Don't Fake The Funk

Love In The Emergency Room

My father had a stroke yesterday.

There's so much I could talk about, so much I can describe, so many impressions of yesterday's events that have stuck in my mind. I walked into the emergency room and looked at my father weaker than I've ever seen him and the first thing he said to me was that he may have a lead for a job for me. I could talk about how alert and observant my dad was during the stroke, how he was at once laughing at his co-worker's reaction and frightened by the reality of almost dying. Again.

You see, my dad is no novice to emergency rooms, or the ICU. But this time is different. My dad said to me today that as he was lying in his office he kept thinking that if he died at that moment he would not reach the age of 64. His birthday is in two months. As he said this I kept thinking that he still has his own father beat by decades. And I realized that his dad never got to meet his four grandkids, all boys; and there's a chance that my own father won't see his grandkids either.

This brush with death is also different in the way my dad is dealing with it. His faith, his belief in the Lord, remains unshaken. And he is showing his talent for observation, and his ability to think clearly even in the most dire of circumstances. Even more telling is my dad's sense of humor, which -- despite being a leader in Couples for Christ -- is a bit earthy and "street." In the emergency room, a doctor asked him to show him two fingers with his left hand. So my dad gave him a thumbs up... and then gave him the middle finger, all the while laughing.

There's so much more I could talk about but there's really only one thing that sticks in my mind with complete clarity:

I was sitting in a chair outside the curtained area of my dad's bed in the ER. My mother was at his bedside holding his left hand in hers. She reached around his head with her right arm and leaned foward to kiss him and whisper in his ear. He said something to her. I couldn't hear either of them. But with my heart I could sense in that short moment the bond between my mom and dad. Those few seconds where their heads were close was a private, loving moment in the middle of markedly un-private location during a time of extreme stress.

Intellectually I know my dad loves my mom, and vice versa. But you don't see moments between your own parents like this very often, and I consider myself lucky that I could witness the manifestation of their love in the emergency room.

Posted by glenn at September 1, 2005 05:55 PM