* * *
Before I hangup with the doctor, I agree to pick Dad up in a couple of hours. Asfucked up as I feel right now, I’ve got to stop feeling sorry formyself and get my shit together for my Dad. Walking up the hall, Ilook into the spare room where Dad’s been sleeping. I remember howI found him, all bloodied and unconscious on the floor. I decide totrade rooms with him, so he doesn’t have to go into the room wherehe almost died. I switch our bedding, move a few personal itemsfrom my room to his old one and close the door. My room has a niceview of Granville Island so, he’ll like it better there.
Still feelinghung over and spacey from whatever drug cocktail I was injectedwith last night, I slowly load the dishwasher and wipe thecounters. No matter how crappy I feel, I want Dad to come home to aclean place. Otherwise, he’ll try to tidy up, and I don’t want himexerting himself. After vacuuming dusting, and straightening uparound the apartment, I put on some make up to cover my dark puffyeyes then call a taxi, so I can pick up Jason’s truck before I getDad.
* * *
Thankfully, thevehicle wasn’t towed. The first thing I do before I drive out ofthe parking lot is open the glove compartment and find mysunglasses. Even though the weather isn’t great, the brightness inthe sky amps up my headache.
On the drive tothe hospital, I think about how I need to act strong for my father,even if I’m feeling weak. I can’t let him see how devastated I amover the news of his tumor. The whole reason he never told me aboutit was probably so that I wouldn’t be upset and treat him like avictim. I need to honor that, even if it means that when I’mfeeling sad about his condition, I can never show it.
* * *
After drivingaround the hospital for twenty minutes looking for a parking spot,I make my way inside the building and take the elevator to hisward.
Walking intohis room, I see him sitting in a wheelchair with a green plasticpatient bag on his knees.
“Dad, hi. I’mhere to bust you out of this place.”
When he looksup at me, I see gratitude and love on his face, “It’s about time.I’m happy to be leaving. This place is depressing, too many sickpeople.”
“Yes, well,that kind of is the point to a hospital,” I smile.
I wheel himpast the nursing station. They hand me a clear baggie with pillbottles and a prescription inside. Dad thanks them for their helpand waves, as we’re leaving.
He waits in thefront entrance for me to pull the truck up. I jump out andcarefully help him into the passenger seat.
* * *
When we’redriving away, he mentions how good it is to be out of the hospitaland away from the white walls and sick people. He asks if we cantake a tour through Stanley Park before going home?
“You know what,Dad…If it’s ok with you, maybe we can go for a drive to secondbeach instead?” Thankfully, he agrees. I can’t imagine goingthrough the park after what happened there last night. Again,Slinky pops into my head. I immediately turn the radio on as adistraction.
Following thewinding road along the shore, I see my dad staring out at thechoppy grey sea. When we arrive in the Second Beach parking lot, Ipull up as close as I can to the sand. The view of the city fromhere is postcard worthy. Vancouver is such an esthetic place. Dadopens his window and inhales deeply, “You know, Jules, your mom andI used to come here before you were born. In the summertime, thebeach was packed with people until sundown. So, your mom and Iwould wait until dark and when everyone had left, we’d peel off ourduds and go skinny dipping.”
“Yuck, Dad.” Isay, grimacing.
He laughs, “Oh,smarten up. It was a beautiful thing.”
“Ok. Enoughsaid. You were naked. Mom was naked. It was a beautiful thing. Iget it. Can we talk about something else now?”
Still laughing,he tells me how when they were young, they had big plans for theirlives.
“Likewhat?”
“Like going toCalifornia and opening a vintage clothing store in SanFrancisco.”
“Yeah,right.”
“It’s true,Jules. Your mom and I were free spirits and dreamers. We didn’tcare about having what the Jones did or living up to middle classexpectations. We just wanted to go where the wind took us and behappy.”
While he talks,his face lights up and his eyes shine. I can’t remember seeing himso full of life. But then, my excitement fades. This man beside me,my father, isn’t going to be here long. Someday soon, he’ll be goneand I’ll never see him again. Even though we had years apart, nowthat we’re together, I never want to lose him again. When I feel atear run down my cheek, I quickly turn my head and pretend to lookout my window while I wipe it away.
“You hungry,Dad?”
“Yes. I’mstarving. Do we have anything to eat at the apartment?”
“Not sure.Let’s hit a drive through, and then go home and watch old re-runstogether. Are you in?”
“Definitely,”he says, patting my shoulder,
* * *
When we gethome with our bag of greasy burgers, Dad moves slowly to thecupboard and gets us both a plate, then sits on the couch. I passhim the remote and tell him I’m going to make a call to Katie frommy bedroom.
Her phonebarely rings before she answers, “Hey, gorgeous. I was just goingto call you. My parents just left. How was your night?”
“Uneventful,” Ilie, not wanting to scare her.
“I’m sorryabout not going with you to see your dad. How’s he doing?”
“He’s a lotbetter. I actually went to the hospital and picked him up.” I tellher what the doctor said about Dad’s tumor and how he’s in stagefour—whispering so he doesn’t hear. Katie sighs, “That’s so sad,Jules. Your dad seems like such a kind man. It’s not fair thatsomeone like him has such a terrible disease.”
“That’s sweetof
