celebrate good times (come on!)

i have not really written much regarding the state of my father's health post hospital discharge. what i chalk it up to is utter exhaustion and a near-complete fizzle of yearn to talk of all things terrifying, beautiful and hospitalized. he's been home as of july 21st, an exact six months after having been initially admitted to the infirmary. though wordlessly thrilled to go home, he admits he was so afraid to leave the familiarity of hospital life: where, with his every bite of food or cautious step, there would be immediate attention and assistance. it's not that dad was assuming my mother would not be helpful or safe for him to lean on, he was just so used to having an entire team of nurses and specialists following him through his days. anyway, the fear wore off and i'm jubilantly telling you that he's again driving his own truck.

mom and dad came to halifax on wednesday for dad's bajillionth biopsy. dad drove the car from our home in cb all the way to the causeway before mom took over the wheel. when i asked him how it felt to be one more step closer to normalcy and familiarity with driving being an easily-accomplished task again, dad admitted that although it feels nice, it's certainly nice enough for him to be able to get himself a glass of water whenever he pleases. he told me that there's reason enough to smile in his ability to open a door without someone spotting him. he said that just sitting down and not getting exhausted makes him smile for life. when a member of his transplant team called later in the afternoon to confirm that dad's biopsy showed no signs of organ rejection, it was impossible to wipe the grin from his face once again.

he's become so much more mellow than he's ever been. everyone's always told me that i inherited my father's temper so now that it does not exist can i blame my temper on genetics? i likely shouldn't blame it on anything. in fact, i should probably just leave my rage in the dust to die considering how much more difficult life could be. there's not much to feel upset with when you're endlessly grateful for being able to breathe without intubated assistance. it seems petty and infantile to twist about an unpleasant day when there've been days or months lacking memories due to heaps of narcotics pulsing through your system. to feel so angry with another person that raising a voice or hand is an uncontrollable urge is so stupid when anger and violence contribute nothing to a happy heart (or justice, or fairness, or comfort, etc...).

dad's new attitude and grateful heart have rubbed off on the entire family. scars and journals are constant, tangible reminders of hell past, making today that much more worthy of grins and graces. whew.