My dad has been ill for years, but lately...I can see him getting frailer almost with each day that passes. 

It all started with a hip replacement surgery when I was 15.  He had been in agony with arthritis for years, and he finally got a date for a replacement surgery after being on the NHS list for a couple of years.  He was self employed at the time (he's a trained stonemason; a dying craft these days) and he got his business affairs into order so he could take a couple of months off to recuperate, went into the hospital, had the surgery and was home in about 10 days.  He recovered well, and was planning to go back to work when the incident that would shape the rest of his life happened.

He had a heart attack.

I awoke in the middle of the night to hear him groaning.  Usually when I heard that I put a pillow over my head and tried to ignore it because it grossed me out....but this was different.  It was 3am, according to my alarm clock, and when I heard my mom say that she was going to ring for the doctor, I knew something was very, very wrong.  So, I got up and went into their room to see what was going on.

Dad was lying on his back in bed.  His face was a pale grey color and he was sweating so much his pillow was soaked.  Mum went to ring for the doctor and I reached down and helped dad sit up and told him to concentrate on breathing.  All three of us spent the next 15 minutes breathing in and out together.....it was the longest 15 minutes of my life, and I was, to be honest, scared half to death that my dad would stop breathing and die right there in front of me. 

But he didn't.  The doctor came, took one look at dad and told mum to ring 999 for an ambulance and to tell them he said to get a move on.  He hooked dad up to an ekg, started an IV and gave him some medications that probably saved his life.  The ambulance came, and both dad and mum went to the hospital with lights flashing and sirens blaring.  I was left with the task of calling my big brother to have him go to the hospital to be with mum, and then informing the rest of the family what was going down.

Dad survived the heart attack.  He also survived nine more heart attacks, 2 quadruple bypass surgeries, 2 knee replacements, cellulitis twice, an enlarged prostate removal surgery, 3 mini strokes (TIA's) and a pretty bad kidney infection.  He's on so much medication that his bedside table looks like a mini pharmacy, and he's on so much Coumadin that if he nicks himself shaving he bleeds for 2 days.  He's pretty much confined to a wheelchair - he manages okay in the house, but if he has to go anywhere outside he has to use his 'scooter' (he's got a 'rascal' electric wheelchair).  He and mum had to give up the car because he's simply not able to drive anymore (he has slight dementia and forgets where he's at sometimes, and his hearing is going too) so they're reliant on public transportation and my brother to take them anywhere.  Luckily, my bro is really good about taking them places if they need to go anywhere, and if he's out of the country on business his wife or her dad are also really good about taking them places.

Like last week, for example.  Dad's sister died.  She was the one who introduced mum and dad back in 1953.  Mum and her worked together and had become friends, and dad happened to stop by the store one day to see Aunty Muriel....and the rest is history.  Anyway, she died and both mum and dad were really upset about it (naturally).  My brother was out of town on business and his wife (W) had to work that day so neither of them were available to drive mum and dad to the funeral.  W's dad was more than happy to drive them though, so they planned to go and pay their last respects to Aunty M.

Here's the thing that bothers me:  dad couldn't go.  He wasn't well enough.  Mum had to go by herself.  That's highly, highly unusual.  They usually go everywhere together, especially to something as important as a funeral for a close relative.  But dad was too ill to go.  I called him to see how he was doing, and he sounded so....well, frail.  It bothers me.

It scares me to think that my dad might be reaching the end of his days.  It scares me to think that I might have to wait until I die to see him again.  I want him to be out of his pain, to be able to walk again....but I don't want to have to say goodbye to his earthly body.  I'm selfish, I want my dad to go on forever. 

Dave and I are starting the process to get all of us new passports this week.  My British passport has expired, and I'm not sure how long it takes to get a new one.  If the process is too long and complicated, I'm just going to take the citizenship exam instead.  I should be able to complete that by the middle of the year.  Either way, it's important that we have the documentation necessary to be able to leave the country and go to England for a vacation.  We want to go see my family for a week or two.  We're close to having all the money we'd need to pay for flights, so it's not just a pipe dream anymore.  We want to go and spend some time with my mum and dad.  I want to give him something to look forward to, to hang on to life for.

I want to go see my dad.