Yesterday morning my dad had a stroke.
It was the single most terrifying moment in my life. Sitting next to him on the floor, with tears running down my face, thinking my father is dying right before my eyes. The left side of his face drooping, as he’s struggling to tell us that he can’t feel his arm or leg and constantly repeating, “Why is this happening to me? I’m sorry, God.”
As ambulance were taking him to the hospital I quickly grabbed my things to go with my sister to meet my brother and mother at the hospital. One of the things I grabbed was my dad’s bible. I don’t know why I did this. I not by any means religious but I found comfort knowing that it was even in the same building as he was.
Within 5 hours my father’s face was back to normal, he regained feeling in his foot, leg, and was lifting his arm above his head. Within 12 hours he was able to have normal conversation, move his leg slightly and even sign paperwork. In less than 36 hours he was back to his normal self.
It is indescribable the tidal wave of emotions from seeing your father on the floor thinking, ‘this is the last time I will ever see him alive’, to the joy of him being able to talk to him as if nothing happened.
I will never forget yesterday nor the words my dad told me while in the emergency room; “El gato tiene 9 vidas, yo le voy a ganar. Don’t you worry, I’m going to walk out of here. I promise.”
You better fucking believe he did just that. My dad is one tough son of a bitch.
Love you, Daddy.