Dying can be a terrible thing.

At this writing my dad isn’t dead, but I fully expect to get the sad news soon.  I keep trying to picture him happy (well, happy in whatever form he knows it) and healthy.

 

I rode my bike in to work with the intent of talking with Dad about the feasibility of bringing in a 42 x 72 foot commercial modular building to increase our gift shop space.  I’ve pretty much made up my mind that I’m going to do it, but wanted him to feel like he was making the decision.  His health has been declining steadily since his triple heart bypass surgery in August of 2010, so I use every opportunity to make him feel valued and appreciated by consulting with him on projects that he just can’t physically do any more.

 

I found him in the shed, looking for tar and measuring a roll of flashing.  He was breathing hard, but I didn’t know how much walking around he had just done looking for the supplies and it was 87 degrees outside with humidity so thick, it felt like I was breathing under water.  I didn’t think too much of his breathing difficulty and asked if he would meet me over by the gift shop to look at the space and give me his thoughts.

 

He rode up and got off his cart to stand at the fence.  Gale had joined us and we talked for about 10 minutes.  They were listing off all of the reasons why this was going to be a monumental task, which is just what they do.  I guess they have to say it all out loud, just to know it’s been said, and maybe as a way to think their way through it.  My reaction to them is always to let them negate whatever it is until they haven’t got any more to say and then tell them that I know they will figure out a way.

 

They were still going on about how hard it was going to be to put a roof over the MH when Dad sort of rocked back a little and his eyes seem to lose focus.  I realized that I should have told him to stay on the cart to begin with, rather than standing and talking, as that just wears him out.

 

He sat in the driver’s seat and said my mother knew a roof over guy, so maybe she could call him.  He seemed to be having a hard time staying focused, visually, and mentally.  Gale gave me that, “he’s not doing good” look and we tried to get him to let me take him home.

 

NO WAY!

 

He had stuff on his cart and Chuck, Scott and Josh were up on the roof of the Modglin waiting for him.  Now I was certain that he wasn’t feeling right because he wouldn’t have just abandoned his mission to talk to me about the trailer.  I’d told him when I rode up that I had a call in 30 minutes I had to take and we could do this an hour from now.  He didn’t mention anyone waiting for him.

 

He wouldn’t let me drive him on his cart, and wouldn’t let Gale take his cart, shifting him to her cart, when he insisted they needed his cart at the Modglin too.  So, I got on as the passenger on his cart and let him drive us to the Modglin.  As we passed the Kitten Cabana he started shaking so hard that he tucked his left hand up under his right arm.  By the time we reached the Office, I asked if he was holding his heart (on the other side, so obviously he wasn’t) and he said that he’d tucked his hand up like that because he couldn’t control the shaking.

 

I asked if I should call 911 and he said he wasn’t having a heart attack.  He said he was just agitated by Gale telling him what to do on the gift shop trailer, after having the crew tell him what to do on the Modglin repair.  I’m sure no one was telling him what to do; we all know better…but his brain was not firing on all cylinders.  When we got to the Modglin, Gale was trying to take his pulse and he was fending her off, agitatedly, so I told her we were fine and sent her away.  I went up to the roof and told Chuck what was going on.

 

I figured if I got Gale away from him he’d calm down.  Chuck said he’d keep an eye on him.

 

It was 10 am and I took my call.  My mother texted me 10 minutes later to let me know that Chuck had managed to get Dad to go ho