“Daddy, how could you keep this from me?” These were the very first words that came out of my mouth when my father told me he would be having heart surgery. As I tried to take in the words, my brain stepped back to three months before, when the doctor told my dad right in front of me, “Stephen, if you don’t have surgery, stop smoking, and stop drinking, you won’t be here six months from now.”  When I heard that, my heart dropped like an anchor in the sea. Now, here I was again with thoughts racing and heart pounding like a rocket ship soaring to the moon: Face it. He won’t be there to watch you get your diploma on graduation, leave for college, or even walk you down the aisle in your beautiful white wedding gown.  Those big-time dreams I wanted to chase I wouldn’t go on chasing because the dreams seemed no longer in reach. 

“Daddy, don’t pick up that cigarette,” I shrieked.  “Daddy, please put that drink down.” I felt misplaced and wounded.  I couldn’t live without the number one person in my life. I was fighting back the tears and retracing my steps. I wouldn’t get anywhere in this life without my dad.  Getting him to quit smoking would be like trying to put the smoke back in a cigarette, unmanageable and impossible. 

After the doctor told us he only had six months to live, we decided to get a second opinion. I didn’t get to go along when he went to his appointment. When he came home, he told me everything was okay. He said the first doctor didn’t know what he was talking about, and we had no worries. It was beyond disbelief; I never felt more thankful in my life. 

A few weeks after my father’s doctor appointment, my step mom found out she had a miscarriage. She had been carrying the baby for four months. One of my dad’s “friends” said,  “That family shouldn’t be able to reproduce anyway.”  My dad showed up drunk at the guy’s doorstep in the middle of the night and banged on his door like a mad grizzly bear starving in the woods and hungry for blood.  The man ended up calling the police, and my dad was arrested.  After that happened, my dad went into a depression state, drinking night after night and smoking every time he had a drink in his hand.  Since his heart was already bad, depression, smoking, and drinking didn’t do him well.  He was going downhill as fast as an old, used up and worn out tire.

He ended up going to the emergency room one night when I was at my mom’s. I knew nothing about it. He found out he truly did have to have surgery and not some minor procedure. My father was having major heart surgery at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Toledo, and if the doctors or the procedure messed up, no one knew if I would wake up with a daddy. The thought of not waking up without my daddy was enough to put me in a state of constant fear and anxiety.

Maybe that’s why he refused to tell me about it until a day in a half before he was to go. One Saturday afternoon, we were in a hardware store in the middle of Indiana. My dad was acting strange.  He then said, “I have to tell you something, hun,” he said. “I have to have heart surgery Monday morning.” He went on and explained to me he’d be out of work for awhile and in the hospital for almost a week. Not only that he also explained how he wouldn’t have his energy back for almost a year. Again, my life had changed in less than twenty words.  I found out less than two days before my dad’s life changing experience that he wouldn’t be the same for almost an entire year. I wanted to be so mad at him!  I wanted to punch him and scream at him and tell him off. Why would he hide this from me? How could he keep this from me, and what was he thinking? But, I couldn’t find myself to scream or hit him. I just stood there in the middle of the hardware store looking at him. Then, I turned away and BAM! I broke down.  I bawled my eyes out. I was so lost, so hurt, so broken.  Would this nightmare ever end with my dad being the healthy dad I needed and loved so much?

Monday morning, March 12, 2012, at 5AM, I woke up to go to the hospital with my grandma to see my dad before his surgery.  When we arrived there, I ran to my dad and gave him an enormous hug then sat quietly by the window in his hospital room. The doctor was ready to take my dad back to surgery, and my father then turned to me and said, “I love you, baby girl. I will see you in a little bit.”

I said, “I love you too, Daddy” not looking at him long enough to even remember his facial expression. I couldn’t even finish telling him how much I loved him and how I needed him to stay in my life with me for always.  I choked up and turned away to find myself literally feeling my broken heart with my face drenched in tears.  The doctor wheeled him out, and I told my mom I was not going home. I wouldn’t leave the hospital till my daddy left with me.  I spent a complete week out of school. I stayed in a hotel room the hospital provided me.

When my dad came out of surgery, he was dazed, very sleepy and on breathing tubes. I stood there for a moment, taking it in.  I was watching my dad, who was strong and full of mischief now struggling to breathe with tubes all over him. I thought he was dying. I turned to my grandma and cried, “Please help him. He isn’t okay.” She then explained to me it was only because he lost energy. From there, I sat in my dad’s recovery room with him every waking moment. Five days after my father’s surgery, I finally could take him home. Although it was hard knowing I wouldn’t get to ride four wheelers with him or go to Cedar Point or even just take a walk outside with him for a long time, I didn’t let it phase me.  My daddy was alive.  He was home with me, and we had conquered this mountain together through our love as daddy and daughter.