At Least They're Committed

My brother Dan just texted me. “Dad’s up at the archery course. It’s the anniversary. Four years?”

“Five!” I texted back.

Dad was at the archery course, alone at dusk, when it happened: numbness, gripping pain, erratic heartbeat. He was having a heart attack for an hour before the ranger, thinking it was awful late for the truck to still be there, found him. Dad was still far in, but his dog, Griz, ran to greet the ranger. Dad was saved.

My dad had written goodbye and I love you in the snow. While he was trying to get back to us, he sent out psychic messages to us. Still makes me cry.

At the hospital (I drove over four orange cones to get in the freakin’ parking lot having driven four hours and 230 miles to get there) Dan leaned in close to me and said, “Why didn’t I know?” Exactly the words that kept running through my mind, too. How can someone you love and are so tightly bonded to be suffering without you feeling anything? I’d run into Miss Lisa (my niece and his granddaughter) at the grocery store that night and we were laughing about something! How can I have been laughing as my dad was dying?

But of course he didn’t die and I did get his psychic message . . . seven months later, in July. I was in bed but not asleep. He walked in. I could see through him. He was so confused! I couldn’t move. I wanted to cry out to him, but I was paralyzed laying immobile in my bed. He told me he loved me, and goodbye. At last, as he turned to leave, I hurled my weight out of the bed, falling on the floor. He turned and saw me. He was so lost ; I stood, I picked him up and I said, “You’re OK, you’ll be OK, you took care of me all this time, now let me take care of you.” He was weightless, looking at his hands as I tucked him into my bed.

There was more to it than that; I won’t go into the entire “dream” or vision. But I will say I woke up screaming and sobbing and my husband had a hell of a time trying to get me to calm down. I stared at the phone, terrified of “the call” the rest of the night.

Thankfully, it never came. I couldn’t call my folks the next day. I couldn’t stop sobbing and would have been a basket case. I e-mailed Dan. “Seen Dad and Mom today? Had a bad dream last night.”

He e-mailed back. “Were just here. Excited about new trailer. Ignore dream.” My brother rocks! 

My grandpa (Dad’s father) died of a heart attack. My Uncle Bud (Dad’s uncle on his mom’s side) did too. We thought maybe the bad hearts were because that generation had smoked. Turns out, while it was a contributing factor in their deaths, the bad heart is genetic. I’ve checked. I didn’t get the gene.

I credit my dad’s survival in that hour to the fact he’s always taken excellent care of himself. He watched what he ate and exercised. He did a marathon at 55.

Yes, today is the fifth anniversary of my dad’s heart attack. So glad, so grateful he’s still around. I sure do love him bunches!