Happy Father's Day

Earlier in this week that feels like a month, my one wish was that Jane would be out of the Intensive Care Unit by Father's Day. With God's help, she did even better than I had dared hope.

Cathleen continues to keep bedside vigil on our daughter. Last night her best friend Katra slept over in the hospital, also, to keep both of them company.

Jane got a gentle bath and another MRI yesterday. We're told that a 20-minute bath at this stage of her recovery is as tiring for her as a 12-hour work day would be for someone without a brain injury, and so it was no surprise that she slept afterward.

When Jane woke up, it was just in time for visits-- one short visit from the wonderful man who first called EMS and then helped me climb out of my wrecked car at the accident scene, and then another from a school friend named Carolyn, and Carolyn's father Karl. Carolyn helped Jane name her growing collection of stuffed animals. Jane had a coffee theme going for those bears and doggies, because, speaking quietly but clearly, she named them Hershey, Chocolate, and Mocha.

Friends bought Thomas to the hospital for a visit with his sister, and that was neat to see, also. Jane remembers Thomas, but mistook one of her girlfriends for one of our neighbors who is also a friend.

Thomas then went with one of my work pals and her nephew to a stage production of High School Musical 3. He had thought before going that he might not like it, but admitted afterward that it was fun. The stop at Red Robin beforehand was a hit, too ("Dad, I had a bottomless soda. Five Cokes in 45 minutes for $2.25! It was a great deal!").

Memo to SusanCarol: Five Cokes?! I'm embarrassed that my son was oblivious to the outrage of that number (When I challenged him on that, he said, "Dad, I controlled myself. I could have had six Cokes.") But thank you. And your fan club now has another junior member.

I'm starting to feel like Jane is making such wonderful steps in physical recovery that I need to keep pace with her so as to support ongoing mental and emotional recovery. It will take time to sort all this out.

I'll be going back to the hospital with Thomas in a little while. And writing that sentence, simple as it is, gives me pause. That I can write it at all means that I'm alive, and Jane's alive, and Thomas is very much with us. People whom I love are at the hospital for me to see, and I get to see them. I spoke with Jane on the phone, and got to hear her say "Happy Fathers' Day, da-da."

Not even 9:00 am, and it's already a great Fathers' Day.

Postscript: Mass today could not have been any more gripping in the way that Scripture readings fit our current situation. We got Job 38, about the power of God, then Psalm 107, about the love of God, then 2 Corinthians, where Paul reminds people that "the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come."
The gospel was Mark 4:35-41, and in the sermon, Monsignor Tim emphasized that in the storms of life, it's good to ask if God cares, because the answer is always yes.

Apart from all that, the choir belted out not one but two favorite hymns-- "How Can I Keep from Singing?" and "Precious Lord, Take My Hand."

That second hymn is not often sung by our church choir, but family friend Katra and I had heard it earlier in the week while riding the shuttle service that the hospital provides between its main parking deck and various medical buildings.

Our driver on two trips had a CD of the Elvis's gospel tunes keeping himself and his passengers company, and people on the shuttle van had been singing along with the King's instantly-recognizable baritone the other night.

Icing on the cake: Jane got her neck brace taken off today! And whacked her brother with a teddy bear!