The healing power of love
Occasionally there are events or situations capable of pulling me back into the other realm of thought and existence, the world that doesn't rotate about an axis of preparation and meaningless citation. This parallel universe is, in direct opposition, brimming with substance and real significance. Although I've always thought society "accepts" and even goes so far as "molds" us into these self-consumed creatures all through our adolescent and probably into early adulthood years, and I admit, it's all to easy to succumb to indulgent behavior, that's not a valid enough reason to overlook things that we would otherwise care for if we didn't put ourselves first and foremost.
While this monotonous/all too dramatic spiel could continue much longer in the detached third person tone, I contemplated these ideas to exhaustion after hearing from my mom that my dad had been admitted to the hospital Thursday night. Bypassing the clinical procedure explanation (which would lead me back into that "tone" I'm so fond of writing in), his condition isn't serious or life-threatening, just uncomfortable and painful enough to require a four night hospital stay. I couldn't help but remember the year I was 11 and something similar happened to him. It was heart-wrenching to see him so vulnerable, so unlike the pillar of strength and stoicism that I had been accustomed to. I've seen him cry all of once in my lifetime, and of course never at cause for himself. This is man, through whom all hardships of life--of war, loss, little family, cultural barriers, downright bad luck and misfortune, has somehow pulled himself up by his shard-thin bootstraps and made a life for himself and for his family. I can only aspire to ever be so courageous; and must be entirely indebted to him for probably never having to face such opposition, much less overcome it.
And so the thought that he was there in the hospital experiencing so much physical pain of which he himself could not bear nor alleviate truly caused me anguish over the fact that any sympathy pains could never compare to anything he was undergoing. I was talked out of driving home that night for compensation that I would be updated with all the ongoings. And as I talked to him yesterday in his groggy state, he not only did not mention anything about himself, but rather, inquired about my health and expressed worry that I was taking on too much. That was humbling, though not surprising. Though he is a man of few words, those words that are spoken are for everyone else's benefit before his own. For this and for everything else about him, I love and admire.
posted by Sheila @ 2/13/2005 09:25:00 AM
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