To preface what I call “the incident” you need to know my Dad has woken up with me every work week morning I have been living in their house. I have told him on numerous occasions that he didn't have to. “Sleep in,” I would say to him. However, to know Dad is to know he would not ever heed my advice. More often than not he was up before me, quietly opening my bedroom door to take my dogs, Kane and Loki, out and feed them while I jumped in the shower to get ready for work. Spoiled, some would say. I didn’t view it that way and neither did he. Besides, it was in his nature to be up early, to constantly be doing something, to help out whenever he could, however he could. I suppose if ever there was a restless man I knew, it was Dad. Mom always stayed up later than Dad at night and as a result she was always sleeping during these mornings Dad and I had together. Over the last couple of years I came to so thoroughly enjoy these quiet respites with him. He would get up, help with the dogs, grab a cup of coffee and turn on the TV, usually flipping between either the local news, FOX News or the Weather Channel. Everything about the weather interested him. He became my weatherman and I came to rely on him to tell me what the forecast was going to be that day, the highs and lows, the humidity and wind, the rain, snow, sleet or sunshine to be expected. We would talk about the upcoming day and what was on the agenda for them, what we were having for dinner that night, minuscule minutia of ordinary proportions. It was a time I treasure.
The morning of the incident, January 2, 2013 I remember waking up thinking how much I did not want to get out of bed. It was wicked cold outside and I was snug as a bug in a rug to coin an archaic phrase. Strangely enough though, the last week or so I had been getting up before Dad and so despite me wanting to stay in bed, the dogs and I jumped up and started our morning routine. Kane, my oldest dog was aging and suffered from incontinence now and again. As a result the morning ritual with them had reversed, they went outside first and then were fed. It was in the single digits that Wednesday. The kind of snot freezing cold that Maine winters are known for, minus the usual winter wind on this particular morning. The dogs quickly finished up their business and back inside we went. Even they didn’t like it this cold. As I was feeding them I could hear Dad shuffling around in the dining room. Their house had a couple of quirky little things to it, one being the dining room used to be a bedroom so as a result that’s where Dad’s closet was. While in the kitchen, all of a sudden I heard a crash. I said, “What fell?” There was no answer. I quickly went into the dining room and saw Dad lying on the floor between the bay window and the table, a tight spot to have fallen in between. It was a surreal scene. He was trying to pull himself up by the corner of the table with his left hand and he was mumbling. At first I thought he had just hit his head and like when you get the wind knocked out of you and can’t speak right away, he was just disoriented. Then I noticed his right hand was not moving, nor his right leg. I asked him just nod your head can you speak? He shook his head, he could not. In the moment that this had happened my mom woke up, startled by the fall. By the time she walked into the room, I had already changed my opinion about what happened, what was happening and knew he was having a stroke. I called 911. It was 5:40 am.
Heartbreaking storytelling.
ReplyDelete