Right now my dad is battling valiantly for his health. He is essentially waging a war against his body and debilitating illnesses that even an army of doctors and medications simply cannot contain. We are waiting, hoping and praying for more time; we want more time with him.
We want more time to see him smile, more time to play gin rummy, more time to hear him complain about the fact that Alex Trebek needs to lose his cocky attitude, especially because he has the answers to those atypical jeopardy questions. We want more time to hear him kvell about how much he enjoys when his grandson tells him that he needs to get a haircut ( when indeed he knows he has not even a wisp of hair left to cut). We want more time to watch Twilight Zone episodes and marvel at Rod Serling’s imagination. We want more time to hear him regale us with stories of his childhood, although we’ve heard them so many times before, yet with each re telling he includes a new detail (or perhaps invent one!).
These past three weeks that my dear father has been hospitalized have felt a bit like trying to cram all these moments and time we want to spend, into small fleeting hospital visits just to get a glimpse of him; to see him smile, to hear him say he’s proud. That as his family we’re his greatest accomplishment and that all those years spent as a business man and the ones chasing his entrepreneurial dreams were nothing in comparison to the time and moments he spent with us- the time we shared just being together. And I can’t help but feel like this experience, whether I’d like it to or not, is forcing me to reevaluate my priorities and just how fragile, precious and evanescent that time truly can be. And ultimately am I spending my time exactly as I should or need to be.