My dad's in the hospital.
I've been taking the journey to Coon Rapids every day. The first three days, I got lost on my way. Calling my mom (whom I was affectionately referring to as "GPS OnStar Lady") helped to calm me down and get me in the right direction. My parents are no longer married, my brother lives in Florida, my dad's family lives in Michigan, his closest friends are far away, as well. Thus, I'm handling this one on my own.
It's huge.
The medical staff seems to be pretty positive about my dad returning to his old self, once the infection that's making his brain swell has subsided. Fingers crossed.
Seriously, I haven't spent any time hanging around in a hospital, apart from brief visits where I cooed over my friends' teeny babies, since I was in the hospital, eleven years ago. I forgot how sad it can feel - with people red-eyed and crying. There aren't that many public places where it's okay to openly weep. I think there should be more, but that's me. Remember when we could see people off at their airport gate? You could cry there, and nobody though it was odd. Those were the days.
And I gotta tell you, nurses are The Shit. These people have been taking such good care of my dad, and quite honestly, me.They deserve the world. They really like my dad - even if he's not acting like himself at all. He's still that great guy, it shines through. They see it.
But I'm tired. Not that I'm complaining - because I'm doing what needs to be done - visit my dad. Keep my chin up. Be the familiar face, even if he thinks I'm someone named Ruth or his mom or the doctor's wife or whatever...he still has moments when a familiar flicker is in his eyes and he says, "Robbye".
That's why I'm there. To help remind him.