Another comeback

Linda leaves to go back to Ohio today. She has to get ready for school. I know it's very difficult for her to leave Bill, and we'll sure miss her. But she will be back on Labor Day and at that time -- or perhaps late September -- she plans on taking Dad home with her. We've made these plans before and they didn't pan out, but that's where we stand right now.

Remember a few days ago, Dad couldn't finish a sentence? What a difference a day (or so) makes! Sunday I intended to take a "day off" from the hospital. (I spent time doing normal stuff like organizing kids' rooms and my office. I'm kind of embarrassed to admit how much joy this brought to me! It's all about control. I have no control over what's happening to my dad ... but I can sure defeat clutter, dominate dust and sort through clothes like an army sergeant ordering troops: Size 5, you go here! Size 8, over there!)

Anyway, I did end up going to see Dad Sunday night and was greeted with a clear and happy, "Hey, Lisa!" Then, we actually had some semblance of a conversation. What a feat. Coming from a static seizure and questionable prognosis to asking me about my job and knowing the day and date and talking to Heather on the phone. Sounds pretty uninspiring but I could barely contain my surprise and relief.

I do not know how my Dad bounces back like this. He's done it four times now. I tend to think it's something in his genes. A will to survive. Fierce determination, belief in himself, eyes always on the prize. Yesterday he was asking about how he got here, dates, did he eat? "No, dad, you didn't eat for a few days." He was bummed about being asleep so long, "You mean I missed four days? Geeze!"

I explained to Dad the option of an in-patient therapy program. He'd be moved to another unit in the hospital where they have a gym and cafeteria. You spend 3-4 hours per day in intensive physical, occupational and speech therapy. And you get to wear regular clothes, yahoo! Most people might be depressed at the prospect of more time -- maybe a few more weeks -- in the hospital, but not dad. "That sounds great for me. I want to be rehabilitated."

This is how he's approached life. It reminds me of how it might have been for Dad and Mom to literally build there own home back in the 1970s. At the time, they had very little cash. But this didn't stop my Dad from planning a nice cedar house a wooded lot. He and Mom (who was pregnant with Heather) would go to the clearing on Becker Road every day after work and pound nails, haul boards, join in on the construction. I was there, too, running in the woods to find frogs and toads or eating my dinner on a table made from discarded lumber. My Dad's always set high goals, so why would it be any different now?