Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
My mom has freely shared information about her—though not because I asked. Only because hospice came out to my parents’ house while I was in Toronto and got things set up for Dad, and apparently, Calliope was there to help them navigate the overwhelming amount of information they received.
Mom said they met with their hospice nurse for almost three hours to go over everything. They learned things that no family member should ever have to know, including the physical changes that will happen to Dad as he starts to die. Mom promised she’d go over everything with me when I returned to Raleigh, and the thought of it made me want to vomit.
I’ve been back one day, and she hasn’t brought it up. Neither have I. I want to get through tonight’s game, hopefully seal up this round with a win. Then I can put some energy into it since we’ll have a few days off until the next round starts.
I look back up at the section where I think my dad will be. It’s a seating area available to people in wheelchairs, and part of the hospice package included a shiny new wheelchair. I’m not sure whether or not he’s going to use it, but when I left for the arena today, he was adamantly opposed to it.
Granted…he seemed to be having a really good day. Woke up with energy and actually ate a decent breakfast. According to my mom, who got the information from the hospice nurse, he will have good days and bad days, and it will be unpredictable. She said it can cause a lot of anxiety for us because the good days will inevitably lead to false hope. My mom told me today that we need to be grateful for every good moment he has, knowing that there are far more bad ones to come in the future. It was plain talk, but I appreciated it.
When I left for the arena, Mom was pushing for him to use the wheelchair, her argument being that he could be worn out by the time the game was over. My dad told her he was feeling pretty damn good and didn’t want to have the assistance unless he had to.
My personal opinion was that Dad should make the decision, but I didn’t voice it. But I did tell my mom that she should just let him go without it. I promised her that if he ran into trouble after the game and didn’t have the strength to walk out, I would get help. That seemed to put her at ease enough and because I can’t seem to locate them in the wheelchair area where they would be if he brought it, I assume they’re in the ticketed seats. I don’t know what those seats are just yet since I don’t have access to annual passes because I’m so new to the team, and their tickets were handled through will-call.
It’s enough to know that they’re here to watch me. I’ll take any games my dad can make it to and cherish it more than I ever did in the past.
Even more than that first professional game I played when I signed with Calgary. My parents both flew there to watch me play. I’d splurged and bought them first-class airline tickets and put them up in a luxury hotel, proud of the money I was making. I had a limo bring them to the game, and I was on cloud nine stepping out onto that ice, knowing they were there to watch me.
Knowing my dad was there, taking the time from his busy work schedule to come and see his son play.
That moment seems almost dull in comparison to right now, knowing that this could potentially be the last game my dad watches me play live.
I’m going to make it count. I’m pumped and ready to go. In fact, this feeling…the adrenaline and surge of pure joy for the game is the only thing that makes the deep despair in the pit of my stomach that never quite goes away even bearable. It’s hard to let a few minutes go by without thinking about the fact that my dad will soon be gone, and my relationship with him is on borrowed time.
Hockey is the only thing keeping me sane right now.
♦
I can still feel my teammates patting me on the helmet after I scored the game-winner tonight, and the taps of their sticks against my calves. The win is a rush that doesn’t die down easily, and I finally feel completely in sync with my new team.
Zack invited me out for some beers tonight, but I declined, not hiding the truth.
“Going home to spend time with my dad,” I told him. “He had a good day today, and I want to take advantage of it.”