The bright lights are blinding as we enter. I clutch Wren close, afraid of what the next moments will bring. Already, many of my worst nightmares have come true and it is barely 8am…
“Jess, I just wanted you to know Dad was having chest pain. I called an ambulance. I wanted you to know so you didn’t freak out when you got here to drop Wren off.”
Someone leads us to a crowded room within the emergency room. There are doctors and nurses moving quickly, confidently. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. To take all of this in. There is my dad. My big strong Dad. Already wearing a hospital gown. Sitting on a bed. The doctors and nurses are busy working on him.
Arnauld was dropping Wren off today. I was presenting a Responsive Classroom workshop. I was already on my way. I turned around. A million thoughts already running through my head. I pull into a parking lot. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think I can do a workshop today…”
My Dad’s eyes are shut in pain. His head leaning back against the bed. His fists clenched, banging the surface beside him. My heart aches. That is my Dad. He’s the one who is supposed to be standing around the bed, doing the fixing. Someone just tell us he will be ok.
I pull up to my parents house just as the ambulance is pulling away. I watch the ambulance ride away slowly, silently, down the street I grew up on. My Dad is in that ambulance. Please let me see my Dad again.
“We are taking him up for a procedure.” My eyes fill. I hug my Dad. We all hug him. I watch his fists tighten. A single tear rolls down his cheek.
It is that tear that I’ve watched fall in my memory nearly every day since.
*My Dad had a heart attack on November 26, 2013 at the age of 54. I was so afraid we were going to lose him that day. I’m grateful for all of the people that cared for him and kept him here with us. I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
Where There Is Joy 
You capture the overwhelming part of being in a hospital well, particularly when you don’t know the whole story and the feeling of chaos that comes with that. Thank you for sharing this personal slice with us.
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I’m so glad your dad pulled through. What a scary time for all of you! I really like how you structured this piece, moving back and forth in time. It was very effective in increasing the tension of the piece.
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Absolutely gripping. The whole time I was thinking. let him live, let him live! I’ve walked this same terrible road with my father – he wouldn’t go into surgery until I could get there to see him first. Powerful, powerful slice of life, indeed.
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Love this! So full of raw emotion. The back and forth structure builds urgency and makes the story powerful (as Fran said). “I just don’t think I can do a workshop today.” In my mind, I hear a strong, quiet, trying to be professional voice that checks in with work while all you want to do is be with your father. So, glad, you dad is still with you creating memories! Thanks for sharing!
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No words. Just a slow tear and a virtual hug.
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Wow! I was in a panic as I read this, feeling like it was all happening right now. I was completely in the moment. I was more than relieved when you told us he was OK. The single tear is so powerful and so beautiful. Sending hugs.
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I felt the same way! My heart was beating a mile a minute!
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All the previous commenters have said it, but wow, what a powerful piece. I was right in the moment with you. The way you wove the timelines together, the simple words and shorter phrases in the ER, the shifting from what you hear and say to what you see… it all comes together in a powerful piece that had me praying that your father lived. I am so relieved that he made it. Hugs to you this morning.
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The fear gripped me, too, as I read your piece. The rhythm, details, and stream-of-consciousness parts fit well together. Thanks for sharing such an emotional event with us today.
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The feeling is so evident in this piece. I love how you go back and forth in time with the italics. This I’m sure was an emotional day for all and you wrote it beautifully.
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The way you structured this piece is really powerful. During times like this, it often feels to me like I’m in two worlds at the same time-and you captured that feeling perfectly. My heart was pounding!
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You had us all in that memory with you with your words. I am so glad your dad was okay.
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Your big, strong dad wearing a hospital gown, the clenched fist, the single tear – these images were so strong for me. It is gut wrenching to see our parents, the ones we count on to fix things, being helpless and in need of our care. So glad he recovered from that heart attack!!
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My own heart ached reading this. You captured these moments so vividly. So thankful to read the end!
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My heart was pounding while reading this. Such emotion, vivid details, word choice, the back and forth – everything to paint a picture in my mind. Wow. Just wow. I’m so glad he recovered.
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At the top of this page, it says “15 Thoughts on a Single Tear.” It’s a good sign when even the WordPress form sounds like a poem. This entry felt like a movie scene to me, one of those back and forth sort of panicky scenes, where the audience feels as out of control as the person in the scene. I really liked the way you took us in and out of the hospital, the way our memories and other thoughts take us into and out of the present. This was really powerful. I, too, was hoping this was a story with a happy ending.
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You captured this emotional moment quite well. I know the feeling of losing a beloved Dad and it is pain I don’t wish anyone to endure. I was happy to read your Dad recovered from his heart attack.
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