the right path

When I was 15 years old, and open heart surgery was still a relatively rare and risky operation, my father had a triple bypass. I remember sitting on our balcony with my cousin and a friend listening to the hushed adult conversations in the adjoining dining room. I hadn't even considered the possibility that my dad may not survive this event and that our lives may be thrown into a tailspin, tragically crash, and create a drastic change in all of our lives. The empathetic looks from our loved ones gathered that warm summer afternoon hadn't fully registered to me until my cousin whispered, "I hope he makes it."

Moment by moment, like the innocent anticipating a long awaited judgment, we listened for the phone call from the hospital. What would be the verdict? Would he make it? All of a sudden, I was overcome with emotions I was unprepared to fully understand and embarrassed to share. This intense experience, the realization that one of our team members, in fact our captain, could be cut, left me scrambling for a sound lifeline to my family, my roots, and the hope for my future. I gripped the railing and stared through my tears and into the glaring sunlight, praying for a peaceful outcome and that no one would see me cry.

Although he suffered a lifetime of pain and uncomfortable buzzing sensations in his right hand and arm due to a pinched nerve while he was strapped down for the 8 hour operation, the procedure was deemed a success. While my father was heavily sedated my family made the somber pilgrimage to see him. We all understood that he was certainly not out of the woods. Each successful hour of continued living we counted as a blessing, each day a victory.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

When it was my turn to tip toe into his curtained ICU enclosure I felt the weight of the moment and flashed back to my naiveté only days earlier. Oh, how I wished I could have remained in blissful ignorance of the many dire possibilities this frightening situation could manifest. As I was watching his ashen face, totally devoid of any recognizable expression, he suddenly, desperately, clenched my hand as though I was his last lifeline and sole connection to his own destiny, and plead, "Take the right path. Just take the right path." As my heart thumped in my small chest, I promised my father I would be ever careful and determined to take the right path.





I've often wondered what he was speaking of that late summers day, tucked securely into Vancouver General's sterile, 24 hour intensive care unit. Was he consumed with the worry that he may not survive to share his wisdom and lovingly guide his four children through the perils of lives well lived? Or was he talking to himself? Was he facing the ultimate, profound choice.. live or die? What was the right path?