My dad is not the president. He is not a rock star or a newscaster or a nuclear physicist.
He’s just a man. He’s my father.
And that’s all I’ve ever wanted to needed him to be.
And I love him more than I could ever love any president, rock star, newscaster or nuclear physicist. Or anybody else.
That’s why I’m driving 8.5 hours to Chicago tomorrow. So I can see him safely into the skilled hands of the cardiac surgeon and his staff Monday morning. So I can wait for word of the outcome of his bypass surgery with my family. So I can watch him wake up after the successful heart repair is completed. And so he can see me.
I will not be able to stay long. But I will be in frequent contact with Mom and Greg and Amy, with the nursing staff, and when he’s able, Dad. And I’ll be back next weekend, after he comes home from the hospital to check on him and do what I can to help Mom and Greg and Amy out.
I want to do more. I am divided by distance and family obligations, but I will do my best to help him with his recovery.
But he’s a strong man. He will work hard and he will be back to better-than-normal before Thanksgiving. I’m so glad he chose to have the surgery. His dad didn’t, and he died way before he should have. Dad’s already bought four years by getting nine coronary stents. He’ll be buying another twenty Monday.
Thanks, Dad, for choosing to be around for a good long time. Forever wouldn’t be long enough.