My mom called me last night. She wanted to tell me that my dad had abandoned her. He'd just turned his back and walked away, she said. She cried. She pleaded for my help. I tried to explain. I promised her she wasn't abandoned. I swore that this was all so that she COULD come home. She hung up on me. So I cried and I called my dad. For a few minutes I got to be a kid again and call a parent. Thank you for that dad, it's a privilege to be your daughter. You allowed for a bit of refuge in a painful moment. Of course we all know she wasn't abandoned. And we all know that she's in a very safe and highly esteemed medical center, because we'd have it no other way, but sometimes the facts just don't matter. So dad went and spent the night.
She's now a resident at the Evanston Northshore Hospital stroke center. The social worker at Presbyterian Homes has worked there in the past and assures us that it's a fantastic program, not to mention a tight knit family. It's also in the same building as the ICU, which means that our favorite Angels are upstairs adding extra comfort to a yet another fragile transition. Now that's she's strong enough, she will have several hours of rehabilitation therapy every day with the goal of accelerating her recovery and getting her home and back to her life. We're all hopeful that this will be another successful step in her recovery. And since she hasn't called me to complain yet, I'm thinking the odds are getting stronger.
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