I kept one of the stickers. I probably got a dozen of them altogether, but I eventually threw them all away. The ones from Sentara Princess Anne Hospital had my picture on them. I smiled because I always smile. I think I wore the same ODU t-shirt for over a week straight. Those stickers are gone. The visitor sticker I got from Portsmouth Naval Hospital on April 22nd, 2013, however, is still affixed to my dresser. I see it every day. It is painful if I stop and think about it. Maybe I should get rid of it. Not yet. It’s a piece of Dad. It’s a reminder that he was real. It wasn’t so long ago that I was talking to him. See? I still have this sticker to prove it.
Now that Jaron, my oldest son, has his learner’s permit, my wife, Lianne, and I took him out for his first drive. We went around the neighborhood in our Ford Escape, which happens to be a stick shift. Not only did Jaron have to remember to use his blinker, look both ways, and stay on the road, but he also had to deal with shifting gears and not stalling out when he stopped. He did well, which is to say, there were no fatalities. Dad taught me how to drive stick. It was very frustrating for me, but he had a ton of patience. I remember that clearly. He was real. I have this sticker to prove it.
We took Jaron to visit some colleges last week. There are some great schools in Virginia. The mountains are beautiful. Jaron is a genius. He’s going to be able to go wherever he wants to go and do whatever he wants to do. Dad went with me when I was in high school and visited Old Dominion University. We talked to admissions counselors, and physics and engineering professors. Dad had some good questions and insights. He gave me thoughtful advice. I chose ODU. I didn’t want to go anywhere else. There was this girl I liked. Things turned out pretty well. I remember it clearly. He was real. I have this sticker to prove it.
In April, 2013 Dad started having pains in his abdomen and some bloating. He went to the emergency room at Portsmouth Naval Hospital a couple of times, I think. This time, on April 22nd, they admitted him and did a ton of tests. Mom was staying with him in the hospital as long as she could. They wouldn’t let her spend the night, but otherwise she was there. Lianne and I decided to visit. There was substantial security at the gate, since it is a naval base, and they gave us our visitor stickers right there at the entrance to the base. I stuck mine on my shirt, on top of my somewhat substantial right pectoral muscle. We found parking and walked into the hospital. Portsmouth Naval is a dreary place, as most hospitals are if you are anywhere other than the maternity ward. The building is old. There were not very many people about. We found Mom and Dad in their room. Honestly, Dad didn’t look good. Granted, it is difficult to look good when you’re in a hospital gown, laying on a hospital bed, surrounded by white sheets and pillows. It was a shock to me though, because it was real. Dad was in a hospital. Something was wrong.
Dad was full of faith and optimism, as always. In fact, I got an email from him the next day. He was incredulous that they were treating him like he was sick. As he would say, he was flabbergasted.
He wrote, “Here I am in the hospital getting instructions on how to breathe into a tube to help keep my lungs clear since I will be laying in bed for so long. What? Wait a minute. I just finished four laps around two wards pushing an IV machine. This place is for sick people.”
He never really acknowledged or recognized the whole idea of being sick. He was always planning to leave the hospital. We stayed for awhile and talked with both of them. We talked about the kids. We laughed. We did our best to encourage Mom. We prayed. We prayed for good reports from the doctors and for complete healing. Mom was stoic and strong. Dad was tired, annoyed, and optimistic all at the same time. We left with somber hearts, but also hearts full of hope. It is difficult to describe that mix of emotions when you trust God, but also live in a world filled with sickness. I’ve wrestled with that paradox for 20 years, and I still don’t have tidy answers. I don’t understand what happened, and I don’t accept it as “right.” I do find that faith ameliorates pain. What type of faith is it if it doesn’t stand up to trials? So yes, we left that hospital room with somber hearts, but also hearts full of hope.
We picked up the kids from the inlaw’s afterward, and when Lianne and I finally got ready for bed, a restless night I’m sure, I took that visitor sticker off of my shirt and stuck it to the dresser. Maybe I could use it again the next day if Dad was still in the hospital. The days came and went and I never moved it. Then the weeks. Then a year. The sticker is curling a little bit now, one year later. Maybe I should get rid of it. After all, it is a reminder of the saddest time of my life. But it’s also a reminder of the greatest man I ever knew. It’s a reminder that he was real. It wasn’t so long ago that I was talking to him. See? I still have this sticker to prove it. I think I’ll keep it.
