the view outside my window.

as i'm talking to family and friends and reading my favorite blogs, i'm having a hard time understanding how  malaise, lack of funding for a project, too much work, too little work, arguments with family, what to wear and how to wear it and how hot i look or do not look really matters all that much. i try to empathize. i try not to be dismissive. but i'm really having a rough time.

i suppose that it's a good thing for me, because, if you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you'll know that i have done my share of complaining about the minutiae of every day. throughout my dad's illness, i've grown up. i've realized that my feelings of inadequacy, my uncertainty about what my life should be/could be, my lack of self-confidence, my pessimistic attitude, has been a big fat waste of time.

when i heard my dad was in the hospital in kansas and a chaplain was going to meet me, i thought the worst. immediately, i prepared myself for the likely possibility that he was going to die. maybe even before i got there. the flight seemed to last much longer than the four or so hours it took. looking at the other passengers, i envied them. i wanted to be a faceless businessperson going back home. i wanted so badly to be a college student going to school at wsu. i wanted to be anyone but me. facing this trip alone (at my - really dumb - request), i wanted to curl up and catapult myself out the emergency exit. to say it was surreal would be an understatement.

when i arrived at around 11 p.m., i urged the taxi driver to hurry-up. he was taking a sunday drive, going 50 on the freeway. i confidently walked into the empty, quiet hospital. i joked with a fellow visitor as i asked the emergency room check-out clerk to page the chaplain for me. she never came, so i walked until i found the icu. riding up the elevator, i took deep breaths to steady myself. but oddly, i felt calm at this point.

when i walked into my dad's room, nothing could have prepared me for what i saw. i wasn't even sure it was my dad. he was swollen up to what seemed to be twice his normal size. and it wasn't just his body. it was his head, his fingers, his neck, his legs. his eyes were dark purple. he had staples on both sides of his head from lacerations he suffered. he had a bolt sticking out from the top of his head to measure cerebral perfusion pressure. he was on a respirator. he had iv's. feeding tube. the bottom part of his face was covered. his eyes were swollen up and i couldn't see any definition between the eyebrow bone and the lower lid. he was in a coma and on life support.

immediately, despite my deep breathing, i burst into tears. sarah, the nurse, hugged me and i sunk into her warm, cushy body and sobbed. once i got myself together a little, katie, his nurse, told me what this measured and what that measured. nothing was sinking in, but i just nodded trying to be brave. i stayed there until the early morning, not wanting to leave and wanting to leave. the reality just hadn't sunk in.

as the days progressed, my family and my husband, arrived and it all became a bit easier to bear. the first week was probably the scariest, but dad began to pull through. he turned a corner.

and then, i could see his face because he got a tracheostomy. and then, one day, he opened his eyes and was recovering from a coma. and then, one day he started talking in a raspy, breathy voice. and then, one day, he sat up. and then, one day, he was helped out of bed and into a chair. and then, one day, he said my name for the first time. and then, one day, he pulled out his trach, his peg tube, his picc line and was breathing on his own and was able to eat "real" food. and then, one day, we flew on a plane and came home to california.

and then, one day, in his confused recovery state, he said, "everything that's happened has happened for a reason."

a friend commented on my positive attitude yesterday. that's never happened before in my life. but as i said to her, how could i be anything but? i've been given a gift. i've not only still have my father, but i've changed in so many ways for the better.

i know that the minutiae of every day is overwhelming at times. and it still is for me, too. but the view outside my window is looking so much better than it was that i can't help but agree with dad that everything happens for a reason. no matter how awful or how trivial. and that, has been one of the most important lessons i have learned in my life.