You know how they say that bad things happen in threes? Well, I’m sure hoping that isn’t true because 2017 hasn’t treated me kindly.
We’re eight months into the year, and two dates are permanently imprinted in my mind. 31/05/2017 (LINK TO POST) for reasons that will remain unsaid, and 05/08/2017.
Saturday morning was going to be like all others. I was going to spend six hours studying, then watch a spot of TV, then early to bed. I know, life at 30 is just wild. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Just before noon, I got a Facebook message from my sister. Which is odd, because we’re not exactly the chatty type of family. Or more so, I’m not. I can just about keep my husband up to date with what’s going on, let alone anyone else. But I digress.
My parents weren’t particularly old when they had me. My mother was 27 and my father 33. But I guess I have to face the fact that they are indeed getting old. I’m in my thirties, so my parents are closing in on retirement age. Well, my father is. My mother took early retirement years ago, only to end up working harder than ever on her business [LINK!]. My father is 63. Which is insane. Because in my mind, he’s always in his early 40’s. He’ll forever have jet black hair, a Tom Selleck moustache and a love for bomber jackets.
He’s a man who has dedicated his working life to tax (bleugh). He’s worked his way up in the regional offices, and received a medal a few years back for his service (the Order of the White Rose I think?). He’s a man who is (was?) very active in church, guiding the spiritual lives of many others in his mild-mannered ways. He is a man who would cook both rice AND potatoes with chicken, a man who begun to build a second story to our bungalow, all by his very own hands. He’s a man who likes to travel and who LOVES flowers (my parents have so many photo albums to prove this point. So.Many.Albums.Purely.Of.Flowers. Let that sink in.).
He’s a man who would spend his free time going on walks, pottering about the garden, holidaying at the cabin in the middle of nowhere. I remember exactly two times in my life that he’s been ill; once with influenza, once with back pains. I’m sure he must’ve been ill at other times too, but not that I could tell.
He’s a man of few words. My husband would make slight jibs about us just sitting in my parents’ kitchen, in complete silence, just… being. He’s a man who would do anything to make your life easier, to make you happy. He would accept you as the flawed person you are, and simultaneously say a silent prayer for you.
And on 05/08/2017, my father, the healthy and fit person that he is, spent an hour in pain before he thought something might be a little bitty wrong. And on that day, my father, one of the cornerstones of my life, was admitted to the hospital following a heart attack.
I know I’m setting up a picture where it ends in three words. But that’s not the picture. He’s fine. In hospital at the moment, but all things considering he’s fine. He’ll be on blood thinners, a heart-healthy diet and off on a sick line for a few weeks, but he’s still here. Well, not here but in Finland. But ‘he’s still there’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.
I read something today of what bit of advice people have truly taken to heart and one thing in particular hit me:
“you never know what things your luck has saved you from”.
We so often complain of how unlucky we are. We might not get the job we thought we really wanted, we might break that dish we always loved, or we might not be all that lucky in love. But we never stop to think how truly lucky we really are.
It’s human nature to think negatively. We have this internalised raincloud constantly over our minds, and we never stop to think how fate/God/Shiva/Jahwe/*insert deity* can actually shield us from the worst. So take a moment and be grateful. You never know what could have come upon you without your luck.