My Dad

With everything that is happening with my dad, I suddenly have an urge to talk about him. And since it's like 5 am, this is the only outlet that I have.

My dad, where to start. He's 72, for those good at math yeah that means that he was 41 when I was born. I was the second son for my parents, but he didn't last but a few months in this world. Mom and Dad never really talk about it, so I assume the worst. Dad took a job overseas after it happened and he and Mom spent most of the 60's in Trinadad. He was with the embassy there. Again, he never really talks about that either so what I know is what I've heard from Mom. (He's never really talked about himself at all. I only found out that he was a AAA first basemen here in Canada when I got his invite to the team reunion. But thats Dad.)

In the time they were their, the country had 3 revolutions, dad was taken hostage at least once, mom was trained on submachine guns by the RCMP /CIA for her own protection. They watched 3 or 4 freinds die, shot by rebels at the gates of the embassy, drown etc. They went to the diplomatic parties and ate with the president often as his son was dad's best friend.

When Mom got pregnant, they came back to Canada to have a family. That was down east in Toronto, but after I was born I spent 2 years in Toronto Sick Kids, and they had to give it all up and move back west. During that time, dad lost his dad to cancer. So we moved. and moved and moved. Governments had this rule then that you either had the choice of changing jobs, or be promoted and moved. After I got to school, dad started turning down promotions so that we could stay were we where. He retired as a Project manager after 35-40 years with the feds. Mom often says that if he had stayed with the diplomatic core, he would have been an under sect or assistant ambassidor by then.

So after he retired, he managed to stay home for 2 years before he drove himself nuts. He then decided to return to the work force as, get this, a long haul truck driver. And he's been doing that every since.

That is until January 24th, when I say the man I've seen literally lift my frist car (88 Colt) turned into a shadow of his former self. He had an anurism on the 23rd but refused to go see a doctor until the morning of the 24th. They tell us that he should have been lucky to live 2-3 hours after it ruptured but he managed to survive nearly 24 before they even had him in the OR. And he's been sedated in ICU ever since. HE's finnaly this week gotten enought strength to sit up.

Right now all I hear is the advice he gave me just before I got married. That I need to treat that girl as the most precious thing in my life, and that if I ever hurt her, He'd make sure that I never hurt anyone again. And he meant it. When Michelle cheated and left, it hit him so hard that he didn't really talk for a week. And we still don't talk about her, him and I.

Today I found out that he had had a stroke at some point in the past. That really hits home, because his father refused to die without seeing his grandson. I hope that dad can do the same.

God, we don't talk much since he left, and I know you hate alot of this I do, but let him see his grandson someday. Thats the only prayer I have left in me.

I'm drained, so I think it's time to sleep....

(PS A - I fear alot of failures, but not in prose. Only in life and love)