Sitting in the ER Thinking About Toast

I am sitting in the ER with my dad.

This is our third visit trying to figure out what’s going on.

I want to be clear. This isn’t a negative reflection on healthcare workers. Every person we’ve encountered has been personable, caring, and kind. My dad usually goes through the VA, and his primary care is there. But right now, the VA can’t provide some of the services he needs quickly enough, so the ER becomes the option unless you want to wait… and sometimes waiting just isn’t something you can do. But that’s beside the point.

I am sitting here looking at my dad, and I can feel we are approaching a shift in both our lives.

Soon, I will become the caregiver. It's a role my sisters and I have played before with our grandma and our mom, but it doesn't make it any easier.

When my sisters and I helped care for our grandma, we had my mom leading us, and we were all together. When we cared for my mom, it was the three of us and of course dad. We rotated around the clock. We carried it together.

Now it’s just two of us.

My sister Jacque, the one Jolene and I always leaned on is no longer with us either. It’s been two years, and there are still moments it doesn’t feel real. It’s strange to go from a family of five… to four… to three… and now, signs of becoming two.

I find myself wondering about the day it becomes one.

What will that feel like for the one left alone.

The other night I watched the tv show, The Middle. There was a scene where Mike takes Sue on a college visit. He ends up asking her if he was a bad dad because he didn’t do the “big things”, like sprinkle pancake saturdays, no daddy daughter days.

Sue tells him he was the best dad.

She talked about the rocks he brought home because he thought she’d like them. Or, he was the one to always pump up her bike tires.

She remembers him showing up.

Working hard and being reliable.

He was a good dad for her.

So I sit here, looking at my dad, and I ask myself the same question:

What made him a good dad? Are the reason I have different than my sisters?

Maybe dads are good in different ways.

Maybe they’re good in different stages of their lives and their children's lives. I think my dad became a better dad after my mom passed away. He remembered birthdays, anniversaries and started to say "I Love You" more.

Maybe sometimes it depends on what space they’re given, who they parent with or how they know what to give?

I don’t remember my dad coming to many of my games. I remember looking up and always seeing my mom in the bleachers.

I don’t remember hearing “I love you” from my dad until I was almost 40. Prior to that I just assumed he did.

I don’t remember a lot of vacations or road trips with him. That was mom's gig.

But I remember other things.

He always went with camping.

He always made sure to kiss my mom goodbye every time he left the house.

He was always awake and ready before me.

He took his boots off by his chair every night.

He'd let me open his beer and take a sip of it whenever I would get him one and smile when I made a face.

He made sure we went to bed. He was the one that announced "bedtime".

He killed the bats that got into the house at night.

He helped me learn how to ride a bike.

He never yelled.

He got the snowmobile unstuck every time we girls needed help and never was upset about it. Even when it was just feet after the last time.

He was quiet.

He was frustrating.

He didn’t share his feelings.

But he came home every night.

He lived in a house with four women and never once complained.

And when my mom was gone some nights, he’d fry up potatoes and onions for us.

He never cut the crust off my toast, I don't even think he ever made me toast.

I guess my Dad and others can only give what they know how.

Love doesn't always look the way you expect it to. Sometimes it's not soft, it's not expressed with words or even shown by action.

Sometimes it's being steady. Quiet. Being home every night. Reliable and Routine.

Sometimes it's showing up every day even when you don't say much.

Sometimes it a fry pan with potatoes and onions.

Sometimes its the trusted hand on the bike seat holding steady.

Sometimes its never complaining about living in a house with four woman and one bathroom.

Showing love doesnt have to be cutting off the crust but going to work everyday to make sure there was bread so I could make toast.

He was a good dad to me.

People show their love in their own way and that just because I have a certain expectation of how to show love. It doesn't mean someone hasn't loved me the best that they could..

So I will just take what’s in front of me …

…and I will eat the crust.