A Celebration

This one's a little atypical for me, but it is from the heart (no pun intended) and a little lengthy, so bear with me....

It is hard to believe it has been nine years since that transformative evening in February....I am so incredibly humbled by the faithfulness and blessings that were poured over my family during that night and the days that followed.

I still remember looking at my cell phone as it rang at 2 in the morning....I knew there was something wrong but I couldn't imagine what it was. I answered, Mom asked if I was alone. I told her yes. She said that I needed to be with someone....I didn't understand what she meant. My incredible friend and roommate, Lauren, was down the hall in the bathroom dorm brushing her teeth. We had been out for a typical college freshman's Saturday night and we were just getting ready for bed. Lauren came back in the room...I told my mom that I was no longer alone and I still remember her words...

"Your daddy's had a heart attack." I hung up. I didn't understand or want to believe. I told Lauren, "My dad's had a heart attack." She grabbed my hand and told me I needed to call my mom back.

I called her back and told her I was sorry for hanging up. She said I needed to gather some things and come back to Tulsa as quickly as possible but she didn't want me driving. I looked at the clock and asked,"Can't I come home in the morning?" My mind thought, people have heart attacks all the time and they are fine. And Dad was only 44. It couldn't be that bad. She told me no. I needed to come immediately. I knew it was bad then. I called my then boyfriend and asked if he could drive me back to Tulsa that night. Lauren and a good friend, Kari, said they'd come too.

I threw some clothes in a duffel bag and ran downstairs to meet my then boyfriend. He told me we needed to go. I remembered a black dress up in my closet that I had worn for Rush earlier that year. I remember telling him I needed to go back upstairs and get the black dress. I was crying. He knew what I meant. He held me sternly and told me, "You don't need that dress. There isn't going to be a funeral." Although that then boyfriend and I aren't really close anymore, those words still ring in my ears. It was the most comforting thing I would hear for a while.

We headed out of town when we realized we didn't have enough gas to make it to Tulsa. We stopped at the one gas station along the way and I went to get some coffee knowing I wouldn't sleep that night. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn't put the lid on the coffee. The night clerk noticed and asked if I was ok. I told her no. I wasn't. My friends helped me with the coffee lid and got me back to the car. I don't remember much else of the car ride home.

Getting coffee on the way to the hospital to see Dad has now become a tradition, if you will. Sadly, he's there probably more than he should be, but we all have our routines. I always stop to get coffee now when I hear he's back in. I am getting much better at putting the lids on.

I don't really remember how we made our way to the private family waiting room, but my 14 year old sisters were already there. Dad was in the "cath lab." I still didn't grasp what was happening. I still remember what mom was wearing. I still remember looking at my yellow backpack I had brought and playing with the plastic turtle I had pinned on it. Mom wouldn't tell me the whole story. I knew she wasn't telling me everything but I didn't push her. My mom and I are practically the same person and I understood what she was doing.

I remember my extended family showing up from Wichita, wide-eyed and full of hugs. I remember our music minister from church showing up in the middle of the night. I remember our head minister showing up early in the morning...it was Sunday....he was headed to lead the services for that morning, but stopped by to lead us in prayer. I remember our extended family gathering in the waiting room, holding hands and praying. I remember my grown uncle, a second father to me, breaking down in tears. I remember getting the word that Dad was out of the cath lab and in CICU.

I remember moving to the CICU waiting room. There is not a worse place in the hospital, in my opinion, than an ICU waiting room. Each family has their own little "corner." You get to know each family's story....and you have to watch each family's highs and lows. It is brutal. They don't turn the lights out in there ever. You can't sleep. You can't use your cell phone. And you can't see your own ill family member until you get approval. And you can only go in two at a time.

I remember when they said I could see Dad. My uncle went with me. There were tubes everywhere. He was gray. There was blood all over his mouth. I remember breaking down and saying that's not my dad. My uncle led me out of the room, held me and let me cry.

There are so many more stories that came out of the next three days while Dad stayed in the coma. To abbreviate, Dad had a massive heart attack in the car on the way to the hospital. Mom says the sound he made still haunts her. She is by far the bravest woman I know.

They shocked him 16 times to get him to come back. He was flatlined for about 30-45 minutes while they worked on him. When Dr. Mary Thompson finally got him back, Dr. Freedman scolded her and told her she had brought back a vegetable. My mom told Dr. Freedman that "She liked broccoli. She could live with cauliflower. You do what you have to do Doctor, and I will do what I have to do." Again, the bravest woman I know.

Friends and flowers and food and family poured over us during this time. It was incredible. I remember my mom and I taking turns breaking down and staying strong.

I remember Valentine's Day when my father awoke. I remember the nurse coming into CICU saying, "He is talking about golf and hanging Christmas lights."

"That's Dad!" We all exclaimed. When they let my sisters and I in to see him, the first words out his mouth were, "I am going to be here to walk you girls down the aisle." His voice was strained and raspy. His eyes were so blood shot and there were burn marks from the paddles all over his chest. But it was Dad. I still tear up remembering.

The rest of the three weeks he was in the hospital are a blur. I missed all of my midterms that semester. I had to withdraw from one, stupid French class. But Dad is still here. He is still alive and while he may have a bum heart and a pacemaker/defib in his chest, he is still the same Dad. The same Dad who became the patriarch of our family at a young age, the same Dad who held his promise and walked me down the aisle, the same Dad who sees the good and celebrates every little God-given moment of life.

So many of my favorite hymns are racing through my head today. Great is Thy Faithfulness and the Doxology are currently playing in my mind.

Tonight, we celebrate life. Happy "Birth"day, Dad. I love you.