My Dad

It has been seven years since my dad unexpectedly passed away. 

It has been seven years since I felt the awful pang of a broken heart.  I wondered if I could survive his loss.  The images of watching him die among other terrible images haunted me for a long time.

My dad was cute.  His death was ugly. He died of a pulmonary embolism.  I watched him gasping for breath .. . a horrible, horrible sight.

My dad was kind.  The treatment he received in the hospital was cruel. 

It was seven months AFTER my father died that I suffered a terrible medical error that landed me in the I.C.U. on life support---anethesia had gotten into my lungs and I went into respiratory failure. 

As I gasped for breath, the horrible images of my father's death resurfaced as the doctors and nurses fervantly worked to save my life. 

It was while I was strapped to the gurney, with a machine breathing for me that I "was with" my father again.  I felt his warm presence in my sterile I.C.U. room.  He was with me---not in body, but in spirit. 

I have since felt his presence from time to time . . . I especially feel him when I am sick.  That horrible medical error left me with permanently damaged lungs and I require supplemental oxygen to live.  Who else can empathize with how it feels not to be able to breathe? 

Even though my father is not physically with his family . . . he is still taking care of us.  He is still cute.  He is still kind. 

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.