my dad falls

My dad is a volatile and loving man.  I think of him as brimming with vitality, and boiling over with emotion.  He is hard-working, artistic, and can create wonders with his hands.  Growing up, my dad was the guy you called if anything in your home needed fixing.  He was the one with the beautiful penmanship, not my mom.  And the birdhouses he built as a hobby became classics among those lucky enough to be a recipient.

My father is a fierce liver of life. He is envious of no one, content with what he has.  He is grateful everyday for the family he adores. The home where he loves.  And watching his six grandchildren grow.

But in the past few years, my dad has lost much of his mobility.  His hands are no longer steady, and he needs help with the mundane tasks of everyday life.  He also has fallen in love all over again with the woman he married 64 years ago.  At 89, he has lived a good life, and truly has no regrets.

I get a call this morning from my sister.  My dad has fallen and broken his hip.  He is in the hospital and the operation will likely be Friday.  For now, he is resting.

I speak to him.  I know he must be in pain, but he tells me he is fine.  He never complains. Fortunately my dad will not need a hip replacement.  Instead, a pin will be inserted, and perhaps he will regain some of his balance and his ability to walk unaided.

My dad is resilient and of strong heart, literally.  My mom is optimistic.  We all are.