A Daddy story for his birthday

Man, it was tough to come up with a daddy story, because there are so many. 

I think today I’ll talk about my daddy’s voice, though, because it’s… immense. Deep and growly and loud. I don’t think Daddy’s ever said a single thing in a whisper, not ever. Daddy lives his life in a shout, right out loud. I’ve heard it in sorrow, in fury, in laughter. I have heard it raised in anger in an argument, I’ve heard him gentle horses, make babies laugh.

One very special day, the day after my stepmom died, I sat in a truck and we sang “If We Can Make It Through December” together and we cried. 

You haven’t lived until you’ve heard my daddy sing, “GOOD MORNING TO YOU! GOOD MORNING, I LOOOOOOOOOOVE YOU! GOOD MORNING TO YOU!” at the top of his lungs at dawn when he’s decided you’ve slept enough, thank you very much. 

He answers the phone with “Squires”, and I always know if calls someone else baby on the phone he’s either taking to my sister Tiffy or my Aunt D. 

We almost lost his voice in March. It’s different now — deeper, huskier, not quite the daddy-sound that I grew up with, but it’s still him, it’s my daddy, just altered the barest bit. Getting old sucks, but it’s better than the alternative.

My daddy told me once that his dad, my grampy, never said “I love you” out loud. Daddy knew Grampy loved him, but I can say that I have never spoken to my daddy once that he hasn’t told me, “I love you” when we parted — in person, on the computer, on the phone. I’ve never doubted, but he wants to make sure I hear it, that’s it’s always the last thing he’s said to me, just in case.

Happy birthday, Daddy. 

I love you.

BA

One Hell of a Spring

So, it’s been one hell of a spring. Between my daddy having a stroke, traveling to Florida and then to see him, and less than a month later finding out that I had a major blood clot in my left leg which blocked the blood flow to my toes, type I diabetes, and a blocked carotid, things in my life have changed drastically. The man my heart said was invincible proved not to be and my stupid body… Argh!

Daddy’s in rehab. He doesn’t sound like him anymore. I worry about him, every day.

Mornings used to be 4-6 cups of coffee and eggs and bacon. Now mornings are 10 pills, an injection, oatmeal and one cup of java. 

I have two toes that may or may not have to be amputated. The big toe looks… less scary than the baby toe.

Then there’s 4 pills for lunch, 4 pills for supper, 2 at bedtime and another 4 injections and 3 blood sugar monitor pokes. 

The diet has changed. The rules have changed. Everything has changed and I feel a little like I’m just struggling to catch up. My carotid is 70% blocked (interestingly on the same side and weird placement as Daddy’s and the doctors wouldn’t have known to look if he hadn’t had his stroke) and the doctor is going to wait for me to have a little stroke before doing the surgery. I had to get a medic alert bracelet that said stroke risk.

Every time I go into the cardiac care unit they say, “But you’re so young.” Then they look worried.

I’m worried.

Shit, I’m not worried, I’m scared. We’re self-employed, we write for a living. We write happy endings and I’m trying to work around all the emotions swirling around my brain (and a lot of the possible endings aren’t happy).

I keep telling myself I have a wife and family that loves me, good doctors, a job that I love. I have been reliably informed that I am the most stubborn human being alive, so if I say I’m going to follow what we call the “don’t have a stroke” diet, I will.

I believe in happy endings. 

I believe I can do this. 

Even if I still want more than one cup of coffee a day.

;-)

Much love, y’all.

BA