Happy Father’s Day

By Tom Owczarzak

It’s amazing how much hospitals look the same. Not on the outside – on the inside.

Early morning, body cramped from dozing in uncomfortable chairs – why the hell do they not put couches in the waiting rooms? There has to be some logic there I am missing because it makes no sense.

And, yep, back in the hospital. Another nighttime vigil for family.

This time I was not alone. My mom and uncle stood watch. I just played a supporting role.

Burritos and coffee…I am solid on that shit.

I am scared.

We are jumpy in hospitals these days. You know.

But we are also veterans. We own a corner in the waiting room and food and drink arrive and piles up so it looks like we are stocking up for a hurricane. I am always so proud of my family in these times. We have to turn down half the offers of help just because there is not enough time in the day.

We help convince each other that the cafeteria food is actually kinda good at this hospital.

This hospital has a fountain in front of it. The last one was surrounded by fields. One before that had an In-n-Out Burger on the corner.

But the waiting rooms are all the same.

And, of course, we are not the only family here. There is a big worried family in the room across the hall.

We run into each other at the monitor that tells us how our loved ones are doing behind those doors.

And it is common to give wide berth to suffering families in hospitals – I appreciate the space I am given with my family.

But I am me so, eventually, I asked them how they were. The other family.

And to be clear, this is a 3 AM conversation. There is no such thing as a good 3 AM hospital conversation.

Until tonight.

Because the concerned family was there for their father and grandfather. He had just received a kidney transplant that he had been waiting 10 years for.

The surgery was longer than expected due to blood pressure issues but, in the end, it went well.

My family is scared and worried. That family is worried and hopeful.

I fully admit that I am not as brave today as I was when my Grandma passed. I still feel unsteady from her passing. The fear is gaining more hold on me than usual.

I have had to find corners to cry my eyes out in multiple times today. Full body heaving collapsey affairs.

I have been here enough times to know there is no value in doing anything other than just sitting with it and letting it pass. 
Good lesson for me across the board actually.

But the dawn broke this morning, and, for me, there is something about making it through the night that feels like victory.

I went out for a walk. Hung out by the fountain. Watched the clouds turn lighter and felt hope creep back in and push out the fear.

As I was walking back in I passed the other family that was leaving. And I recognized the look on their faces. They had made it through the night too.

I asked if their leaving meant everything was going well. With weary smiles they said yes.

They will be back tomorrow I am sure. Maybe later today.

We aren’t leaving today but, somehow, watching them walk toward their car, I just knew we would be that family soon enough.

There is a lot of time to write when you are waiting in a hospital for somebody you love. I hope to share more thoughts soon. I haven’t slept much and that always puts me in strange head-space.

In the meantime, if you have a spare moment, please send a healing thought to one of the kindest, gentlest, most amazing men in the world. Believe me when I say, we are all diminished until he is back on his feet.

And maybe send a little strength for my courageous Mom. Even rocks need support sometimes as well.

Thank you. Happy Father's Day – especially to the man in that room who I love like a father.

Tom Owczarzak holds a Masters in Philosophy, a Bachelors in Religious Studies and works as a Licensed Contractor building houses and other things