The Popsy

 My dad's had an unusual year.  Since his non-Hodgkin's lymphoma went into remission over 25 years ago, he hasn't been to see a doctor.  He has some chronic health issues, he's an RN, and he probably didn't want to hear what they might tell him.   Circumstances forced his hand last fall, though, and he set up an appointment that showed his white blood cell counts were quite elevated.  Testing over the next six months showed the counts increasing, and he prepared for the worst.  Because the chemo used to treat his cancer is known to sometimes result in leukemia, he also prepared his wife and children for the worst.

Thank God "The Worst" didn't end up being a leukemia diagnosis, but the uncertainty of the last several months has sharpened the awareness of time and inevitable death that all humans carry within.  We are thankful for my dad, and we are thankful that God has allowed us more time with him. May we use it well.

My dad's seventieth birthday was the week before Father's Day, and last Saturday we threw him a party in the park. Because we wanted to surprise him and because his nosiness makes it hard to surprise him, we told him that Becky's family and mine were going to have a Father's Day cookout.  Half-truths are half-true, right?  We sorely missed Alaskan Andy and his crew, Joel in Indiana, and Sarah, Henry, and new baby Ezra (sob) who were house-bound with car woes, but the rest of us were able to make it.

I was pretty sure Dad's incessant questioning would ruin the surprise and had very little hope we'd pull it off.  As you can see from the pictures, though, I was happily surprised.   Even seeing Haven didn't inform him.  Dad was puzzled by the boy and by the cameras he saw in the distance, but it wasn't until he neared the pavilion that he knew what he walked into.

 

Success.  How sweet it is.