Alright, so I've been pretty much walking around like a zombie for the past week. You know the walking dead, alive but not, a picture of contradictions. Last Friday I got the long dreaded news that something really bad had happened to my dad and he was in the hospital. It was a stroke, to be precise. No one called me because somehow my dad always loses my number and my sister's. We only talk like maybe once a year, so go figure. Anyways, I got the message through Facebook. I was about to walk into my Latin class and I had a beach trip planned that I could not cancel, so I got the news and marched steadfastly on. You know every time crisis hits my life, I never just get to take time and let it soak in. I lead the kind of life that I HAVE to keep moving forward. Sometimes its really frustrating because I just want everything to stop so I can just catch my breath. Now I'm not talking about "my dog just got ran over and I'm really bummed" tragedy, I'm talking about "life as I knew it is over" stuff.
It doesn't happen that often so don't think I'm being dramatic. So I taught class and went to the beach and drove home just in time to head to the airport to catch my flight home. My little sister went with me and we hadn't visited our dad together since I was about 15. There we were, two little girls heading out to face the inevitable. Nobody could be there for us, it was just us two, like it used to be when our parents divorced and I had to make sure nothing bad happened to us. Man, the responsibility was tangible. It descended on me like a cloud.
We headed to the ICU and found him there. Things weren't as bad as we thought they would be. He was paralyzed on his right side so we had to stay to his left so he could see us and touch us. It was pretty hard not to cry, not because he looked so bad and even what had happened. It was bittersweet to stare at him for three days and see myself in him, to see his mark in my own children's faces. We left him on Wednesday and he is progressing as expected according to the doctors. Coming home was more difficult than the trip to see him. I guess I had pent up stuff that had to escape, I don't know.
I didn't cry until I came home. It still sneaks up on me and overwhelms me. Bitterness threatens to overtake my heart but I fight it with all the strength I can muster. The cloud is beginning to disperse and I keep getting this impression that this is another one of those times when God is revealing the nastiness that I hide. Feelings and disappointments that I push under the carpet or hide under the bed. Reveal and release, heal and move forward. God sees every tear, knows every heart ache, and with that knowledge I can be confident that Somebody cares. Now its up to me to catch my breath and push higher. Let's go.