Time, And The Healing Of Wounds

This weekend marks a year since my Dad's open heart surgery.

I'm taking my parents out on Saturday to celebrate, both how much healthier he is but also what we all went through in the hours, days and months after his surgery.

But let me tell you, the closer I get to the actual day. . . well, I think the easiest way to put what I'm going through is to say I'm having "flashbacks", even though I'm sure that's not the proper term.

I keep seeing the images in my head from that day and the next, and keep remembering how he looked and what we thought and how just him making it through the surgery wasn't a guarantee of anything, didn't mean he'd make it through the next days and man oh man it was awful.

I'm surprised at the intensity of feelings I still have, thinking about it, one year later, but I suppose that's what anniversaries do; remind you, bring it all back for a while, for better or worse.

I want to be happy, I want to celebrate all the joy and wonder at how much healthier Dad is since last year but I also just want to sit and cry over how awful it was and how we kind of only barely made it through.

I looked over a couple of posts from last year and I said in one of them that I was a different person, and I am. I am, a year later, stronger, and somehow more collected, if that even makes sense.

I've grown a lot this year, and perhaps that's the positive side of trauma. . . that if you choose to grow from it, you'll have at least gotten something out of the situation, as difficult as it may have been.

I'm endlessly grateful that I was able to go to a wonderful psychologist before, during, and for a good while after, and I would recommend that to anyone; get help. Good help. It won't be easy, but it will work, it will help you through.

I think the portion I try to ignore is that the repair that was done on my Dad's heart seems to have a limited functional life-span, and I suppose this is the choice that's made with an older heart patient. He may out live the repair, and I don't know what that would mean, or he may not, and I suppose I know what that would mean.

And perhaps that's what I've dealt with the most since last year; my parents are mortal, and are not going to be here for ever, and while that's not ok, I will find a way to be ok, and I know their love for me and my love for them will be with me forever.

Life's a funny thing, and a year ago this weekend, my Dad kept hold of his, and I'm so very thankful for that.

Here's to many happy returns of this anniversary.

Many.