Today marks the 4th anniversary since my daddy's heart attack.
I guess I should back that up with the fact that I, by leaps and bounds, have the best father on the planet. He's my rock, he's my go-to person when life is way too hard and he's the one that hears me out no matter how insane my reasoning is...which is like 90% of the time.
It's one of those days that will stick with me forever. I was in my room, packing for my upcoming move to Charleston, D was doing whatever he does, Momma was in the kitchen and my dad was working in the yard. All was normal and well. About an hour later, my mom walked in my room and calmly (odd? yes) told me that she was going to take my dad to the ER because he was having chest pains. No big deal, she says, we just want to make sure everything's okay.
Obviously, I was alarmed. I mean, people just don't go to the ER on a Saturday for kicks, but I believed her. I knelt by my bed and said a prayer for him and continued doing what I was doing. I finally get a call from her saying that they made it to the hospital and they were doing some tests on Daddy, so come when I could. Okay, I thought, I might as well shower and get ready. D and I cruise into St. Francis about an hour and a half later and as we walk in, they're wheeling my daddy out of the emergency room. He's all drugged up and talking about how he really wants a Charlie's Steakhouse steak....oh the irony of that one.
Then, it happened. My mom, my aunt, my uncle and my grandma sit us down and shatter our world. Daddy had a heart attack. They put a stint in his heart. He had 94% blockage in his main artery. If we had waited an hour more, he would've been dead. Dead. Gone. My Daddy.
Ugh. Tears.
We went to the room and saw him and after about 20 minutes, I had to leave. My mom was so mad, but I tried to explain to her I couldn't see him like that. I couldn't see my dad laying in a hospital bed with cords hooked up to him and feel like for the first time in my life, I was stronger than him. He's the one who threw me clear across the pool when I was little, the one who let me ride on his back when he walked in from work, the one who always held it together when everyone else couldn't. No. THIS was not him.
I didn't cry, of course (fact: I don't cry about big deals). I walked out of the hospital, got in my car, called JM and went straight to her house. Then, I lost it. I've learned now to almost dread that point. The point where the reality catches up with my emotions and it hits so hard I might as well be running into a ton of bricks.
I went back to the hospital to bring him some books and magazines, put on my brave face and did what my daddy would've done. Loved him unconditionally and appreciated him for everything he's ever been.
Looking back, I can honestly say I'm so thankful for May 13th. It's celebrated. He's since started going to the gym consistently, eating right and living a more healthy life as a whole. It's also made me realize that the man who I call my father is stronger than I'll ever dream of being.
I called him today just to thank him for being him, to tell him I love him and to let him know that he's appreciated. He was humble enough to truly believe that I wouldn't remember today's significance. Of course I would. It's the day that I fully realized how lucky I am to have a dad like him.
Happy 4th, Dad. I love you.
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