Boston Bound
AKA Landing: I found the dentist’s appointment card while rummaging through my pocketbook on October 29th. I was cleaning it out in preparation for my trip to Boston to visit my father in the hospital. The card said my next cleaning would be March 20. Isn’t that my dad’s birthday? The first day of spring? Will he still be here then? I wondered as my heart sank.
Everything was moving too fast. Even the sun moves across the sky fast this time of year, making the hours in a day short, and the pace of my trip preparation frantic. But I didn’t mind. I was trying to hold onto every last bit of normalcy. I felt safe in the daily routines of my life, even if packing added some extra work. I worried about what I would find in Boston and knew that once my plane landed there that my life might never be the same. The hospital staff had told my family that my father needed surgery to repair a broken neck vertebra, which he sustained in a recent car accident. At that point, a ventilator was breathing for him, and he was being tube fed. We were beginning to fear a worse case scenario and were gravely concerned about him undergoing surgery at his age (81) and in his condition.
On my last day home, one of the last things on my to-do list was to plant the 8 daffodil bulbs that I had recently bought at the Garden Center. Last year, I planted tulips and held a few aside, hoping to plant them the following year, once I had a better idea of where I wanted them. But when this year came along and I opened the brown bag of tulips bulbs, I found that they had crumbled to dust. I didn’t know how long I’d be in Boston. The ground might be frozen by the time I get home. I might really need to be cheered up this spring, I thought while digging in the garden.
Everything I did on that last day had a sense of intention and permanence to it. I learned when I lost my brothers, Jim and Dan, 4 years ago that the last few weeks of someone’s life might as well be set in stone because those are the memories you will play in your mind, over and over. Will my dad still be here when these daffodils bloom was all I could think of as I buried them.
If he wasn’t, I knew that daffodils wouldn’t be enough to cheer me up.
The Good News Update: My dad was transferred from the regional hospital he was in to the New England Medical Center, where, according to their reassessment of his condition, it was determined that he would not be operated on. When I saw him Saturday, he was breathing on his own, and we were all feeling more encouraged and hopeful for his eventual recovery.
October 31st, 2005 9:46 am
another good post…just like the J & D stories you are letting it out as it unfolds…filtered through your gifted meaning making descriptive writing. ebjoy the visual of feet on the beach too. can feel the cold texture of that sand.
October 31st, 2005 10:41 am
Colleen, I’m so happy that this news is good! I’ve just come from stopping by at Kathy’s blog and was thrilled to read this … but OH MY GOD I cannot believe she’s now in a brace! As I suggested to her, you folks all need to stay indoors for the next month or so. 🙂
It’s nice having you closer (Boston) … I’ll bet your doing a bit of catching up with the rest of the family.
Best wishes to your dad … What wonderful news!
October 31st, 2005 12:23 pm
Oh Colleen, My heart aches for you and your family. I understand the stress your family is living with. It is with relief that I read that your Dad is breathing on his own and is not requiring surgery.
Hugs to you all.
Stay strong.
October 31st, 2005 4:04 pm
I am so glad to hear that he is doing better. sending good thoughts your way.
October 31st, 2005 7:33 pm
Whew! Best wishes to your dad–and all your family. Next Spring will you post a picture of him among your tulips, please.
October 31st, 2005 8:09 pm
You are in my thoughts, and so is your daddy.
October 31st, 2005 9:41 pm
That IS good news Colleen and I know you must be somewhat relieved. I hope you will find him getting better by the hour. When the daffodils bloom, you will be reminded how much you love your Dad. A friend gave me some lily bulbs when my Dad was ill and everytime they bloom, they remind me of him.
October 31st, 2005 9:46 pm
Great news, I know you are so relieved. Now he can really have fun with the nurses. Hopefully he will be able to get up and going with a neck brace or something. Have a wonderful time visiting.
October 31st, 2005 11:10 pm
Still thinking of you, sending encouraging thoughts eastward.
November 1st, 2005 12:27 am
{{{Hugs}}} — I’m very glad to hear your dad is breathing on his own. Keeping you all in my thoughts and prayers.
November 1st, 2005 10:42 am
We’re so glad to hear the news, Colleen. Keep us posted.
November 1st, 2005 5:12 pm
I tried to call my dad on his new cell phone as I promised you but got a strange message about calls not being forwarded. So I called my sister and left a message, then I called my brother home phone hoping both Sis and Dad were still there and left a message and still no one has called me. My family is strange fruit!
November 2nd, 2005 7:10 am
I’m glad to hear your dad is doing better. This is a beautiful post.
November 2nd, 2005 11:03 am
I don’t know how I missed this post, but I’m very glad to hear your Dad is doing better!