Need You Now

56

I couldn’t believe I was in the same room with my father.

I’d been standing at his bed rail for several minutes, unable to move, watching him sleep. I wasn’t sure what to do.

Do I lean over and give him a kiss?

Do I touch his hand?

Do I even know him anymore?

The room was quiet and dimly lit. It felt more like a hospice than a hospital, which had made the first thirty seconds even more painful. The last time I’d seen him, my father had been a handsome man in his prime. The image of him sharply dressed, not a hair out of place, ready to take my mother out on a Saturday night was firm in my memory. Even after I’d learned he was sick, my mind had never allowed me to conjure up what my father would look like when he was dead. Now, it wasn’t much of a stretch to picture someone pulling the sheet up over his face.

That initial shock faded sooner than I would have guessed. I began to see little signs that reminded me of how full of life he’d once been. I laid my hand on his head, covering the baldness from his treatment, imagining him with jet black hair. That alone helped. I smiled at the sight of the scar that was still on his forehead. It had happened during our reenactment of the seventh game of the World Series. Connie had been at the plate. I was pitching. Dad was the unlucky catcher who’d learned the hard way that Connie threw her bat.

“Any signs of coming around?” asked Dr. Kern as she entered the room.

“Still sleeping,” I said.

“You can try to wake him, if you like. But as I said, he’s likely to be quite confused if you do.”

“I’ll wait,” I said. “This quiet time is giving me a chance to adjust.”

She went to the IV. “Let me just shut this thing off. I had him down to twenty-five milligrams, but that doesn’t seem to be doing the trick.”

“I don’t want him to wake up in pain,” I said.

“He can’t get more than six hundred milligrams every twenty-four hours anyway. We’re there.” She walked around to the side of the bed and made the adjustment.

“If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

I thanked her, and she left the room. Then I looked at my father, reached through the railing, and touched his hand. His breathing was steady, but quiet.

“If there’s anything you need, let me know,” I said.