The phone call came before 7:30 a.m. last Wednesday. My mom was sobbing as she told me she thought my dad was having a stroke. He would not let her call 911 because he “would rather die than go to that hospital.” I said I would be right there. I kissed my husband goodbye and rushed out the door.

That five mile drive across town felt like an eternity.  As I opened the door to my childhood home, a door I had opened thousands of times, there was a fearful feeling I cannot describe. Anticipation of the unknown… it was bad.

My mom, her eyes red and still moist with tears, met me at the door. She said she could not wake my dad. I looked his direction. It shook me to the core.

He was sitting in a chair next to the table. The left side of his face was drooping. His left arm and hand was resting next to his body. His right arm was resting on the table, and his fingers were scratching back and forth across an indentation in the table, which was something that had become a habit over the last few years, the scratching on the table.

The look of helplessness on my mom’s face as she walked over and gently shook his arm while repeating his name was unsettling, as was my dad’s effort to lift his eyebrows as high as he could, to open his eyes, yet his eyelids remained closed.

“This is serious,” I whispered desperately to my mother. “I’m calling 911!”

Those few minutes between the time I reached dispatch to the time I saw the flashing lights of the ambulance pull up in front of the house felt like an eternity. 

Two EMTs entered the house. It was surreal watching one of them ask my dad questions and see my dad sit in that one position without moving or opening his eyes, except to scratch back and forth across the table. He looked like my dad. But, as the EMT lifted my dad’s eyelids, the eyes he exposed were not the same caring eyes I was used to seeing. They were blank. Void of warmth or emotion.

His eyes remained closed while more EMTs entered the house and helped move him from the chair to the stretcher, then out the front door and into the ambulance.

When my mom and I arrived at the ER room, my sister was already there. My dad was alert and talking with the doctor, who happens to be my first cousin.

Life is funny. One minute you are babysitting your cousin so your aunt and uncle can have a date night, and the next minute, that little cousin is all grown up and helping care for your ailing father.

My dad survived the stroke with very few deficits. He is in a rehabilitation center where he can receive PT to strengthen his muscles so he can come home soon. My mom is staying home without my dad for the first time ever for such an extended period of time. I am staying with my mom to help ease her concerns. My husband is home waiting for time to pass so we can be together again in this new phase of our lives as supportive caregivers to my parents for as long as they need us.

This is not my favorite new phase of life. However, I am so grateful for the extra time with my dad. ❤️