The Art of Becoming

My dad had open heart surgery on March 12. Since then it's been a waiting game to see how his body will heal. The first couple days were torture for him: every breath in or out held pain, it was difficult to walk, and worst of all, it was excruciating for him to laugh. He is a man that was born to laugh. I remember being a little girl and waiting for the moment that my dad would walk through the front door at the end of his work day. We never knew what kind of day he'd had at his law office until we all sat down for dinner and we'd hear him tell my mom stories about the cases he worked on. But for the first 20-30 minutes of being home, he was pure joy. He would walk through the front door, briefcase in hand, black suit coat hung over his arm, and he would sing loudly: I'm home! I'm home! We're going to have some fun. We're going to have a good time. Fun! Fun! Fun! Every time, same words, same tune. This was the cue for my siblings and me to run

Where are we now? By my count, this is day 18 of quarantine. 18 days of the world turned on its head: kids not in school, no soccer practice or games, no dance class, no gymnastics. 18 days of the new normal we've been asked to adjust to. In that time I have felt a mounting panic; my dad had open heart surgery 18 days ago, and he was hospitalized while his body recovered. The hospital is a place crawling with germs. He needed to be there, so he could begin to breathe on his own again, and begin to walk the halls slowly of his own accord. He needed the life saving measures that the doctors and nurses provided. It also put him inside a germ hotel. Now as he recovers at home, he seemingly has pneumonia, diagnosed from televideo doctor appointment, and my mom, The Nurse, listening to his heart from home. He has a cough, a wheeze, and the doctor prescribed antibiotics and an inhaler he can use three times a day. He says he's getting better, but the cough and wheeze hangs on. Of