Magic in the Making

This week has been a bit of a trial. It did not start with Monday, as you might imagine, but started with Tuesday when I sent a text to my niece, Amy, who was babysitting my brother's daughter. The conversation went like this:

Me: Are you on your own with the chipmunk today? Because maybe I'll come visit this afternoon. 

Amy: I am for the next few hours. They canceled their trip because Granddad had a heart attack...They're on their way back now.

Me: WHAT?

And that was how I learned that my dad had had a heart attack. The man turned 70 in February, for Pete's sake, so it's not unheard of, but like everything else heart attacks are things that happen to “other people.” At least that's what my dad said. 

“Older people?” I corrected him. 

“Other older people,” he agreed, with a slight eye roll.

True enough. When a seventy-year-old gardens, bikes, walks, and occasionally runs, fixes anything that needs fixing in his own home and the seven rental units he owns (not to mention the odd fix-it project of any of his six children), and still finds time to visit, serve, and uplift others, that's not the type of person you expect to become seriously ill. And neither does he.

But, when you have a penchant for cookies dunked in anything (yes, water will do) and any type of salty bagged crunchable item, some health issues are understandable. Especially if you've reached your seventies without encountering many before then.

In true dad fashion, he's still cracking jokes about taking his handy-dandy cutters to the numerous wires hooking him to a roomful of machines on Day 1 (to which the nurse chuckled and counseled him not to do so or the entire occupancy of the nurse's station would flock in like a pack of mother birds) or how it felt like While You Were Sleeping where everyone kept visiting when he was napping on Day 2.

If I have a quirky sense of humor, this is indeed the man to blame. And let's go ahead and blame him for my sweet tooth while we're at it. Amy had a story to tell about that too.  Apparently, when the grandkids would stay with them in the summer, he'd wake them up for late night snacktime after my mom had retired for the night. When I asked him if he really did that his reply was an exuberant, “Well, of course I did!” The man has no shame.

Anyway, we love him and are exceedingly glad that he is recuperating so quickly. After being admitted on Tuesday, he was released after Thursday.  He was too good-natured to whine about it, but we all know he'd rather recover at home than in a hospital.

As a family, we have been overwhelmed with the outpouring of love, support, and faith on his behalf. We are truly astounded. And we are seeing what others might call magic or good fortune and which we recognize as daily miracles.

For more about my amazing dad and some of the lessons he taught me, revisit Plot Twist! and as always, thanks for stopping by!