Cherish Every Moment

My father went in for a minor surgery a few weeks ago. It was nothing serious and his doctor just referred to it as an outpatient procedure. It would be simple, easy-breezy, no worries. That’s what we all thought, but it didn’t go that way at all.

After the surgery my father seemed to develop dementia. He hadn’t had it before this procedure, but afterward he couldn’t remember even the simplest things. He was confused by time and had difficulty dressing himself. My mother rushed him to the hospital and once there he developed delusions. He thought that he was being kidnapped and that people were attacking him.

His speech got very quiet, slurred, and difficult to understand. He couldn’t stand up on his own. My father is a professional musician. He’s played the piano since he was five years old and in a desperate attempt to help him remember something we brought one of his electric keyboards to the hospital for him.

I sat on the bed next to him with my hand on his shoulder. The keyboard he’d bought a few month before was set up in front of us. “Can you play something for us?” I asked.

He sat looking blankly at the keys. Finally, he press a black key and a single note rang out. “This old raggedy thing is out of tune. I can’t play this,” he said.

My mother requested her favorite song and when he didn’t know what it was she told him, “Pieces of a dream,” she said, “Can you play that for me?”

He shook his head and mumbled something about the old out of tune piano again. My mother retreated to the far end of the room to cry.

We visited my father everyday while he was in the hospital. Sometimes I’d look into his eyes and shiver at the blank stare that met mine. My father whose laughter always drifted over the crowd, my father who was quick with a joke and a song had become a small, scared, paranoid man whose hands shook uncontrollably.

I would search my mind trying to remember the last thing I’d said to him before he went into the hospital, but I couldn’t recall.

The tests at the hospital all showed no reason for this sudden, rapid deterioration. The doctors had no explanation for us, but as quickly as he descended into ill health he has started recovering again. Now after more than two weeks in the hospital his doctor has let him go home. For that we are grateful. He is almost back to normal.

Life is fragile. We don’t know how long any of us have on this planet. There are no guarantees for tomorrow. That’s a simple and hard to face fact that we tend to ignore because thinking about it is difficult.

Are you making the most of today? Do the people you love know you love them?

I can be harsh at times. I can be closed off to the people around me. It’s not a good habit. I’m finished with that behavior. I would never want my last interaction with anyone to be a negative one. I would never want to leave the most important people in my life wondering whether or not I really cared.

I don’t know how possible it is to live everyday as if it were your last. I often think it isn’t possible at all, but this year let’s acknowledge the moment and the people that we share those moments with. Really listen when your son tells you a story. Call your mother and tell her that you love her. Hug your best friend and make sure she knows how important she is to you.

You never know what life will bring or which moment will be your last.