Story
Dear Dad Previous Story
Every story of two people is singular, special.
“What's a six-letter word for dull hospital green beginning with ‘C’?”
We don’t know. My sister and I have sat for four hours on these green seats, passing the morning with puzzles, games in the paper . . . waiting.
In the hospital waiting room, people like us worry, wait, and seek distraction. We all avoid looking at the progress monitor. A glance shows there’s still a scalpel beside Dad’s name, indicating he’s not out of surgery. A little crosshatch means that closure has begun.
Half an hour more and we set the crossword aside and talk about Dad. It’s been hard to watch his suffering and decline. With each change, our minds summon defensive memories of Dad’s healthy, strong years. My sister laughs as she recalls our family’s summer vacations. Three kids climbed into the Buick, crawling past fishing gear and provisions. “Remember how he pulled the back seat out to create a cozy space?” she says. “Remember when Dad chased us upstairs? And how he scared us with his ‘monster voice?”
I remember. The monitor blinks and Dad’s icon changes to a crosshatch. After anxiously waiting another half hour, we enter the recovery room and he says, “Where’s everybody been?”
I take his hand and think to myself, “right here . . . and to places in the past.”
You may want to visit our other websites:
The Journey - The Ride of a Lifetime
Uncommon Promise Video Channel
Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog
The UP Side Lowdown by Cheryl
New Music - Virtual CD
We don’t know. My sister and I have sat for four hours on these green seats, passing the morning with puzzles, games in the paper . . . waiting.
In the hospital waiting room, people like us worry, wait, and seek distraction. We all avoid looking at the progress monitor. A glance shows there’s still a scalpel beside Dad’s name, indicating he’s not out of surgery. A little crosshatch means that closure has begun.
Half an hour more and we set the crossword aside and talk about Dad. It’s been hard to watch his suffering and decline. With each change, our minds summon defensive memories of Dad’s healthy, strong years. My sister laughs as she recalls our family’s summer vacations. Three kids climbed into the Buick, crawling past fishing gear and provisions. “Remember how he pulled the back seat out to create a cozy space?” she says. “Remember when Dad chased us upstairs? And how he scared us with his ‘monster voice?”
Folded heart valentine
I remember. The monitor blinks and Dad’s icon changes to a crosshatch. After anxiously waiting another half hour, we enter the recovery room and he says, “Where’s everybody been?”
I take his hand and think to myself, “right here . . . and to places in the past.”
You may want to visit our other websites:
The Journey - The Ride of a Lifetime
Uncommon Promise Video Channel
Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog
The UP Side Lowdown by Cheryl
New Music - Virtual CD
Reader Comments