Grandpa Kelley

Yesterday I thought my dad had died.

The thought triggered a heart-wrenching hour attempting to process a grief I didn't know how I would ever overcome. Never having experienced a loss so near and dear, it was overpowering.

At about 2:10 I called my mom back in Michigan. She answered the phone and spat out: Emergency, your father had a stroke, can't talk. I quickly hung up and waited for her to call back with details. Later we learned that when my dad had not arrived to pick my mom up from work at 4:30, she worriedly arranged a ride home. At 5:15 she was dropped off and noticed the garage door open and the car on. She assumed he had turned the car on to warm it up before going to get her (remember, this is MICHIGAN) and went inside to wait for the task to be accomplished. She thought he must just have been running late. Upon searching the house, she was baffled to discover him missing. Finally checking the car, she found him slumped over the steering wheel where he had likely been for the past 45 minutes. My dad had a stroke 18 months ago and had been on the road to recovery from a lengthy battle with cancer. She assumed it was another stroke. Racing inside to call 911, she picked up the phone to find me on the other line.

When the paramedics arrived, dad's blood pressure was through the roof. They, too, assumed he had a stroke. Here's what we all knew but were too scared to say to each other: Forty-five minutes alone in a car after suffering a stroke severe enough to become unresponsive is a BAD scenario. Time lost=brain lost. I've seen billboards proclaiming it so. There was little hope left for us.

I sobbed. I thought of my daughters growing up without getting to know him. I tried to picture my life without him. I prayed and prayed. My prayers asked that God please take care of him and if this meant he couldn't be here with us, I prayed that I would come to understand that. I did, however, put in shameless pleas for his life and well-being. It couldn't hurt.

Mimi and I went for a walk so I could clear my head. We bundled up and headed out the door. A few blocks away, we ran into a friend who asked how we were. I told him the whole story. His hug and sympathy were reassuring. Turning around, I noticed another family friend standing behind us. He, too, had been listening to my story. Mimi and I walked and talked with him on his way home for several blocks and were cheered by his kindness and support. Then we started back home. Just a few steps later, a third friend appeared. His home was along the way and his wife had saved up a bag of clothes for us that his girls had outgrown so we stopped by for a chat, some cute outfits, and a warm up. The visit was cozy and congenial. Walking the last few blocks home by ourselves, I was reminded that we never truly walk alone. And when you most need it, the universe is right there to remind you of all the good in our world. Coming home to a warm fire, a loving husband and father and squealing Julia, Mimi and I were rejuvinated.

Just in time to recieve news from Michigan that dad had not suffered a stroke after all. In fact, he started to regain consciousness.

For those of you who like a happy ending...I can't promise one yet (more praying still going on). However, my dad regained consciousness, recognized my mom and brother, and had to be sedated because he kept trying to get out of bed. He has a blockage in his lung that caused low oxygen levels (as I understand it) and pneumonia. But for now, he is alert and well cared for.

And we have the gift of hope.