It's been a long eleven hours...

I guess some days, life just decides to knock you down a few pegs. Such was today.

It started off fine enough. I got up, went to work in a better than usual mood, and was having a decent time of it. Around 1:30-2:00, I was finishing my lunch, and I get the phone call..

"It's "New Stepmom," your father is in the hospital, he...oh, the doctor just walked in, I'll call you back.

*click*

Needless to say, I left work immediately, not knowing which hospital or what was wrong. I got the second call five or ten minutes later.

"We're at Arlington Hospital, your father is being admitted now, there's something wrong with his stomach." So at least I had my destination, but no knowledge of what was going on.

I got to the waiting room, and was taken back to see my father. Seeing a man who was so strong, so big when you were younger, laid up...is not a comfortable image. Tubes, an IV, vials of blood, the works. I found out later he had been waiting for three hours in the ER waiting room, throwing up in a corner for much of it. We chatted, made small talk, or rather I did, since he was on morphine.

The waiting is the worst. Finally, he was taken back for a stomach CAT scan. This involved moving him to another gurney, which caused him to moan in pain, and then vomit up blood, right in front of me. Stepmom was an absolute wreck, but I tried to be as strong as I could for her. My uncle Jeff has shown up, and he was able to help some as well, I was still mostly in shock.

The CAT comes back. His appendix has burst. It burst two days ago. He's been throwing up and unable to use the bathroom for two days, and assumed he had the flu the entire time. He's being prepped for surgery.

More waiting, hours of it. I get a couple bottles of water and a little food from the hospital cafeteria. Nothing but waiting. Finally, they're done with him. The fluid from his appendix has caused a massive infection, which had to be sucked out, for lack of a better description, along with the backup in his intestines. The appendix of course, was removed. He's going into post op.

I've made countless calls...to friends...to work...to the S/O.

Two more hours of waiting. Finally we get to see him. His stomach is back to normal size. More tubes are in him. He's being kept in ICU overnight for observation, because he has sleep apnea. If he goes through tonight well, then he spends four-five more days in another room. No food, no water, only ice shavings and an I.V.

He seems to be in good spirits, but still a little out of it. We make small talk. Finally, he forces us all to leave and get some sleep. I kiss him on the forehead and tell him I love him. He does the same. I realize how rarely we say that to each other. As time has gone by, we've become much more like good friends than like father/son. I think that's a good thing, but it's times like this where I almost wish it was the old way. I love my father and I'm not ready to lose him yet.

On the way home, I have a voicemail. It's the S/O, sounding like she's about to break down.

I call her.

I start crying. I haven't cried in years. I get angry at myself for doing it, I tell myself I'm being less of a man for it. I finally force myself to stop.

Her old neighbor from when she lived in Va. Beach has died, on this same day. She just found out. Lou Gherig's disease. He's had it for years, but seemed to be doing better. It had gotten worse the past year, but still. He had a wife, and two sons she used to babysit when she was in high school.

We cry together. I need her so much at this moment, but she's three hours away at college. We were supposed to see each other this weekend. Now I'm not sure I can make myself leave the area. Long distance relationships are hard enough, only seeing each other one or two weekends a month at best. Things only get harder now.

So here I am, it's 1:00 a.m., and I'm still in shock. So much has happened today, I still can't get a grip on it all. I've never lost love for my father, or any of my family, but I'm certainly more aware of it than ever. I can't stop the occasional tears, but I'm no longer fighting it.

Tomorrow is another day. I know eventually we lose the ones we love, but now isn't the time. He's only 57. I'm almost 26. It's not time yet. I know this isn't life threatening, but this opens up your eyes.

I know he'll be alright eventually.
I know I'll be praying for the family of a man I've never met.
And I've learned that it's okay to cry.

Prayers are appreciated.