Second Chance.

This past weekend, I received that dreaded phone call in the middle of the night that everyone fears. The kind where you know immediately that something terrible just happened. Tired and disoriented, I reached for the phone and was told that my father had a massive heart attack. My husband was out of town and luckily my son was sleeping at my moms for the night. So there I was, alone at 1AM not sure whether my father was dead or alive.

My brother came to pick me up and we drove in silence for 40 minutes to the hospital. Whatever energy I had, it went towards reassuring the terrified voices in my head that everything was going to be fine. I called upon my angels to protect my father and give me the strength in my legs to face him. I know most people don't enjoy an emergency situation and given the choice would avoid hospitals at all costs. But for some reason when I enter a hospital and smell the scent of stale coffee, disinfectant and fear, I tend to drop faster than boobs after childbirth.

I remember a few years ago my husband woke me up in the middle of the night because he had excruciating pain coming from his eye. With good intentions, I began looking inside his eye to try and figure out the problem. Within 15 seconds I started seeing black dots and hearing the "wha wha wha" sound every time he spoke.  The tables quickly turned and my half blind husband who was suffering from a scratched cornea, was now trying to keep me from passing out.

Since giving birth and having a few surgeries and miscarriages, I've been forced to get better at dealing with hospitals. Having basically every doctor and intern violate you in 20 different ways will do that for you. But walking in that night not knowing what I was going to see, was no easy task. Luckily, my dad was awake and cracking jokes in his usual warped way. (Now you know where I get it from!)

After a long 48 hours, he's now home from the hospital and doing well. We have his good eating habits and diligent exercise regime to thank for that.  But the two strikes that he has against him are genetics and the fact that he smokes. As a non-smoker, to me it's a no brainer that he would do everything in his power to quit. But I'm not convinced that he will. And this worries and angers me to the core.

Even though I've said my piece and given him "the lecture", trying to convince a smoker or any "addict" to stop is like expecting any celebrity sent to prison to serve their full sentence. So instead of wasting my breath and getting frustrated about the situation, I'm working on developing some compassion and understanding.

Naturally, I want my father to be around for a long time. And in my eyes, this heart attack was a major wake up call. But at the end of the day, it's his life. He gets to choose how to live it, not me. My hope was that this incident would scare him to want to make some major lifestyle changes. But, that's my hope. And unfortunately, it's not about me. So I am going to be mindful of his struggle and respectful of his choices. Even if I don't always support what those choices are. Lord knows he's supported many of my wacky endeavors over the years (1996-2006 come to mind.) 

What this traumatic event taught me was that life can change in an instant. So it's important to spend the time you have with your loved ones in a positive, peaceful way. Not trying to control every move and decision they make. Make the most of your moments together and pray that you'll all be around for a very, very long time.