Tears of Joy

Okay, they weren't my tears this time. And he wasn't crying out of joy. But seeing his response to what I was saying made me joyful.

Let me explain. Due to the PEG procedure I mentioned yesterday, I was unable to visit with Dad this morning. They took him from his room around 6:30 AM. Mom was up at the crack of dawn and able to see him beforehand. The procedure was scheduled for 8:00 AM and didn't take any longer than the 20-30 minutes the doctor estimated previously. Mom called to assure me that he was fine before lunch.

In keeping with my attempt to "normalize" my life again, I didn't visit him at lunch.

I had a rather eventful day. Sort of along the lines of that saying "be careful what you wish for, you just might get it." On the way out the door, I had that familiar urge. Nothing out of the ordinary, something I've done on many occasions previously. I wanted to call Dad and talk about my day.

That served as a quick reminder of my next destination. I needed to stop by and see him on the way home. Awake or asleep, I decided to talk with him anyway.

I was pleasantly surprised to find him awake when I arrived. Awake, alert and watching me enter the room. He had the sheet and blanket pulled up to his chin and was still clearly cold. I searched around the room until I noticed the wall unit blowing cold air into the room. I turned it down, talking with him the entire time.

I was even more surprised to gauge his obvious understanding of what I was doing. I seized the opportunity and proceeded to talk about my day. So, let's put this in perspective; he's recovering from a massive stroke and subsequent brain surgery, and he's still playing Dad. He's focusing intently on what I'm saying, smiling where appropriate, obviously understanding the story as I relay it to him.

Not wanting to waste any of this time, I continued to talk. I told him about the blog. About my initial attempts to reconcile my feelings with what was happening and how it migrated into a tool to communicate his condition with all those that are following his story. I went on to talk about an email from a cousin. An email that offered prayers and love, and confidence that he would be back with us soon.

That's when he cried.

I was prepared for almost anything, but I wasn't prepared for that. In hindsight, I feel terribly inconsiderate. How else should he feel? Why shouldn't he be sad, or frustrated or depressed? But that's just it. He hasn't shown any of that emotion until now. He hasn't shown that level of comprehension as it relates to his situation or the seriousness of his condition until now.

I know it sounds bad, but his tears of sadness were my tears of joy. Joy to know that he's aware, joy to know that he's understanding, joy to know that he won't accept his situation as it is.