The first week of June 2014 my father died. My mother awoke in the living room from a nap on a quiet afternoon to my father gasping for air. As she dialed 911 he took his last breath and lost consciousness. The medics were at the house within a minute. A kind officer ushered my mom off to the kitchen with the words, "You don't need to see this."
Then she called me. She left a voice mail. I was asleep. It was the middle of the night Kuwait time.
For 30 minutes the medics performed CPR and used the defibrillator 6 times. Against all odds they were able to get a heart beat strong enough to transfer him via sirens-blaring ambulance to the ER down the street. They wouldn't let anyone see him. My mom had to wait in the waiting room with her wonderful friends. No one thought he would live.
He was just barely alive.
Then I got the call that woke me up. From our neighbor who was with my mom. She is a nurse. "Carol. You need to come. Your dad went into cardiac arrest, was able to to be tentatively stabilized, but he has not regained consciousness. You need to come."
I couldn't breathe. Literally.
My. Daddy.
I spoke with my mom for a moment and gave her my love and assured her I was on my way.
As Brad awoke and realized the circumstances he got on the internet and booked me a flight. It departed at 3am. Less than 3 hours to get to airport. I called my principal. I would miss the last week of school. It didn't matter.
My. Daddy.
Boarding the flight and preparing for 13 hours of disconnection from the world and news of my father I cried tears upon tears. My prayers were for peace. Peace for everyone. I didn't expect him to live. I came to terms with two potential realities for when I landed. He would either have passed before I arrived, or would be on life support. Essentially two shades of the same reality. I knew my dad loved me. I knew he knew I loved him. We were at peace with each other. But there is no peace in this kind of breath taking sadness. So, I wrote him a letter. A letter I anticipated whispering to him before the funeral. Then I slept.
Then I landed.
My brother met me at the airport. He had arrived earlier that day from Seattle.
My father was ALIVE! He had been transferred via ICU ambulance to the cardiac center at a nearby hospital. He was awake! He was breathing on his own! He knew who my mom and brother were! This was a whole different reality than I had expected.
My. Daddy. Alive.
I really have no adequate words to explain the emotions I had when I entered my father's ICU room and he knew who I was. Joy. Worry. ...... So much. All at once. What would the long term outcome be? How much damage had been done to his heart and brain? Would be able to live independently ever again? My mother!! How was she? And on and on.....
The next 5 days in the hospital with my father were a series of ups and downs. But, above all there were the miracles. He should be dead. He wasn't. IF he lived, he should be vegetative and on life support. He was neither vegetative nor on life support. He should have major cognitive problems. Other than a profound short term memory issue (expected and much better 9 months later), he was the same. His long term memory was fine. He had all his faculties about him. The electrical malfunction in his heart was remedied with the surgical implantation of a defibrillator. This specific cause of cardiac arrest would not occur again.
Then he went home.
My. Daddy. Alive. At home.
It was hard at first. My mom had to take on a whole new type of role in their relationship and there was no time to ease into the new responsibilities. But, she managed. Craig and I tried to assist in whatever ways possible. We were all balancing thankfulness, worry, and anxiety. I prayed. A. Lot.
After 10 days I flew back, with a calm heart, to Kuwait. Things with my dad were stable. He was continuing to improve. My mom was as stable emotionally as possible.
And. On Father's Day. I sent my dad an email of my letter I had tapped out on my phone somewhere across the ocean on my way to say goodbye to him. But, I didn't say goodbye. I said hello,
We still had more time. And, I cherish that time even across these some odd 6k miles. Counting the days until we move back stateside.
My. Daddy. Alive.
