Surviving the Longest day of the Year

My dad a few minutes before open heart surgery, relaxed and confident, fully trusting the Lord

My radio informed me on the drive to the hospital that June 20, 2008 would be the longest day of the year. I couldn’t have agreed more as I raced up the mountain on my way to Veteran’s Hospital to see Dad before his surgery that day. I knew there would be much praying and waiting as our family members endured those anxious hours when you simply don’t know how a major event in the life of someone you love will turn out.

Less than two weeks after his 50^th anniversary celebration with my mom, Dad was to undergo emergency bypass surgery to repair a 90% blocked artery in a major area of his heart.

When I first saw him at 5:30 that morning, Dad was stepping out of the shower and since it was the only private place and moment available, I hugged him while I prayed out loud. Both a dripping wet dad and his youngest fought back a tear and shared an embrace as the son lifted up a heartfelt supplication to a Heavenly Father- whose blessings and favor we didn’t deserve- but whose Hand we trusted unconditionally.

We weren’t anxious or fearful. We got lumpy throats because we were afforded the opportunity to express our undying and utter love for each other, albeit the fact that it was next to a stainless steel hot-tub in the shower room, which smelled like that hospital anti-bacterial stuff they spray all over the place in health care facilities.

People often wait until something dramatic happens to reveal their love for each other. Fortunately, that is not the case with Dad and me. We’ve been open about our love for each other for years so there was no awkward moment when I attempted to put the adverbs and adjectives in eloquent order to impress him.

The orderly who carted my dad away a few minutes later tried to relieve the tension with some hospital humor. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, “I’ve never lost a patient, but I’ve misplaced a few.” Nervous laughter ensued.

They say there are no atheists in foxholes. I would add that you probably won’t find many in hospital waiting areas either, especially rooms with the letters ICU on the door.

Seven hours after I saw my dad off to surgery, his surgeon casually strode into the waiting room, informed us that all had gone well, and departed before anyone could thank him. But there was some thanking left to do.

I asked my dad’s pastor if he would pray before we all rushed off to the allowable areas to use our cellphones and spread the good news.

Another seven hours later my dad woke with nothing but a washcloth looking-thing as clothing to protect his privacy. “You forget all about modesty when you’ve been split wide open and operated on,” he would later say.

Despite eleven inserted tubes- the largest of which was stuffed down his throat- my dad nodded when I asked if I could pray while he lay in the ICU bed.

A little later, as the remainder of our family departed from the ICU, smiles of joy decorated faces and eyes misting with relief met as June 20, 2008 came to a close. The longest day of the year for the Stroupes had come to a glorious finale.