7am. Friday, June 4th. I get a call from my Mom. Dad has had a heart attack. Horrific, scary, emotional, have to get to the hospital. My Dad doesn't get sick. Besides being riddled with arthritis for most of his adult life, we are not used to him being in the hospital, not used to him "down". Last year he scared us for the first time by ending up in the emergency room with ruptures on his intestine, they couldn't get the bleeding to stop, but then figured it out, clamped that all up and sent him home. One year later, he is in emergency again, and then CCU, two stints in, blood thinners and closely monitored for days (great staff at the University Hospital, thanks guys). He is at home now, with nine prescriptions (87-years old and my Dad has never had to take anything before this) and my Mom at his beck and call. I'm going to make him some banana-raisin loaf this weekend. He hated the hospital food. Lost some weight and a lot of energy, but still cracked jokes and made me smile. :)
I'm not ready for my parents to get old, seriously. I've never viewed them like that before. No thanks, don't want it. Realistically? I've watched my Dad age a LOT over the last two years, a lot. Realistically? this is a wake up call for his mortality as well as all of ours. Anything can happen. I am going to be 40 years old in October. I am already feeling my body start to rebel. Time to get that under control, for as long as I can. Aging is such an invasive process. We need to do everything we can to keep it at bay. Even that doesn't guarantee anything, but it sure can't hurt to try.
Love you Dad. Love you Mom.