Boy, less than 72 hours, and I have four "followers" and lots of words of support. But I must keep reminding myself, that's beside the point. Comforting, nevertheless.
I find myself missing Dad this time of year. Not really the sighing-and-crying kind of missing him, it's never been like that. It's more the I-forgot-to-ask-you kind. Let me suggest to anyone who is fortunate enough to still have a surviving parent or two, if there is something you want to know, a question you've always wanted to ask, you need to ask NOW. There are no guarantees of tomorrow, even if you're a youngster. There really isn't any reason to put it off. Time won't make the question or the answer any easier or more difficult, so you might as well get on with it. I inherited the McCarthy gene that prods one to run as quickly as possible in the opposite direction of any kind of conflict, and I've taken it to an art form. What I have learned in the last 10 or 15 years, however, is that you don't get that time back - once it's gone, it's gone, and no amount of begging or pleading will accomplish its return. Because my Dad died in the month of December many years ago, the holidays have never quite been the same. The first few after he died were pretty awful, but time, distance, and new babies bring healing. Nowadays, I just think about things on which I would have sought his opinion, or stories I would have liked him to elaborate on. I can't promise he would have answered even had I asked, but it would have been worth the shot. There are just as many things I would have liked to have told him, too. But we won't go there today.
Since mid-November, I have been battling bronchitis and its aftermath. I thought by mid-December, I had pretty much won the battle, but now I'm wondering if I'm losing the war. Two doctor visits, one antibiotic, one inhaler, and countless coughdrops later, I'm still barking like a seal. So I kinda made this deal with my dad...yes, I know that's magical thinking....and here's what happened. At Christmastime, there were always two songs that would stop my Dad in his tracks. The first was Nat King Cole's Christmas Song, and the other was Frank Sinatra's "I'll Be Home for Christmas" - and ONLY those versions. As I was barking my way to the grocery store the other day and wondering what should be my next step, Nat King Cole started singing about roasting chestnuts on an open fire. So I said, OK, God, if I hear I'll Be Home for Christmas - only Sinatra's version - before I get home, I'll know that Dad is telling me this is something that requires follow-up. This is significant because my dad was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer after refusing to return his doctor's phone calls to hear the results of chest X-rays. Now, I don't think I have lung cancer, but this sure feels weirder than garden variety bronchitis. And as I pulled into our driveway, guess what came on the radio? Yup, Ol' Blue Eyes...."you can plan on me....". I felt like the earth had moved....so today, I called my doctor, who is probably the best diagnostician next to Greg House, and he ordered a chest X-ray and pulmonary function test. Sheesh. And it's probably nothing, but I need to acknowledge my instincts. Stay tuned....
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