8:17

I missed a call from my Mom this morning. I was trying desperately to get all the shampoo out of my hair with the trickle coming out of the nozzle. I heard the phone ring, but typically anyone calling my phone that early is nobody I care to speak with.

Getting out and drying my hair, I reached over and pulled up the log.

"Missed call from Mom Cell."

She's had a cell phone for a while now. Thing was, she never turned it on. "Just for emergencies," she told us. Well, yeah,but what if we were the ones with an emergency?

I called her immediately back. No answer.

Panic set in.

I was in the hopes that she would be leaving a voice mail. She's notorious for leaving much longer than necessary messages.

No alert popped up.

Reaching for the phone again to call, it started ringing.

Mom Cell, it glared.

"Hello?"
"Good Morning. I wanted to let you know that Dad had a mild heart attack this morning."

He's apparently fine, in fact I heard him in the background telling her what to tell me. He's in ICU, they're scheduling an angiogram this afternoon.

Though I didn't hear much after "this morning."



Mortality is something you try to not think about. It's the elephant in the room. He's in his 70s now, and the ugly truth sometimes sneaks up on you and punches you in the gut.

But still you put it in the back of your mind. "I'll deal with it when it happens," you tell yourself constantly. Thing is, my family's always had an almost whimsical view of death. Growing up in Small Town, Texas, it seemed that there was always a funeral or wedding to go to. Someone who lived near us, an odd great-uncle/aunt/grandparent/third-cousin-twice-removed... I had probably attended more funerals before age 7 than most people attend in their entire lives. It was something I became accustomed to, namely the fact that people die.

But not in my backyard, so to speak.

the worst part is, I'm freaking the fuck out, and he's fine. He's recovering. I should be comforted by that.

No clue as to why I'm not.

Maybe I'll have some answers for myself when I go see him.

I Love you, Dad.