Surgery...

Dad has been on the recovery trail for quite some time. He's improving daily, even among the setbacks. He now walks, and even has some use of his left hand.

Currently, one of those setbacks has to do with his gall bladder. It needs to go, so he's going under the knife. 4 days recovery in the hospital will go by in a snap of the finger. I look forward to his path again becoming unencumbered.

Head injuries do not make you any shorter.

The Jokester

Dad's sense of humor has improved greatly since the accident. I don't know if he's lost his ability to filter himself and he had this humor hidden away before, or if he's just being honest and I'm taking it as funny. He's a pleasure to be around.

He's doing well. He says he's not getting the sleep he needs, but i suspect he feels like he's just not waking up at 100%. It may never come, but I'm certainly hopeful it will.

I had a dream last night that he was driving. I can see it happening again, albeit a long way down the road (pun not intended).

Home again, home again...

He lit up. He was no longer lost. Suddenly everything was his... "Quit moving my table. What are you doing on my bed?"

The dogs showed the excitement that i was internalizing. They hadn't seen pop in almost six months. They licked his face. He let them.

Welcome home, pop.

Dad goes home today...

170 days.
5 months, 17 days.

Today he goes home. I'm headed to the hospital now to pick him up.

Chapter 2 begins.

And he hates boats...

going home...

I'm in tears. I can't help it.

Today I thought about the day dad's heart stopped.

I also thought about getting that phone call from mom. The only thing she said as i answered the phone with some non-sequitur witticism was "Eddie, This is serious. Your father fell." I knew it was more than that. Without any details, I immediately sent a simple email to all my immediate coworkers. "I just got the call. I'll be stepping out for the rest of the day."

I have memories of things i don't wish on even my worst of enemies.

Seeing him on that first day, in that first hour in the emergency room. His face bloodied and looking of fresh hamburger, i couldn't tell what was actually left of him. I could see teeth through his nose. Blood was caked on his ears marking the path of which it first poured. He was bound to a gurney, and being a big man myself i couldn't help but chuckle under my breath as I noticed his arms were only resting on the straps used to hold him down securely. I put my hand on his chest and leaned over to address him directly. "You've done well. If you need to go, we will be ok. I love you dad."

I remember the first words he said to me after regaining conciousness. "I need to take a shit."

Today, from the vantage of sitting in his wheelchair, i looked over at him on the couch at my mother-in-law's on this only fourth outing from the hospital since March 3rd. He was lying on his side, eyes closed, with his hand resting over the misshapen half of his skull. In less than two weeks he's going home. He's going home.

I just got a text message from my sister. She said, "Hello to you on this beautiful day!" How fucking corny. I'm crying again.

I think he's saying, "And that's why they call me big poppa."

P.S. I needed mention one other thing. He walked from the car, to the couch on his own with help from a single crutch and only guidance from me and Mom.

TJs

This weekend dad left the hospital for the first time (that I know). He went to Trader Joes, and Barnes and Noble.

He did well, considering his complaints otherwise.

You're getting there Dad. Stay strong.

Taking it easy...

He's slowly making progress. He's nowhere near the levels he was before the seizure, but isn't fighting the tests and exercise.

He's only answering yes or no questions, mostly with nodding. He's only said one thing without being solicited: "My head feels good."