Burns, tears, and heartbeats

My sister called me last Monday in a panic. She was on her way to the emergency room to meet my father and my aunt. Dad had been burning trash and something (we still have no idea what it was) exploded. Because dad was still in a kneeling position when the explosion occurred, a large portion of his face, ears, and neck received serious burns. As he beat the fire out on his head, several of his fingers and his right forearm also sustained severe burns. Somehow Dad managed to get back to the house (probably pure adrenalin) and called my aunt for help.

I can't even begin to express the amount of guilt I experienced in a twenty-four hour period; my dad seriously hurt and here I sat in St. Louis. School was ending the next day and I had to have my grades finished before I could leave. Needless to say, Monday night was a sleepless night and Tuesday was a blur. I threw some clothes in a bag and headed to the farm as soon as I was finished at school.

I don't remember a single minute of the drive. All I could think about was getting home, to my father. As I walked through the kitchen to the living room, my sister tried to prepare me for what I was about to see. Rounding the corner, all I could see were bandages. Reclined in his favorite chair, my father sat mummified. My father was a mouth, a nose and swollen eyes the size of baseballs. I gently touched his shoulder and let him know that I was home; he tried to look at me, whispered, "Baby, " and we both cried. My greatest fear rested not in what he may look like when the bandages came off, but whether his eyes would be damaged. Loss of vision would be detrimental to my father's way of life, not to mention his spirit.

With each day's passing, the swelling began to lessen and late Wednesday evening, we could actually see his eyes. With the reduction of swelling, Dad began to act more like himself (the man who had been my best friend for nearly all my life). Our conversation skills were a bit rusty as the past couple years have been a little strained, but we were soon returning to familiar dialogue. We laughed until we cried, reliving old stories and sharing new ones. Two years of disappointments and anger disappeared as I wiped those joyful tears off my cheek.

Friday, my sister and I took Dad to the burn clinic to have the bandages removed and find out what would need to be done. After a ridiculously long wait, the nurse finally came to get us. Despite our efforts to keep things lighthearted, you could literally feel the tension in the room. Dad was afraid of what he may look like...Suzi and I feared his reaction and how he would handle what he would see. He stared at us as the bandages were removed. As the final bandage was removed from his face, Suzi and I looked at each other in disbelief and then told our father that he looked GREAT. Despite minor discoloration (red/pink patches) and skin that would need sloughing off, I was staring into the face that I had loved my entire life. By God's sheer grace (and medical innovations), there should be no scarring on my father's face. And, most importantly, his eyes seem to be fine as well.

I spent the week with my dad at the family farm, the one place that has always been home to me. While I am so thankful that Dad wasn't physically scarred by this accident, I am more thankful for the opportunity that was presented to us in the form of this accident. I got my father, my best friend, back. When it came time for me to leave, I found myself on the verge of tears. To lighten the mood and avoid shedding those tears I made a comment about him being glad to get rid of us, to have his house back, and to have us off his back about lotion, sunscreen, and wearing wide-brimmed hats. With tears in his eyes he said, "No, I've loved it." I cried openly on my way home.

While my father and some of his decisions have frustrated or hurt me these past few years, I have always been and will always be there for him. I've often asked myself how many times do you allow someone you love to hurt you; I was reminded of the answer that I have always carried in my heart...in this case, for as many beats as my heart has left.