Cold, clear skies

Tonight, under clear cold skies, I hooked the huskies up and we ran in the dark. I love it when it's so cold everything seems crispy. Now, the dogs are curled up, sleeping contentedly with their big tails wrapped around themselves while I sit pricing mid-distance sleds, praying for snow and dreaming.

I'm also praying for my dad. He underwent surgery this a.m. to repair broken wires that held his sternum together after open-heart surgery in June. All wires connecting his sternum were broken except for one at the very top. The cardiologist rewired everything back together. He came out after surgery and gave mom the broken wires, cleaned and sealed in a little clear specimen container. The Cardiologist said a portion of one of my dad's lungs was lodged in his rib.

Tonight, in the ICU, he was in a lot of pain. He is extubated and his numbers looked good, blood pressure, sats, respirations, etc all holding, like him: strong and steady. Tomorrow, remove chest tube and move him to the floor. He was very visibly in a lot of pain tonight.

Nothing has ever struck me quite the same as seeing him both times in the ICU. He looks so old, so frail and helpless. Watching my parents age is odd. Logically, I know (obviously) that my parents are aging and will die someday. Emotionally, however, I still think of them as eternal, ever-present....I still picture my dad as this invincible heroic-like figure of my childhood, who could do no wrong and who nothing would ever topple. It takes some getting used to, this thing of watching your parents' age and realizing their mortality. Tonight, when I walked into the ICU to find my dad lying there, seeming so small in that big bed, mouth hung open, skin pale and cold, drifting in and out of consciousness, I was reminded instantly of my grandmother, dying in a hospital bed last January. I could see my dad, dead. No more, spirit gone, could feel what it would feel like to lose him and miss him. And instantly, the familial ties lept up, rallying, as I offered him an extra blanket, ice, water, an extra pillow, to massage his feet, anything to make him feel more human and more alive.

Is it selfish that I offer these things to him? I want to help him because I love him, because he is my dad, but I also want to help him because I want to ...I want, I want, I want...because of me...because I want to reassure myself that he is not in a critical state of disrepair. That I will not lose him. Not yet.

It is quiet now. Dogs snore at my feet, lounging on the couch. Dreaming, their feet jump and move, as if they're running. Over fields of snow they run, under stars and cold, clear skies...