Last Christmas, I don’t remember what I was doing.
I know I was at my house, and I know I was with my Mom, Dad, and sister. Sam and Lilly were there too.
We didn’t go anywhere because my Dad had been in an accident on December 1st. I try not to think about it, but at certain times I don’t have an option.
On December 1st, 2010, I got a call saying that my Dad was in the hospital.
On December 1st, 2011, I got a call from my Dad, saying he wanted to chat. I didn’t even realize what day it was. He told me it was a day of celebration.
All I could do was cry.
It’s a strange feeling when you know what you felt at a certain time, but it is too painful to even put your toe in the water.
One year ago today, I was sick. I’m pretty sure we were all sick in our own ways, but through all of it, my Dad was the one who surprised me the most.
He was the one who had to spend three months in the hospital, becoming rehabilitated and re-learning how to do household tasks. He should not have been trying to dig me out of my sickness.
But he did.
He stayed up late into the night, holding me until I felt better. He didn’t need to do that.
But he did.
My Dad is the strongest person I know. He’s gone to medical school, flown to Grenada to take care of the sick, dedicated hours to performing research that will one day save so many from disease.
He’s cared for my Mom through two pregnancies, raised two children, made life-shifting decisions (at least in my view), and cared through my Mom and our family through her breast cancer.
And then he cared for us when he was the one that needed the most care.
My Dad is my hero.
And that’s all I have to say about that.