Maybe This is Not Your Lesson to Learn

It is not necessary to be in control

On September 29, 2018 my daughter had a stroke, but that is not what this story is about. Because six months later, my father had a stroke.

As I stood bedside his bed coating his lips with Vaseline, reflections haunted my memories. He laid in the same ICU unit, in the same hospital just doors away from where my daughter, Kari, had lain weeks earlier.

I do not know if emotions tempered because experience taught me what to expect or because numbness consumed my body. Either way I stood in the same setting, with many of the same characters, living an extremely different narrative. Time allowed only opportunities for raw emotions.

Earlier in the day, I had arrived at his house planning to accompany him to a doctor’s appointment. He slept in the recliner but stirred at the disturbance in the room. The moment he opened his eyes, his caretaker and I acknowledged signs for concern: his words slurred, blood pressure high — 247/130 — really high, and his eyes appeared vacant.

The list of tasks on my calendar for the day evaporated as I accepted the fact that here, beside Dad, was where I needed to be at that moment. As he sat comatose in his tattered, faded recliner that cradled his body, we dialed 911.