Dad had a stroke a couple months ago (he’s in full recovery now and is doing really well). It’s why there’s been a slight trend in these posts about how all I want is rest.
He stayed four wonderful nights at the ‘shitty hotel’ (his words), and I stayed two of those nights with him. As I slept in the hospital room with him, we traded childhood lullabies to fall asleep.
I always knew the day would come when our roles would be reversed.
As I lay on the convertible couch-bed in his hospital room, listening to the beeps and whirls, I thought back to the first time we stayed in a hospital room together. I was seven or eight and had had my first asthma attack. It was scary, that first one (well, they are all scary, the bad ones). We didn’t know what was going on, and I was little, so I really didn’t know what was happening.
When we got to the hospital, they admitted me and set me up in the children’s wing. I was the only kids that weekend, so I got the rolling TV and VHS player all to myself!
I had air hooked up to me through my nose and, most importantly, an oxygen monitor attached to my index finger. Most importantly, because that little monitor became part of an “we always tell this story” story.
It was night, and I was having trouble sleeping. I was in a new place, there were wires attached to me, and the sounds were all wrong. Dad was sleeping on a couch at the foot of my bed, but I knew he was a light sleeper and was probably just as awake as I was.
I lifted my index fingers, the blinking light of the oxygen monitor rising with me, and croaked out, “E.T. Phone home.”
We both laughed and settled in for sleep.
Fast forward, and I was the one sleeping on the couch with Dad was the one making us laugh a little before sleep. We take care of each other that way. He started singing pieces of childhood lullabies: the first line, and I’d sing the second. Then he’d move on. We ended with a rousing rendition of “JEREMIAH WAS A BULLFROG”, turned over, and went to sleep.
Last week, I managed to give myself a mild concussion at the land (branch, meet face!). As I was at the doctor’s, they put me through the same neurological tests Dad went through at the hospital. Push! Pull! Squeeze! I laughed and said, “Don’t worry, I’m a pro at this.” On the way home, I treated myself to some ice cream, thinking fondly of how ‘the only thing that tasted good’ at the hospital for Dad was his Whit’s (frozen custard).
I happily texted him and said, “You’re right! Ice cream DOES help with brain injuries!”
It’s important to let folks know when they’ve imparted important wisdom to you, you know?
Laughter, too, is so important. It’s more than having a good laugh at something silly. It’s a tool, a way to get a bit of stress out so your body can relax and recover. We need laughter. I needed to make my dad laugh when I was that little kid in a hospital, knowing he was probably lying on that couch, scared and anxious for his kid. My dad needed to make me smile, knowing that I was lying on that couch, scared and anxious for my dad.
We make each other laugh and chuckle as a way to say “I love you.” Even now as I’m writing it, I’ve got a smile on my face imagining him home right now on his beloved couch with a little smile on his face.
You have to find ways to laugh in times of stress. Your body is holding onto that stress like a tightly wound rubber band. Without laughter releasing it bit by bit in fun little twangs, the band would snap.
I’ll end this with a quote that I’ll never forget from a friend in high school who was (sometimes annoyingly) an optimist: “If there’s a shadow, that means the sun is shining somewhere.”
Now At A Farm 