It's About Dad

Part One

Feb 09, 2026

All I could remember was the sound of the birds chirping overhead. The ring of cicadas in my ears. My auto pilot self defenses focused closely on the warm buzz of nature surrounding me. Drowning out the phrase I’d feared most. Now being echoed in my ear.

“It’s about Dad.”

In the middle of COVID-19, as I washed down the delivery table at the Hunanese restaurant I managed, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

FACE TIME

Papa Bear

Pulling my mask down, I slid the answer bar over and felt my smile slowly fall looking at the room surrounding him. Over the steady cadence of medical machinery beeps, I saw his patient’s chart behind the half closed room dividing curtain.

“Hey, Panda.” I couldn’t believe his nonchalance.

“Dad…what, what happened? Where are you? What hospital?” My emergency system override kicking in as I reflexively opened the closet coat check and quickly gathered my belongings.

“Don’t worry-listen. HEY, I’m fine. Put your stuff down. I’m alright.” I slowly closed the door and listened intently as he continued. “I’m in Boston.” Silently, I waited. Holding my breath. He sighed with regret for having to finish this line of questioning.

“They want to do heart surgery.”

“I’m on my way.”

Recovering from his quadruple bypass, he struggled. For two years he had dizzy spells, and we could see fleeting moments where his health wasn’t what it used to be. But he was a fighter his whole life, and we couldn’t see any match being too big for him. We thought, like every other time, he’d bounce back in the ring. It wasn’t until one long holiday weekend that everything changed.

In my neighborhood’s favorite coffee shop, my phone rang. Seeing my sister’s name, I tucked my phone back in my pocket until I could call her from home. As I sipped and slowly walked through the trails of Emerald Necklace, my phone buzzed once more. Sliding the answer bar, I merrily greeted her. My smile slowly faded at the words I’d come to fear more and more as time went by. The sun warmed my face as I looked up towards the birds overhead, perched in tall red maples. Watching as they chirped to one another, I tried my best to understand what had just happened.

“A…a blood clot?”

“Amanda,” her voice quavered and shook, “they’re amputating his leg.”

Shock and denial surrounded me like a protective shroud of cellophane the whole world could see but me. As doctors explained the severity of his condition and the help he would need, I’d maintain my argumentative bullet points of deniability. With modern technology advances, his physical strength, and this being the best city in the nation for medical care, surely…surely…please…something can be done.

Walking in after his amputation, I slumped by his bedside. Grief is an interesting thing. Until that point in my life, I only saw grief as a symptom of death. But there I was, grieving the loss of the man he once was. When he woke, I wanted to do everything I possibly could to ease his pain and give him some semblance of peace. When the hospital’s chaplain visited, I wondered if faith would help.

“Dad, there’s a priest outside. Would you like him to come in and pray for you?”

“No. That’s alright.” He said softly. But as I turned, he continued, “yeah…ok.”

I opened the curtain for the priest as he made his way over to my Dad’s bedside. Rosary beads in hand.

“Hey, Father. Look, a month ago I got the car of my dreams. Beautiful Corvette. But it’s a standard.” Throwing back his blanket to reveal his one leg, he said, “do you have any prayers for this?”

The room burst into laughter. I rolled my eyes. He still has a bite and some fight left in him.