My Dad

--> I am sure we all have a lot to say about Dad.  All of us have individual relationships with him, and I am pretty sure they all run very deep.  I am writing this because my dad is sick right now in the hospital.  Everyone I know needs to know that I think he is an amazing dad.  This is a personal letter and reveals many ugly things about me, but it does show that I cherish my relationship with my dad.

First off, as a child, I was way closer to Mom than to Dad.  Dad was always working and Mom was always home.  Mom always drove me places.  BUT, at some point, Dad recognized that I might be interested in being a doctor when I grew up.  Around the age of 12 (when we moved to Missouri), Dad would take me with him to the emergency room when he was on call.  The nurses would set up a stool behind them so I could watch from above as many surgical procedures occurred.  One time he pulled a piece of meat the size of a golf ball out of someone’s throat.  Another time, he drilled into the forehead of someone whose upper sinuses needed draining to avoid going blind from the pressure.  The most interesting one was a guy whose carotid artery kept bursting.  I think I saw two or three of this man’s surgeries.  Dad would fix the artery, then create a “flap” to cover up the artery.  

As a child, I also remember working for Dad’s office.  It was such fun to talk to Betty and Ken.  Ken used to “vacuum” my ears out once a week.  He would remove all the “boogers” in my ears.  I loved it.  There were also a couple of patient files that I loved to review, particularly the one with the guy who blew off his face with the rifle.  The dumb guy lifted his head back while attempting suicide.  He missed his brain.  Dad described to me in detail the conversation with him in the emergency room.  The guy had to sit up because he would drown in blood if he laid down. Oh, and the pictures!

Anyway, as I became more stupid (aged 16-29), Dad became a major player in my life.  When I lost Mom as my best friend, I struggled with who to turn to.  I didn’t even think of Dad.  So I “wandered.”  In my lost state, it was actually Carlos who told me that my father would be the best person to turn to when I needed help.  

This new relationship with Dad began as a “blind leading the younger blind” around.  We were both hurting and struggling with the betrayal of Mom.   I remember testifying at his divorce.

The next ten years, married to Carlos, were spent with me and Carlos trying to make a doomed marriage work.  I was not active in church.   As I moved from town to town, Dad always called the local ward to let them know of my presence.  He wanted me to have some contact with church members.  When my children were born, I had food brought to me, which was amazing. Relief society sisters made blankets for my babies.  But most importantly, in these 10 years, Dad called me every week.  I don’t remember much about the conversations, except that every week he asked me if I was going to church or if I had gone to church.  I always dreaded the question but answered with a smile saying, “sure Dad, I might go” or “Yeah, I thought about it but then I got busy. . .”.  He never failed in his duty as my priesthood holder to look over my spiritual well being.  I CANNOT ever thank him enough for his persistence.  As annoying as it was, I feel like it was my weekly nudge by the Spirit. 

At some point, I turned to Dad with the fact that, again, I needed help to get out of a marriage.  Bless his heart, Dad called me every day in South America.  He knew I needed to hear from him and talk to him.  I remember desperately waiting for it to be lunch time in Missouri, because that meant my dad was going to call me.  I could make it another 24 hours.  I didn’t ask him for these calls, but he knew.  He just knew.

Again, my Dad helped me home.  I couldn’t fly.  My fear of flying was so intense that even looking at an airplane on TV caused me to have a panic attack.  Dad figured out a way and found me a ship to bring me home.  It was my first cruise ever.  As sad as it was, I love cruising to this day.  It took me 7 days, and I mourned my lost children and marriage the whole way home.  But it was very healing.  Thank you, Dad.  I don’t think I ever paid you back =). 

As I have become human, my life is good.  In fact, my life is great.  Dad doesn’t call me every week anymore.  I stupidly don’t call him every week.  But he does call me.  And I do call him.  Most recently, when Paul’s kidney’s failed (11/2010), the doctors told me to call all the family to come into town because Paul was going to die.  I happened to be with 3 of my kids at the hospital.  At this moment, all of us where “shell-shocked” and wandered outside.  Separately, we wandered the parking lot on our cell phones calling the person who was going to help us through this grief.  Of course, the first person I call is Dad.  I cry to him and he comforts me yet again. 

My dad is my Rock.