Today marks twelve years since the fateful morning of my mother’s desperate call to me while paramedics worked to resuscitate my father following a heart attack. He was 67 years old when he passed that day and had suffered a heart attack almost thirty years prior outside my bedroom door. I saw paramedics in the hallway working on him from the bottom bunk while my younger brother slept in the bed above me.
Yesterday, I met with my cardiologist’s PA a year after my own heart attack to check my progress after a stint was placed. I was told I am doing great with good blood pressure, pulse and having lost 15 pounds. I was cleared to stop a few prescriptions, but still have two arteries with blockage percentages that will keep me taking some of the meds.
I miss you pops and wish you had done more to make sure you were around longer to see your grandchild grow to adulthood. I will do all I can to make sure I stick around as long as possible to be here for my grandchild.