my daddy is back in the hospital. he was there earlier in the week, unbeknownst to us. he goes so regularly that it's become a routine. what happened was that the chest pains he experiences - the angina - didn't respond to the nitroglycerin tablets he usually takes.
he's also suddenly gone deaf in one ear. among the possible reasons for this occurence is a slight stroke.
my daddy's heart is giving out. there's no way he could survive surgery, and so the plan is to manage him as best as possible with medication. but the plethora of drugs he takes has its double-edge: sometimes, as they did this time, the combination is not so smooth.
as heavy as my heart is at the thought of losing my daddy, if i had to pick anywhere on earth to have to contemplate such a reality, it would have to be here. as i sit and type this, the waves are washing over and around the black reefs, and the sky is starting to glow. the neon colors of a hawaiian dawn hover around the edges of the clouds.
Beloved is pottering around the room... settling in, he calls it. my father would not want me to be upset. the best thing i can do for him, i think, is to enjoy myself as much as i possibly can.
you have the most important job in my kingdom, my daddy said to Beloved the other day.
what's that, said Beloved.
taking care of my princess, said my daddy.
for some reason, in hawaii, i don't just feel taken care of, i feel loved.
and furthermore, the war will end. blessed be.
2 comments:
I was always my dad's princess, too...we lost him in April of 2003. It doesn't matter how old we are, we are still someone's child.
annie:
Your post reminds me of the time in August of 2006 when my brothers and I discovered that my Dad, a notorious avoider of doctors and still living on his own at 87, was near death. We all flew down and got him into the hospital, and got him out of crisis mode. He then went to an acute care facility.
The week after, I had a planned and paid-for trip to Hawaii... and I went. When I said goodbye to my Dad I thought it could very likely be the end.
It didn't turn out to be -- he lived for nearly 2 more years. But every time I saw him after that I would say goodbye knowing that it might be the last time. And finally it was.
Even if you know it's very near the end, you have to keep living. And those who love you would agree.
I hope your Dad is as comfortable as possible and stays as long as he can.
And I am glad that you are enjoying paradise!
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