My dad had a stroke today. I don't really know much more than that at the moment. He was in the hospital at the time, so that was good. I mean, shitty in that he's been there since last Thursday and they're still trying to figure out exactly what's wrong with him, but good in that if you're going to have a stroke, a hospital is the best place to be. But still. His left side was completely paralyzed immediately after, but he's slowly recovering from that. He's since wiggled his toes and moved his hand a bit, so that's a good sign. And they're moving him to the Cleveland Clinic tomorrow, which is an excellent hospital, one of the best, so that's good, too. But still.

I'm just...I'm just so fucking scared, you know? I can't even believe I typed the words "My dad had a stroke today." I re-read them a half dozen times, thinking, "That's not right, is it? Did that really happen? This isn't real." Other people's dads have strokes, not mine. Grandparents and random strangers on television shows have strokes, not my dad. My dad is strong and vital. He doesn't get sick. He shouldn't be this sick, goddamnit. He's my dad.

When all of this started, I tried not to freak out. I told myself that they'd figure out what was wrong, treat him, and then he'd be fine. I didn't let myself think about how serious it is, or that he could die. I didn't want to be the drama queen who freaked out over something that turned out to be nothing. But after seeing him in the hospital last weekend, seeing how fragile and weary he looked, and especially after the stroke, I can't convince myself anymore that everything will be okay. I used to know it would be okay, but now I don't know anything anymore.

I’m just so goddamn tired right now.

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