My poor father had just about the worst Father's Day you can imagine. My brother and I went home for the weekend to see my dad, but my dad had left for England seeing as his mom had a stroke. Grandma Tierney wasn't in great shape, and passed on Father's Day. While I was living at home during chemo, I got to listen in on many a conversation between my dad and grandma on Skype. Conversations tended to have a certain format: 1. We begin quickly out of the gates with insults in Irish -- usually involving calling each other old in more words. 2. Dad tells Grandma to point the camera at her face so he can see more than just the top of her head. 3. Dad wanders around the house showing Grandma all the work he's done while Grandma oohhs and aahhs with a heavy sprinkling of critiquing. 4. Dad brings mobile phone grandma into the kitchen to show her my latest bread endeavor while dad quickly loses interest as we discuss yeast breads vs soda breads. 5. Grandma comments on the volume of my hair. It was never quite voluminous enough for her liking, but she seemed quite satisfied with how floofy it became after chemo. One of my fondest memories of her was when we were staying at her house in Ireland visiting family. Before departing the US, my dad had purchased one of those singing fish plaques absolutely convinced that it was a good gift. I remember thinking he was nuts. Sure enough, when we get to Ireland, she pushes the button to hear it sing and absolutely wails with laughter when the fish pops its head out. (My mom once said she has no clue where my laugh came from. I'm convinced it's from Grandma Tierney with a healthy dose of my adoptive neighbor's grandma, Trudy.) But the most hilarious part: baby Lanie was NOT a fan of Mr. Singing Fish. The moment the fish turned to look at you, the moment my grandma found so incredibly hilarious, was also the moment little Lanie found absolutely mortifying. Yet my grandmother thought it'd be fun to keep playing it to cheer her up even though it was the exact thing upsetting her. To the father who has spent WAY too much time in hospitals this past year:
Thank you for running down to DC for my second week of treatment when mom had to go back home so I never had to be alone. And thanks for bringing Lanie because you knew she'd make me smile. (Thank you, Sean for bringing Lanie back to Philly when they got in a crash on the drive home!) Thank you for taking me to treatments and appointments over and over and over again. Thank you for bringing me for food and milkshakes at the Philly Diner every time I felt like eating after appointments, knowing I might not feel like eating again for awhile. Thanks for meeting me in Philly when I got sick at Lanie's during an "off" week from treatment and waiting patiently by my side in the hospital until things calmed down enough to bring me home. Thanks for running back and forth from the clinic to the pharmacy a gazillion times making sure my medications were correct. Thanks for playing cards with me when I was really down in the dumps. (He hates cards.) Thanks for hating that nurse as much as I did that accessed my port without numbing cream. And thanks for talking with the oncologists about books and rowing and everything in between. They thought you were "endearing" and "cute" (their words, not mine), and I'm convinced it made me a more tolerable patient for them to handle. Happy (belated) Father's Day! (Sorry this one was so crappy.) I love you!!
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorI'm Emma. I love food more than anyone will ever understand - specifically cheese, chocolate, bread and pretty much every fat & carb combo you can think of - apple cider donuts, ice cream, the list goes on. Fats and carbs just go so well together. Don't you think? Why is it that when I'm tasked to describe myself, I always talk about food? Anywho, I'm a grad student and rower training studying and training in DC. Here's to having no free time and loving every minute of it (jk...I'll tell you the bad stuff too)! Archives
July 2020
Categories |