My dad was visited by the Heart Attack Fairy on the weekend. She came to remind him that bacon, eggs, maple walnut ice cream and a light exercise schedule aren't good for the arteries. She just gave him a gentle touch this weekend, enough to make him tight in the chest and to make his arm go cold for about twenty minutes. The next day (under his own direction) he went to the clinic to get checked out. The result was a trip to the hospital where he has been for the past three days, hooked up to some really cool technology and subjected to an angioplasty. I hope he takes this notification seriously.
Last night, prior to the angiogram (where they put dye into your bloodstream to see where and how severe the blockages are), I think my dad got a taste of his own impending mortality. Seeing him sense his put me in touch with mine, too. That, combined with the melancholy I've been experiencing lately had me carefully going over where I am in life and my level of satisfaction with the choices I've made. I wonder if he is doing the same.
As my dad sees his amount of life become more and more finite, I think that he is trying to justify his life and the decisions that he made in it. To make it even harder for him, he is from a generation where men don't talk about such feelings. I've always been a sensitive and empathetic soul - he is aware of this but because of the way he has been taught to deal with his own emotions, I don't think he knows how to connect with me. He seems very concerned with making sure that I am doing OK. I want him to know that I'm happy with the person that I've become and the lot that life has presented me with. A parent's existence seems to be aimed at making sure that their children are happy and they have what they need.
I have what I need and I'm making the best of things, as we all do.