More Than A Number

December is a super busy birthday month here at Casa Vino. B, D and I are all December babies, plus Christmas. Read, December is a HELLA expensive month for us…

My dad’s birthday is also in December and this year it finally dawned on me that my dad is getting old.

I’ll have the 2nd anniversary of my 29th birthday this month. I was born just a few weeks before my Dad’s 37th birthday.  And then he went on to have 3 other daughters over the next 9.5 years.

Last weekend my Dad and his girlfriend enlisted my help in getting and moving in a brand new couch. Getting the couch into the back of the rented van was no big deal. Two guys from the furniture store moved it in with a dolly. When we got back to Dad’s house we decided that the couch would only fit through the front door.

We live in Michigan. And it’s been snowing here.

In an effort to amass more Favorite Daughter points, I offered to shovel off the sidewalk and the front porch where we would be carrying the couch and sent Dad in to warm up and play with D and the birthday presents he’d just opened from Papa and his girlfriend.

Watching my dad attempt to get that couch of the van was eye opening. Like he seriously struggled. We had to stop a few times getting the couch up to the house, and he actually stumbled and fell going up the three stairs to the front porch. I’ve never seen my Dad fall before. He told me his pride hurt more than anything else, but there was definitely a hitch in his giddy-up moving the old couch out to the garage and the new one in it’s place.

I know my Dad well enough to see when something isn’t right with him. Not that his stubborn old ass would ever admit it. And he wonders where I get it…

I do 99% of the snow removal at our house thanks to B’s asthma and crazy long work hours, so I strongly encouraged Papa to watch a Christmas movie with D and I would take care of the driveway for him. I played it off like I enjoy freezing my ass off in the cold and frigid wind to prevent further injury to Dad’s pride. But honestly, I’m not sure he could have done it himself. Yes, he could have but I’m not sure how long it would have taken him or how badly he could/would have hurt himself.

Two days later Dad came over for our twice a week coffee date and he was moving rather slowly and gingerly. He was also rocking a pretty gnarly bruise with some scrapes from his fall.

Holy shit, y’all my Dad is old. He’s on a whole host of meds for his blood pressure, high cholesterol and is an insulin dependent diabetic. I truly don’t know how may years I have left with my dad. That’s a really tough pill to swallow. As dysfunctional as our relationship is/has been, I can’t imagine a life without my Dad. How many memories does my son get to have with his Papa. Will he ever meet other kids we may have?

I don’t want to lose my Dad, and that’s obviously something that’s going to happen someday, but heaven help me… I seriously hope it isn’t sooner rather than later.

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