My family’s life was turned upside down two weeks ago. On the fourth of July, my husband and I picked up my older sister who lives forty minutes away and drove her to my parents’ home for a picnic. It was a beautiful day. My uncle brought us leftover food from his grandson’s graduation, so no one had to cook. Mom warmed up the food and we sat at a table under a big oak tree and ate and talked. It seemed like the perfect day. Dad was in good spirits and was joking around with us like he usually does. Around four o’clock we drove my sister home and then drove back to our house. Then my husband and I watched fireworks, which seemed like a perfect end to a great day. We had no idea that our lives would soon be sent into a whirl wind.

The next day I called my mom to find out my dad had spent the night getting sick. She had called the cancer center, and they told her if he didn’t get better to take him to the emergency room. The following day Mom met my husband and me at a funeral home to go to the viewing of a friend who had passed. Mom told me Dad was doing better, but was very weak. So, we figured the food he ate didn’t agree with him since he was on chemo, or it was a reaction to the weekly shot he gets every Wednesday to fight the cancer.

Later that night my mom called me to tell me my dad was sick again, and they were at the ER. My husband and I waited for a phone call late into the night. I was sick with worry, and I had called my siblings to let them know Dad was in the ER. My younger sister and brother texted on our group chat from time to time, asking if I had heard anything. At one in the morning my mom called to tell me my dad had pneumonia in his left lung and was air-flighted to a hospital in Erie, a half hour away.

After I called all my siblings, I went to bed, but struggled to sleep. In the morning, my mom called and said my dad had taken a turn for the worse and was on a ventilator in intensive care. Dad had arrived at the hospital in renal failure, but the doctor on call saved him from dying. From that point on it was a matter of praying he would survive.

I called each of my siblings to tell them. My brother lives in Tennessee, and my younger sister lives in North Carolina, and they both made plans to come to town. Once they arrived, each day we gathered in the waiting room and took turns going into the ICU to hold Dad’s hand and to encourage him to fight. Only two people were allowed to go in at a time.

At home I cried in my husband’s arms, afraid that I was going to lose my dad, the man who always came to our rescue when my husband and I were in need, the man who believed in me being able to write a book when I lost hope, and the man who helped others without asking for anything in return. My emotions twisted within me, and I felt like I was falling into the hole of depression again. No matter how much I slept at night, it wasn’t enough, and I felt drained physically and mentally. I turned to my support system and journaled out my feelings. My friend Cheryl texted with me often to support me through this, and my friend Amy called and still calls me each day to see how I am and to get updates on my dad. I thought I needed a higher dose of my antidepressants to deal with the situation, but my psychiatrist disagreed. He said what I was feeling and how I was reacting was normal for the situation.

My dad had IVs in his arms and neck. His arms were strapped to the bed so he wouldn’t reach up and pull out the ventilator. He could nod his head when we talked to him, he squeezed our hands, and moved his legs. Nurses kept an eye on him round the clock, and different doctors came in and out. I wanted to cry each time I saw him, but knew I had to be strong for him. After six days my brother, his family, and I went to the hospital. I sat in the waiting room with my niece and nephews. My brother and his wife went back to see my dad.

After a while, my brother came out with a smile. “Dad’s off the ventilator and he can talk some.”

My niece and I went back, and my dad looked at me and said, “I love you, Aimee.” Then he looked at my niece and said, “I love you, Sara.”

He struggled to force his words out and his voice was garbled, but his words were music to my ears.

I looked at my father and said, “Dad, you’ll be tickling us again in no time.”

“He can tickle you now,” the nurse said.

Dad started rubbing his fingers on our arms in an attempt to tickle my niece and me. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. So, I laughed. As the day went on, he was able to talk more and joke around. After a few days he was moved out of ICU to a regular room, and he was looking more like himself. He was extremely weak, but in good spirits. My husband and I picked up my older sister to visit dad in the ICU and then in a regular room.

I posted on Facebook updates on my dad asking for prayers, and the prayers were answered. Each day he made new improvements. Now two weeks later he is in rehab, determined to get stronger so he can go home. We continue to visit him in rehab, and each day he’s getting stronger and is acting more and more like himself. My dad’s heart is weakened by everything he’s been through, and they are trying to strengthen it. He has fluid in his legs and feet, and they are giving him a diuretic to get rid of it, but they believe he will be able to return home in a week.

The thought of losing my dad scared me. I can’t imagine my life without him in it. I know he won’t live forever, and I thank God for giving me more time with him. This situation showed me how short life is and how God carries us through the rough times. It also showed me that I am stronger than I think. I did what I needed to deal with nearly losing my dad. I used coping techniques to keep me above the hole of depression.

Hold on to those close to you, tell people you love them, and don’t hold grudges. If you find yourself in a situation where your entire world is being turned inside out, use coping techniques and your support systems to get you through. Give yourself credit; you are strong.

I believe I handled nearly losing my dad quite well even when I thought I wasn’t. Leaning on my support team and using my coping techniques helped me stay in the light of recovery.