MEN DON'T CRY

(I promise, really I do, to finish that final chapter soon. It’s there but not quite. Need to post this blog and write a second before too much time goes by.)

How many times have you heard that saying? Carl always apologized when he cried. Jonathan felt embarrassed whenever caught with a tear falling down his cheek. Dad rarely displayed any emotion, and probably in my teens when I saw him cry for the first time. Remember it well. In Albuquerque at night time. In the living room standing in the dark by the stereo, purchased with books of S & H green stamps, looking out the pane glass window. Upon entering the room I was taken aback to hear the sounds of sobbing coming from Dad’s direction. Dad had been watching the movie, “Spencer’s Mountain,” and a song during the funeral scene was the same song performed at his mother’s funeral. The next time he showed a similar display was when Jonathan was three and Dad was going to be separated from his one and only grandson when we decided to move to California. The breakdown occurred while Dad was saying the prayer before our last family meal together.

Never noticed any more visible evidence of salt-laden cheeks or tear-stained eyes until April of this year. Dad had been experiencing health problems over the last couple of years. Lately he was having trouble walking just short distances, experiencing shortness of breath, and was completing the preparation stages to receive a bypass. While at church he was dizzy and the paramedics were called out. Dad became very emotional, looked scared and had trouble catching his breath; somewhat resembling a panic attack. Thought Dad might get that bypass, but after several hours in the ER, Dad went home. It wasn’t the heart.

Dad was scheduled to have an angiogram but it was postponed because he was anemic. The next question--Why was Dad bleeding? Thus began the game called anticipation. Dad’s problem was twofold: heart and colon. In between the numerous tests and lab work Dad suffered a heart attack and was admitted into the hospital in June. Another waiting game ensued. More tests were run and several doctors who were considered the “A Team” consulted on what Dr. C called a “difficult case.” Dad received a pacemaker, had triple-bypass surgery, and entered rehab. On Saturday after a 10-week stay, Dad was released and obviously filled with a smorgasbord of sensations. When faced with one’s own mortality, it’s a wake up call and a time of reflection.

Dad stepped out of the car somewhat shaky and apprehensive but maneuvered his way into the building with the aid of a walker. It was lunchtime so he actually passed by a welcome home line. Everyone was thrilled to see my father. A man who was truly missed. Dad broke down but quickly composed himself. Knew he was grateful to finally be home.

It’s been a few days and Dad has been somewhat disheartened. He had forgotten about the colon surgery; however, as always, he is taking everything in stride and is now mobile without the walker. Doctor appointments have been scheduled and he’ll see the colon surgeon in two weeks.

Although it breaks my heart to see my father so upset, please don’t tell me that men should not cry. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It doesn’t diminish their masculinity. And on some it can be down right sexy. So change those sayings. Men can cry. There is crying in baseball. And lest we forget, Jesus wept.