Last week my dad had a heart attack. I got a call a text from my mom as I was leaving work saying that was in the ER. He’s fine now. He got a clot removed and a stent put in.
It is not the first time my dad has given me a scare. When I was 7 or 8 and living in the Philippines, I remember waking up to find him missing. I was told that he had to be airlifted to Clark AB. I found out later it was for a kidney stone. My mother had died not long before and so I remember panic sweeping over as I thought that maybe he was going to die too. Then I would be an orphan and stuck in a country that I did not know.
The next time we were in the Philippines again visiting family when I was 17. I was trying to fall asleep. Mom and Dad were out in the living room with other family talking late into the night. Screams of surprise and horror from the ladies erupted and I leapt out of bed and out into the living room. My dad was on the floor with the people crowded around. I had to peel them off so I could check his vitals. I saw that he was awake and breathing so I started to try and find out what happened but the screaming continued and I had to start ordering people around to arrange transport to the local hospital. We were told that a combination of medication and alcohol caused him to faint for a bit.
I know that eventually my dad will die. As much as I can think and even plan, I know I will never be prepared for the eventual news.