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.