As a typical daddy’s girl, I believed that my daddy was 10 ft. tall and bullet proof. That all came crumbling down one fall day in 1991 when I was 24.

My dad had to have a quadruple bypass. I remember the fear of loosing him for the first time. I had my first child only 9 months before, his second grandchild and the thought of Justin not knowing what a great man his grandpa was chilled me to the bone.

Daddy is the third oldest of seven kids and nothing like this had ever happened to one of them before so the emotions were high. The saddest thing I have ever witnessed was sitting in his room while each of his brothers, sisters and mom hugged and kissed him before surgery. I did a lot of praying that day.

I distinctly remember sitting with my grandmother holding hands in the waiting room along with a sea of friends and family waiting for him to be able to receive visitors after the surgery. I hung back to give everyone ample time to see him. Then a family member came out and said, “He is asking for you”. Asking for me? surely he can’t speak yet. He had written my name in the air with his finger. I remember seeing him hooked up to tubes and things that made all kinds of noises. I was holding his hand and talking to him and saw a tear run down his cheek.

Thank God, he pulled thru and recovered quite well. Until one day about 4 years later, he had another heart attack. This time it required another quadruple bypass. I was living out of state by then and couldn’t be there. The fear was back along with the endless crying at the possibility of loosing him again. I was sure that his survivor rate had dropped drastically since this was his second heart attack. Again, daddy pulled thru like we all hoped he would.

Daddy is a Vietnam Veteran serving his country from 66-67. He always looked like he was healthy, never more than a few pounds over weight but he smoked ever since I could remember and ate all the good southern foods. After his second heart attack I remember telling him, how he couldn’t or shouldn’t do this or that. His standard reply was “Sis, when it’s my time to go, It’s my time”. This always infuriated me because I believe that you can lower your risk on most things. He continued to say that until February 2005 when a third bypass was required.

My husband and I traveled from Kansas City to Little Rock to be there for his surgery. Apparently, they will only go in thru the breast plate twice. This time they had to go in from the side and they were going to stop his heart. Sounds easy enough but daddy has an enlarged heart, congestive heart failure, diabetes and more than I care to think of.

We got to Little Rock the night before his surgery and we got to visit with him a good while before bed time. The next morning was rough. Most of the family there again of course. It was my time to go in and see him before the surgery. I honestly felt like that would be the last time I ever talked to or got to hug and kiss my daddy. I was trying to be strong and not let my fear show but it all became evident when I put my head on his chest and cried. He told me something that makes me smile to this day, “Sis, if I come out ok, I won’t act tough anymore. I’ll do what I’m supposed to do and I won’t say when it’s my time, it’s my time”. And to the best of my knowledge, he has been good.

Daddy came out of the surgery ok but had neumonia. I saw all kinds of colors drained from his lungs. He was on a ventilator for a few weeks because his oxygen levels would not come up. My brother and I got the dreaded call. “You and your brother need to come say good-bye”. What? How do you even do that? I couldn’t begin to think of it. We packed our bags and headed back to Arkansas. Daddy responded a little to us and we told him how he had to be strong like we knew he was.

I found out later that the doctors wanted to take him off of the ventilator because there was ‘no hope’. My step-mother said absolutely not! Thank you Marilyn for loving my daddy so much and for being so stubborn.

All of the sudden one day after a month had passed, he just starting pulling out of it when he was ready. Typical daddy. I realized how badly I missed my daddy’s voice more than anything else. Then on my birthday I got a call and it was him telling me happy birthday. That was the best birthday present ever.

Daddy is living on borrowed time and he knows it. I think he sees life differently now and he tells me that he would do things differently and I believe him.

So I guess the moral of this story is…don’t wait until it happens to you and then wish you had done it differently. Make the effort to be healthy now while you can.

You can read my story here or visit my heart walk page here.