Yes, I know two days ago I used the word ‘Dad’ for the letter ‘D.’ So what. My dad’s passing is still on my mind a lot. So if you are tired of seeing pictures of my father or reading about him, skip this post. You won’t hurt my feelings.
My father cheated death several years ago while still working for the highway department. One winter morning while training a new employee on another driver’s route, the tandem truck my Dad drove was hit by a train. Both of the men were ejected from the cab, one out the front window and the other out the back.
They were both extremely lucky with my father suffering the brunt of injuries. His partner walked away with a sore back and ended up saving my Dad’s life, since he’s the one that called for help. Any injuries from a train accident is worrisome but when you factor in my Dad’s muscular dystrophy, well, we were all astonished at his condition. His only internal injury was a ruptured spleen. Everything else was cosmetic, especially his face. The glass cleanly sliced the left side of his face wide open, filleted. He refused to have a second surgery performed by a plastic surgeon, insisting the scar gave him character.
This past Saturday, a train wasn’t involved. There was no accident. A simple procedure, hundreds of thousands done each year, triggered his downfall. His lungs too weak to recover from the anesthesia.
You are free now, Dad. Your body is no longer holding you back, imprisoning your spirit. You are free.