Dear Dad

My days continue to pass with little unseen stress in the world of academia. Although tests take their place among my Google Calender like mini-obelisks vying for my attention, my mind remains hard to restrain from other tasks. This week all I thought of was my dad.

An outpatient surgery is really quite minor in the grand scheme of things. My father’s eyes have constantly been an issue so it wasn’t a surprise when I first heard he needed some work done. Despite my outer confidence though, a deep fear nestled itself in my chest. I have a great deal of trust in the medical system if you play the cards right, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have my moments.

Seeing my dad in a hospital gown is not an image I care to remember. Minor as the surgery was, it was just so distasteful to my senses to see the man (and machine) that was my father in any sort of weakness or distress. The man rarely gets sick and rarely takes holidays. His work ethic is solid and I am convinced that when he puts his mind to something he’s unstoppable.

But seeing him in that gown planted an unsettling seed. He’s not as unstoppable as I’d like to believe. ¬†Watching my mother, her arms folded and holding sentry over him, only sent my heart higher up my throat.

This is such a cliche post, but made me think about what nearly every son has to go through at one point or another. When he stopped wrestling with me while I was growing up I felt I was finally strong enough to be his son. Now, seeing him in that gown made me doubt if I’ll ever be strong enough to take care of him in the future.

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