Father's Day from the Woman too wrapped up in Life to Count Her Blessings

    What am I going to buy Dad for Fathers Day?  I'd like to get him something that he will enjoy, I don't know what to get him.  What about a DVD Box Set?  No he has that one.  What will I make for dinner?  Cabbage rolls should I make cabbage rolls, nah I'm thinking BBQ.  This is the inane brain chatter that rumbles around in my head every June, oh heck substitute the Father's Day dialogue and it's the same inane chatter that rumbles around my head every waking minute.  In that chatter there is no feeling blessed.  There is no "Thank God my father is with me this year to celebrate".  I throw myself into the details, the stupid, worthless details.
     As I sit here writing this I feel a little ashamed.  I feel ashamed that I am so busy being busy, living my insane life that I have forgotten my blessings.  I chastise myself thinking how close I came to being one of those who will celebrate this Father's Day for the first time without their father.  Those who would give anything for just one more day with their father.
    In May of 2017 Dad wasn't feeling well.  I took him to our local hospital, where he was treated like garbage.  I don't feel like it was just my father who was treated this way, our medical system is broken.  It has become more about the business model and less about helping people, but I digress.  Dad was in the hospital emergency room shivering on a gurney in the hall, burning up with fever.  It was almost 24 hours that he stayed in that state of limbo.  Eventually he was seen by a doctor who discovered that dad had blood poisoning.  He was in the hospital for a week.
    Dad's recovery was not speedy, but he is no longer a young man.  He is no longer a young man who also happens to have COPD and congestive heart failure.  I've always felt like my dad was invincible, immortal.  I always knew that in a fight my dad could beat your dad hands down.  I would like to say that this was school yard talk, but up until last May, I was still quite certain that my Dad could beat your Dad.  Dad doesn't complain about anything, he just keeps on.  He's gone to work with broken fingers and had them set that night after work.  He's had bits of metal in his eyes, gone to the hospital and then right back to work.  The Grim Reaper could be holding onto my Dad and he would just stubbornly walk away, pulling the Grim Reaper along like he was water skiing.  My Dad is one tough old bird.
    Mid July Dad was feeling really ill again.  We went back to the hospital, again a ridiculous wait.  It was the blood poisoning again, and it was bad.  The doctor looked at us and said that Dad was only the second person with this type of blood poisoning that he has seen live.  Usually it will kill them within a few days, my Dad pulled the Grim Reaper along, stubbornly refusing to give in.  He went from Belleville, to Kingston, to London, to Kinston.  They suspected that his pace maker had caused the infection.  He was in hospital for a month.  That was a month of running back and forth every single day, and doing it gladly.  In that month I felt so blessed to still have my father.  What happened from then until now?  How did I loose that feeling?  Life returned to normal.  Dad no longer was the centre of my universe.
    I had done my usual Father's Day thing, make the meal, give the presents, make the small talk.  Mom and Dad left and I sat down exhaustedly at my computer.  Facebook, my window to the world.  I scrolled along looking at everyone's pictures with them and their Dads, saying the kind obligatory things about how great their Dad is.  It didn't take long to see the posts from my friends who were hurting.  This was their first year without their father, they were orphaned.  It seems a funny thing to call middle aged people "orphans" but I'm sure that is how they must feel. With parents you never really feel like a grown up, you are always someone "little boy" or "little girl", even if you are in your 60s and your parent is in their 80s.
    I read these posts, reading between the lines, feeling that aching pain of grief that these people were sharing.  This day that is meant to celebrate our fathers, turns a magnifying glass onto the pain of not having a father to celebrate with.  It came as a slap to my face, my realization.  People around me are in pain, in grief and I have my father.  I fought to keep my father with me, and yet I acted like today was like any other day with a little more pomp and circumstance.  How could I do this when I know how fragile life is?  I allowed life to disorient me away from what I need to concentrate on.  It does not matter if I have an authentic German food for Grace's class tomorrow.  It does not matter if my bathroom is clean (it's not by the way), none of the little things matter.  What matters is that I am blessed, and I need to start to remember this more often.  It should not take others pain of loss to remind me of my bounty.
    I will be more mindful, this I vow.  I must remember to count my blessings.  I am blessed.  I have a good husband, beautiful inside and out children, I have both of my parents who are in relatively good health, I have a home, I have heat and air conditioning, there is food in my cupboards, there is food in my refrigerator.  In a crisis I can count on both hand the amount of people that I could call on to help me and I know that each one of them would be here before I could hang up my telephone.  I am blessed, my cup runnth over.  I need to stop taking life for granted and begin to fully submerge myself in it.  My life is blessed and I need to take time to breath in my blessings.