Today was a real day. The sort of day a person of a certain way might rehearse in their minds for many years, since childhood even but yet it comes as a surprise. A day when life changes forever and forever we are grateful for what we have. My father is not dead but he has had some kind of stroke or seizure which has rendered him unrecognisable to the man I joked with in Biltema just a few days ago. He cannot speak and he cannot move in any controlled way. On seeing him this morning my first reaction was to explain to the nurses that he is not like this, that something, some event has occurred. The may well have assumed that this was his state. He was in a wheelchair, scared and panicked but visibly relieved to see his wife and myself also.
Soon after his examination by the geriatric doctor he yawned and slumped uncomfortably we called a nurse to held move him and, having seen the state of father she instead calls another nurse and tries to wake him. he doesn't wake and more nurses then, with panic in the air the dr is called who in turn calls the heart specialists and suddenly we are ushered out and are faced with a group medics running down the corridor with a heart machine. Well we honestly, my mother and I, thought he had died and we sat at a desk looking at each other and sipping water from the coloured plastic cups.
He was ok and the heart specialist a precaution and we were able to go back and see him as he lay sleeping. I made up my mind that I must tell him how I feel, how much I love him again and that I did a couple of hours later when he had perked up and regained some colour. I have written of his wonderful daftness previously which is very funny and artful but makes it impossible to have seriousness and thus I have found it difficult to tell him the important things, but not today. I had a good scare but was given a second chance and I took it, looking him dead in the eyes and saying "I love you dad." and, "you were the best father in the world and if I am just half of what you were to my children then they will be very lucky". He heard this and smiled and cried and strained to hold out his hand for the obligatory hand shake.
He wont be back, the future has caught up with us but we must wait to see what improvements he makes before becoming to used to the inevitable. We will be back in the moring to visit and I will be off to Arlanda to collect kate who arrives midday.
We feel humbled by the excellent care of the nurses at the Norrtälje hospital. I myself feel I want to give something back to society for the gift it has given our family this afternoon. Alas I am an artist but stop. This is not a day for the shameful ramblings of our regular correspondence but I can tell you that this feeling of real life is serious and humbling.When I think of our output I feel shame in the face of such selfless service of the nurses but also the buzz to work is there, as if the trauma is an energy source. As I sit here in my fathers chair I feel like I want to paint very much but the theory, the abstractions, the waffling seems utterly, utterly, irrelevant.
I sketched myself through the moist.
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​
​