I didn't expect to be posting another entry so soon, but I didn't expect a lot of things today.
Got a call shortly after I last posted. My daddy has been in the hospital the last few days with a kidney stone. The call was his wife (my stepmom, I suppose, though we'd never met) saying that he was getting moved to a big hospital in a City.
We went to visit him before he got moved out, my brothers and I. Mom drove us.
Oh, God, please heal him. I hope I never again see him looking like that. His eyes brimmed over with tears. By that I knew he was in pain. It was then I rememebered my father's almost pathological fear of hospitals and distrust of doctors; he would not have come in unless it was very serious indeed.
They have him on morphine. Morphine. I heard that and went numb. I tried so hard to cover my emotions, to be strong for him when he so obviously could not be strong for himself. I wanted so much to help. I have heard many times that morphine is not adminstered unless the patient is gravely ill, possibly near death. To hear that my father....
He said the stone is putting pressure on his heart and lungs. He's not getting enough oxygen, even with a line running into his nose. He could barely sit up when TJ wanted to give him a hug. A couple of times, he leaned back, eyes narrow and unfocused slits, and I got scared. He looked dead. Had I not recognised him as my father, you could have convinced me without much effort that he was a corpse in a movie. He was so pale, oh God, so very pale. His hair has gone white at the temples. He looks like an aging man. Certainly he is not young.
I'm scared for him.
My mind keep repeating iterations of oh dear God, you have to heal him, you can't take him away from me, I didn't want this to happen, you will not take him away and so forth. Mom clasped his hand and prayed aloud, something that bothered me. Obviously we're all praying for him: why draw attention to that? She did, at least, admit that he still meant a lot to her (after his wife had left the room).
TJ told Daddy that we all love him. I should have said that. I meant to. I wanted to. I was thinking it so hard, so very loud within my head. I didn't. I wanted to hug him, wrap my arms around him and clutch the two of us together as though God himself could not part us. I didn't. I don't know why.
God, you can't take him from me without him knowing that I love him. He has to know that I love him, that I never stopped loving him, and that I will always love him. I am his only daughter and he is my only father and you can't stop that. I have to tell him so he knows for certain that I love him, God; he can't die before he knows. He must think I'm so angry at him, and I have been. I've known for a few months now, though, that no matter what he does, no matter how upset he can make me, I will always love him. He's my daddy. I need my daddy, dammit. You can't take him away before I ever really had him. I won't let You!
All it would have taken would be a letter. I could have typed something up, printed something out, stuck it in his mailbox while I was in town visiting Mom. Why didn't I? Why is it so damn hard to tell him I love him?
....because I am my father's daughter. All his children have his nose, his height, his temper -- and his inability to say the words "I love you". Those three little words look so simple on paper and on screen, but they're a bitch to push out of my mouth.
Kinda like the motherfucking pain of trying to pass a kidney stone, I imagine. With luck and prayers, Daddy will get past the various obstacles. I hope I will too. I don't know if I could ever forgive myself if he would die before I get to tell him that I love him. He has to know. I can't let him leave forever thinking I hate him. Even if he gets through this health crisis fine, he is not a young man. Accidents happen every day, little things. There are no guarantees. He has to know.
In the meantime, please pray for my daddy: for his health, and for his spirit. Pray for his wife, who obviously loves him dearly. I see now that he couldn't have stayed with my mother, having the bond he has with his wife. It would not have been right. He did what he had to do, even though it hurt him, hurt my mom, hurt his kids. It would have been worse if he had tried to stay.
Pray for them, please, and if you feel so inclined, pray for me too. We could all stand a few good prayers on our behalf.
I love you always, Daddy.