The last day I saw my daddy and knew that he saw me we sat side-by-side in a hospital waiting room. He was scheduled for surgery to have a kidney stone removed.
It was October 26, 2007.
Thirteen years ago.
The procedure might have been routine except nothing had been routine for daddy in the six years since he was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s Disease. He was 52 years old when we found out.
My whole life daddy had been our protector and provider. In a blink, he became our patient.
One of the ways my mom helped him was by posting calendar pages on their refrigerator door (chicken-themed because, well, you should see her kitchen.) This date, October 26, 2007, hung for many weeks after the actual day.
Maybe that’s why I remember it so clearly.
It marked the day daddy was admitted to the hospital for surgery to remove a kidney stone. It was the last morning he was home. He lived his last 3 weeks in that hospital.
I talked to my mom this morning about October 26, 2007. I said to her “The point of my blog today is… well, I don’t know what the point is. But I feel like I need to acknowledge the date.”
I don’t remember the last conversation I had with my daddy or his last words of advice to me. He was quiet in that waiting room. I wish I had known it was our last time to sit together, side-by-side.
So, I guess my point today is this:
Look for the lasts.
Not just the ones you can see coming.
But the ones that may happen on an October 26th too.
“Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
(Psalm 90:12)
