My dad is in the hospital, admitted under a diagnosis of unstable angina.
Currently, he is awaiting an angiogram, and doing reasonably well.
I went up to visit him last night.
I decided to bring Payton with me, for some reason.
Her noisy chatter kept my company on the way there.
She's getting to an age where I almost want her with me for companionship, which is weird, in a way. Our children depend on us, but sometimes it goes the other way as well.
We got there and I bought her a chocolate milk and she seemed very satisfied with this.
I approached the information kiosk and asked for my dads room number, which- when you think of it- is very strange. I mean, I can't even practically get logged into his computer without knowing a dozen different passwords, but I can waltz right into his hospital room where he lays, vulnerable, attached to oxygen and machines.
I was surprised to learn that he was still in the Emergency Department, some twelve hours after he had arrived there. I looked at Payton, not sure whether a noisy six year old would exactly be welcomed into an already overflowing emergency department.
But off we went anyways.
And I'm always touched by the generous nature of others.
Well, except for the people that aren't, like the guy that nearly plowed us over in the parking lot.
At them I just get pissed off.
But I find that nine times out of ten, people are kind. Kinder than I would expect of them.
They would have reason to say "She can't be in here" of my rubber boot wearing, trudging kid.
But no one said this.
The nurse, probably tired and overworked, took the time to find coloring books and crayons for Payton.
She also brought her an ice cream cup.
We visited, and later my brother showed up.
It struck me as we stood there among the noisy beep beep of the monitors, how once upon a time- my dad took us to see our own grandparent in the hospital.
Trent and I were the kids.
My dad was the dad.
My grandpa was laying in the bed, to whom my dad, now approaching his (then) age, bears more than a passing resemblance to.
And my brother looks like my back then dad.
It seemed strange to see us moving up a generation. Kind of sad, but not entirely so. Bittersweet, I guess.
Time marches forward.
Later, Payton and I stepped outside to the cool fall air.
A single star shone in the sky.
"Let's make a wish!" Payton said.
So we stood, held hands, closed our eyes, made a wish.
When we got home I gave Payton her bath.
"Did Grandpa look freaky to you, with those wires on him and oxygen?" I asked her.
"Nah. Grandpa could never look freaky to me. He's my grandpa, and I love him."
I was so proud of her, even though in the end she couldn't quite bear to part with the picture she had made for him and ended up bringing it home and posting it above her own bed.
Anyways,I have to go now.
And no worries: re: my dad.
I know he can kick angina's ass.
That sounded dirty.
Well, anyways. Have a good day.