Hard to fathom...

...that it's been a week since my dad had his triple bypass. I was reminded just now that I have left a bit of a cliffhanger on my blog. So here's a little update. He came through the surgery fine. The folks at the hospital refer to it as their "big save," which is kind of sobering, but who can argue with outcomes. They say there was no damage to the heart muscle, and he should be better than new once he's recovered from the insult to his chest.

So far he seems to be doing well - he's been up and about to read stuff on the Interwebs, but thus far hasn't felt motivated to actually type anything. He blames the pain meds. Not a completely implausible explanation - I remember being pretty thoroughly demotivated after my wrist surgery and feeling kind of guilty about it, but fortunately he's not beating himself up over it.

Anyway, we're here for the rest of the day, and then back to Tucson. Sigh.

Timing...

This is going to sound really maudlin when my dad reads it in the morning. But that'll be okay, because then he'll make fun of me. I feel like I spend a lot of my life firmly insulated from the truth. What's going on, how I actually feel about what's going on, like that.

Right now my dad is in an operating room having a triple bypass. And so the last time I talked to him, earlier today, could have been the last time that I ever get to talk to him. Or I could get to see him next week and help to cheer him up, because I'm sure he's going to be in a lot of pain from the surgery. And I don't know which of these two outcomes is what will actually happen.

So I sat down to meditate, because what the hell else is there to do right now? It seems dishonest to try to insulate myself from this situation. Fuck, it seems dishonest even to type this, when I read it back - maybe it's not the right thing to type right now. I'm just typing what's going through my head.

Anyway, when I sat down to meditate, I just started thinking about moments in my life with my father. He wasn't always nice to me when I was a kid. But it's a funny thing, and I tested this to be sure it was true. There isn't a single memory I can bring up about my father that doesn't just make my heart fill with love for him. Not a single one.

So I'm voting for outcome number two. Too bad I don't get a vote.

Update

Just to be clear, my father was nice to me a lot when I was a kid. Just not always. I don't want to give the wrong impression with my stream of consciousness...