Wednesday, July 22, 2009
I know it doesn't do any good to worry but we do it anyway. I watched my mom worry herself sick my whole life. It's perfectly understandable, though, when you lose your eight year old son (he was hit by a car). Now that I'm a mom I can understand more. I lost my own son to Trisomy 18 which made me face the fact that I am not exempt from loss and tragedy.
Since I was little, writing has helped me through many things. I have a notebook full of poems from second grade to the first several years of my marriage. Some are silly, some are sad, and many were written for old boyfriends and then Hubby. Whatever the reason for writing the poem, I always felt better after putting it on paper.
Tonight (actually last night), I find myself turning to writing yet again. As many of you know I pretty much write every day. Sometimes it's just to let you know what's going on with my weight loss, to share something funny, or just some random thing that's happened. But sometimes what I write it is just for me. To get things out. To vent. Not to anyone in particular but just to get it off my chest.
This is one of the need-to-get-something-off-my-chest times. I'm worried. Not about my kids but about their Bubby*, my dad.
Daddy has never really taken care of himself but trudges through life nonetheless. Once upon a time he actively played tennis until he broke his ankle. I think his idea of a diet is eating smaller portions of potato chips. Exercise is walking outside to take the dog out to poop.
Today is Dad's birthday (70th I think) and I was going to take my four kids over to see him. I called my mom last night and she told me he's going to see an intestinal specialist today so maybe we should come another day. I could tell she was worried but tried not to show it. My parents are one of those lucky couples who have managed to stay married over forty years. They've had bumps along the road but stuck them out.
Last night a little voice inside my head said, "He's got to go sometime." A big booming voice yelled, "NO! I'M NOT READY!" I'm so pitiful. But really, who is ready to lose their parent? I'm blowing this all of proportion right now. I'm sorry for the randomness of this but what's going through my head is what's pouring onto the keyboard (the top few paragraphs I wrote in my notebook last night). He's just going to see a doctor. A specialist. Simple appointment. That's it. Nothing to get worked up about. But I can't help it.
Anyway, for those of you who read this and pray, I'd appreciate it if you could say a little prayer for our family. For those of you who don't pray, I'd appreciate positive thoughts thrown our way. There are 3 daughters, a wife, two sons-in-law and eight grandkids who love their dad, husband, and Bubby very much.
*When my oldest nephew, who is now 16, was about 2 Dad (Grandpa) was playing with him saying, "Chubby bubby, chubby bubby." Then Dad said, "You be chubby and I'll be bubby." Somehow it stuck!