, the doctor could have said something totally different. Something like " Mr. Draper, the news is not good. We see some problem areas and I am not certain the we can fix them with stints. We may have to go in again! I had played a couple of denarius in my mind during my 11 plus hours down in the ER. " Wow, this really sucks!" What if they have to crack my sternum again. I remember the pain of coughing while squeezing my "heart pillow" to my chest. The terrible feeling that I was going to die of thirst because of the severe liquid intake restrictions. You see, due to an improperly "installed" catheter, I spent my first day in recovery wetting to bed and the doctors concluded that I was retaining this large amount of fluid, when instead of going into the bag it was going inti my bedding . I kept telling the nurse that I felt like I was wetting myself. She just said that's how it feels when you are not use to it. Well when the night nurse decided to change my bedding, he said Gee, you are all wet. I said "no sh_t!"
ReplyDeleteAnyway, Dr. KD, I am truly glad that your old daddy is OK.
Dear Mr. Draper,
ReplyDeleteRegrettably, I do not know your daughter personally, much less you. Nonetheless, I feel so grateful that there are people like you, fathers like you, in this world, for you have raised an accomplished and inspiring daughter, one who makes this world a better place each day. Her love for you is almost palpable through her words, and your influence on her is never lost in translation.
May you enjoy many many more years of good health and happiness. May you have a chance to shape yet another generation of wonderful people in your grandchildren.
As a daughter who lost her father very young, what pains me most now is the fact that my children will never know the sweet love and will never benefit from the many talents of a doting grandfather. It makes me deeply happy that many children in the world can still enjoy this gift and privilege. I hope all daughters will cherish their good fathers' presence in their children's lives as Dr. Manning does.
Hi Dr. M. I'm very happy to hear that your dad is doing just fine. I'm just fine too. Thanks for your prayers and thoughtful words.
ReplyDeleteMichele T.