“Hi Dad.”
“Courtey, is that you?”
“Dad you still sound sick.”
“I am so sick Courtey.”
“It’s been almost a week. Have you been to the doctor?”
“No. I keep coughing and coughing.”
“You need to go to Uncle Jim tomorrow and have him check you out.”
“Maybe I will. Tomorrow we are driving to Moroni to get a turkey.”
“Oh. That sounds fun.”
Deep chest coughing.
“Courtey will you come up and rub my feet?”
“Oh Dad, I wish I could but I am still in Idaho.”
“I thought you were going to be home today.”
“There is still some work that needs to be done here, but we should be home tomorrow night.”
“You will be here for Thanksgiving?”
“That is the plan. I really want your mashed potatoes.”
“I made the best potatoes on Sunday. Even Lucy said they were good. We really missed you.”
More deep coughing.
“Courtey? Where are we going to watch the BYU/Utah game on Saturday? I can’t get it here at home.”
“Let’s go to Jesse’s house.”
“Okay. I’ve lost so much weight being sick this time that you might not recognize me.”
“Your body doesn’t want to digest and recover–too much energy. Are you drinking water?”
“Yes.”
Coughing.
“Courtey?”
“Yes?”
“Will you be home before my funeral?”
“Hmmm. Are you going to choose me to speak?”
“Of course.”
“Well then I will be home in time. I will need a new dress. And could you try and stay alive until after the BYU game? It would be such a shame. It’s been four long years since we beat Utah.”
“I will try.”
Coughing.
“I love you Dad.”
“I love you Courtey. Come home soon.”
Your dad is soooo cute. Even when he’s coughing. Get well Courtey’s dad!
are you the favorite?
Your dad can blame us for his illness. I’m sure I coughed on someone who coughed on another person, who then sneezed and touched a public doorknob, which was touched by yet another person boarding a plane headed for Utah… which proves that there are some advantages to living in a bubble.
I feel like I just eavesdropped on a very sweet, very personal conversation. Is that why reading blogs is so much fun? Because we have permission to be nosy? Hmmm.
So I wasn’t expecting this. I usually don’t try to live vicariously through other people, but I was really touched by this post. I lost my dad to cancer when I was only 19. I usually distance myself from that loss and from the hole it left in my heart, but you caught me by surprise. Thanks for making me feel something again about the whole daddy-daughter deal.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. I hope your dad feels better soon and that you both have a front-row seat to watch BYU knock the socks off the Utes.
Courtney–thank you so much for posting this sweet conversation.
It makes me wonder about the things I am willing to do for my dad. Rubbing his feet would be a very hard request for me to fulfill (another post altogether) but I hope I would. I hope I would do even more. My dad has Parkinson’s disease. Everytime I go home, he looks different but different in a way that is foreign. I used to see him look different because he was taking on a new project and was enlivened at its prospects or satisfied in hard work previously accomplished. Now, I see differences in his gait, his tremor, his weight, his spirits. And maybe I needed to see his weakness to fully value his strengths. I love him now more than ever, not because he is sick but because I so appreciate what makes him well.
wow cjane,
YOU are a lucky duck!!!!!
Oh man. This post kind of floored me.
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