The Empirical Manifesto

My father begrudgingly disclosed to me that he was to have an angiograph in preparation for an angioplasty to be performed on an out-patient basis. He wanted to tell me after the fact, but Mother insisted I know before the procedure. He wasn't worried, so I wasn't worried.

Unfortunately, the outcome determined that an angioplasty would do no good, and that a full blown bypass needed to be performed. Open-heart surgery. On my father. The very next day.

There are sons who despise their fathers and sons who are ambivalent towards their fathers and sons who believe their fathers were born from the gods themselves and helped forge the very heaven and earth on which we walk. Just to clear up any misconceptions, I belong to that last camp. There is never any advice as good as my father's advice, for not only have I followed closely in his footsteps knowing that where I am about to leap he has leapt before. And unlike anyone else on this earth, his advice is in my best interest, for his goal is my success. And its more than that, too. He's not just my father now that I'm an adult, he's my friend. A long-suffering friend who never gets angry at me, never treats me with disrespect, and is never disappointed in me. We share similar interests in movies, music, and books and share with each other endlessly these endeavors. I am he, in almost every facet of my life.

When I called my mother and brother to get an update on what time the procedure would be scheduled, I discovered that two doctors had separately determined that his blockage was inoperable, and he was given 24-hours to live.





I was already at the hospital by the time the "Gregory House of Fort Worth" arrived. This man was considered the best heart surgeon in the city and was brought in to give final consultation on the other two doctors' decision. After reviewing the angiogram and then querying my father, he explained that he was going to die unless he had bypass surgery, but that he likely wouldn't survive the operation due his diabetes and weight causing him to be a very high-risk patient.

"But," he said, "I want to do the surgery. It is your only chance."

My father was prepared for any eventuality, and faced his fate more bravely than I was able to, and we said our goodbyes.

I drove to my folks house to deliver the news to my mother and brother, maintaining strict stoicism the entire evening...until my wife called - which caused her to rouse the children from their beds and drive to Wise County in the middle of the night. I took leave of my mother and got our usual suite in Decatur. If he was not going to survive the operating table, my wife wanted him to see the children one last time.

I dreamed Daisy had come back, and I was so excited to see her! I was petting her and playing with her, and we were so very much enjoying each other's company. Surprisingly, she continued to stay. Usually she just stays a short time. She led me to a corner where she laid down and batted my hands with her gigantic paws and offered me her beautiful head to stroke. I called celtmanx in my dream, "Guess who came to visit me in a dream?" I asked. "Daisy! But here's something puzzling, she hasn't left yet. Usually she comes in my subconscious to comfort me, but she's never stayed this long. Why is she still here? What is going on that I require so much comforting?" He didn't know, and neither did I, but I was enjoying her presence, which pushed my curiosity to the sidelines. I let her comfort me.

Then the phone rang, waking me. It was Mother. Father was going in at 0600. Too early for the children to see him if he didn't pull through. How was I going to explain this them? When I had children of my own, my father stepped out of that role and became PapaDaddy to my children. He was PapaDaddy to all of us now. No longer a father, but a grandfather. Its the role of a lifetime, and the culmination of his patriarchal career. And just like everything else he set his hand to, he was successful at it.

We met Mother at the hospital and waited.

Eventually, the doctor arrived. "There's not a thing wrong with his heart, its healthy and strong." Healthier than they expected. They performed a double-bypass and he's not only recovering, he's recovering faster than they could've possibly imagined.

Later, in ICU, the attending nurse told us that the doctor told them the reason he was doing so well was his attitude. Apparently the doctor had done more than asked questions about his routine that night in his hospital room, he was gauging the man himself, and unbeknownst to us, had determined that his positive attitude was going to be key to his success. I've said it before, I live by it, but I submit to you now, that attitude is everything!

In authoring this, I was finally able to let the tears flow, and I want to thank all those involved in supporting me during this time. The last three days have been one hell of an experience, and last night was my first full night of sleep in a week. Tonight, is mr_dowg's Pirate Party - and while we are all gathered here for different reasons, tonight, I celebrate my father's life.

I love you dad, and my world would be dull without you in it.

This Thanksgiving Weekend has given me plenty of time to get everything ready for the party despite the 70-degree evenings evaporating overnight late last week. Bummer. Now I'm hoping it will be dry. I've spent an inordinate amount of time tweaking my playlist. I want to set it and walk away. I don't want people fiddling with it. I've made additions and deletions, added more scores (only the short, immediately identifiable tracks, I promise) and dropped in a couple of handfuls of movie sound bytes dialog. I've tweaked the settings of iTunes (what there are), adjusted the EQ, and triple-checked the playlist for album art. I've decided on full-screen Cover Flow over insipid "visualization." Everything looks, and sounds awesome on this end. I'm pumped.




I anticipate most of the party taking place in the garage. We'll have one of the garage doors open allowing access to the front yard, allowing easy access to the keg (which I presume will be bone dry approximately 90-minutes after tapping it) to allow Mother Nature's assistance in keeping it iced. There will be a buffet table in the garage as well, with three crock-pots (one of them a veritable vat) of Texas chili and two of queso. Everyone's been so helpful in pitching in to ensure everything is covered. The number has swollen to nearly 50 confirmed, with the possibility of an additional twenty or thirty still unaccounted for. Yes, I could potentially have 80 folks at this party.

My wife decided the foyer would benefit from my rugs this time around. The largest middle rug was my first - I picked it up in Saudi; its my only machine-made rug. The rug to its right is a handmade rug with the weavers name (in arabic) sewn into as a signature centered near the bottom. The white highlights are silk. The one to the left of the big rug I picked up in Korea, its a handmade Pakistani rug. The other two are much smaller hand knotted rugs, both of them having been purchased in Virginia, one of them Indian made. They go somewhere different in each house I've had. I've never split them up before (I usually hang all five in a row) but I think they really invite you into the house here. The wrinkles are from being used as packing material for six months.




And while I anticipate the garage and front yard being filled with happy, drinking people - the interior of the house is not off-limits. I'm going to have several internet kiosks around the house so people can get online whenever they want to. I want them to be able to access the lj 'Guestbook' as well. Nonetheless, I took great care in getting all the unnecessary junk out of my office, vacuuming & cleaning it, and even hanging some things on the wall. I'll move in some more chairs the day of the party. We're down to the last five days, and I take my boy to Cub Scouts tonight. Time is fleeting.