Editor’s Corner: Don’t Wait Until It’s Too Late

“Don’t wait until it’s too late!” This Sunday, the nation will celebrate Father’s Day. Children everywhere will rush to the store to buy purple ties and orange socks. But how many of you will actually take the time to show your dad how much he means to you?

Father’s Day and, in fact, every day of the year has taken on a new meaning for me. You see, I have spent the last 34 years without my dad. He was the center of my universe and the strength of our family, but in August 1990 God decided to call him home. My dad was not perfect, but he loved his family.

In September 1989, my father suffered a heart attack and underwent what is commonly known as a balloon test. After a couple of weeks in the hospital he came home and we thought everything was fine. However, a month later another blockage was found and this time the balloon test would not work. Therefore, he was rushed into emergency surgery for a double by-pass. Once it was over, the surgeon came out into the waiting room and told us that the operation had been a success and he was doing fine. However, as the doctor talked to us, his nurse came out and called him into my father’s CCU room. My father’s blood pressure had dropped to zero and he had lost all vital signs. There was no oxygen to his brain for about seven minutes or so. The main valve to my dad’s heart had exploded and the surgeon had to open him back up and literally, manually massage his heart back to life.

During this time, the nurse had told us there was virtually no hope. She even went so far, at one point, to tell us that he had not made it. But you see, the decision of life was not in the hands of the doctor. He survived, but the next few days were an emotional roller coaster. My father went into a coma twice. He lost all vital signs once again and emergency surgery was required. A neuro surgeon ran a bunch of tests on his brain and told us he would probably be a vegetable if he ever did wake up. There were several times when his body went into convulsions and it would take four or five men to hold him on the bed. The horror stories go on and on.

The doctors never for a moment believed he would survive. In fact, the doctors in Jonesboro told us they didn’t know what else to do. Therefore, they transported him to Little Rock with his chest open. Once in Little Rock, we went through several more weeks of pain as my dad laid in a coma in a CCU room. I long ago lost track of the number of operations that Dad actually underwent, somewhere around 11. But my dad was a fighter and several months later he was able to return home with his family. It was not until one year later, when we thought the battle was won, that he died.

During that brief few months when my dad was back home, he made a lot of amends. He had a new appreciation for life and he learned how to show his love. We had always been a family that hugged each other, but we were kind of scared of the four letter word. I believe in my heart that God gave our family a second chance to understand the true meaning of love.

On the Sunday before my dad died on a Tuesday, I went home for a visit. When I was leaving the house to return to Osceola, my dad hugged me and said, “Don’t ever forget that I love you and don’t ever forget that God loves you.” I will always miss my dad, but his last words to me always comfort my heart. He taught me a lot in the few years that he was on earth to share my life, but most importantly he taught me not to be afraid of the four letter word.

The last time I saw my dad, I gave him a big hug, kissed his cheek, and thanked him for being such an incredible father. I wasn’t too late. And, I pray neither will you. This Sunday, rejoice in the fact that your dad is still with you and don’t forget to tell him how much you love him.

Sandra Brand is the editor of the NEA Town Courier and The Osceola Times. She may be reached by phone at 870-763-4461 or 870-563-2615 or by email at brand@osceolatimes.com.