In 2007 Jeremy and I were in a car accident on Thanksgiving day. Actually we were in two accidents, but they were very close together, so let’s just call it an accident. Jeremy ended up with a concussion and I had pretty bad whiplash and we got to ride in expensive American ambulances to my hometown hospital where my old babysitter did our cat scans.
My dad came to get us at the hospital that day. He found Jeremy for me and made sure he was okay. He got the nurses to let me get up and use the bathroom before the doctor okayed it. Later he drove us to the pharmacy where I got my pain pills and on the drive home he told me it was fine to take vicoden with wine (My father was not a doctor. It is not actually okay to take vicoden with wine, do as I say not as I do and etc). And as he drove us home along I 69 he listened to me bitch about my unluckiness for a little bit before cutting me off and saying, ‘No, Carolyn, you aren’t unlucky. You’re very lucky. You’re alive and you weren’t even hurt that badly and your nieces weren’t in the car and you’re going to be okay.’
This is a paraphrase, it was 2007 when it all happened, okay, also vicoden and wine.
The point is, I’m remembering that conversation today as it’s the 3rd anniversary of his death and I’m trying to remember how lucky I am to have had my dad around for as long as I did. How lucky I am to have all these stories about him, to have known him and learned from him and laughed with him and to have been his daughter.
Today still sucks, no doubt about that, and it sucks that we didn’t have as much time as we wanted with him but I’m grateful for the time we did have. For the stories I’ll always have, even if one of them features him calling my very tasteful tattoo a tramp stamp (Whatever, Dad, GOD!).
He was a good dad. I am lucky he was mine.