"His heart is strong, it is not broken."
11:27 AMMy phone rang at 9pm last night and as I looked to see who it was I knew something was wrong, because it was my dad, and I just talked to him on Sunday. We normally speak about once a week, unless something is wrong.
Something was wrong. Nong, my dad's wife, was calling. My dad was admitted to the hospital in Vietnam, something was wrong with his heart and without surgery in 24 hours, he would die.
NO! I screamed inside. NO! I felt heavy. Numb. I stood in one place, gripping the kitchen counter, not knowing what to say. Chris and Stephanie (who was over because we had just returned from a walk) just stared at me, waiting to know what happened, shocked.
Nong went on to say that my dad was airlifted by his company to Bangkok, to a much more sophiscated hospital, where they said that he had a heart attack and that they didn't know much right now. But, "Don't worry," Nong said, "He's going to okay. Don't cry."
I cried. Gut wrenching. I sobbed and sputtered the information that I had. Chris and Stephanie sat with me on the floor of our bedroom, telling me to have faith, that he would pull through.
I didn't know what to do. I gained my composure as much as I could, I knew that I had to be strong, and I called my brother. I told him what I knew. He cried. Sobbed. He asked what we should do and I told him that I just didn't know right now. I listened to my brother breakdown because I knew that I couldn't, I had to be strong for him. After what seemed like an eternity, I told him that we should stay in touch through the night and have faith. I hung up the phone.
My world, my dad...
I collapsed to my knees, gripping the bathroom counter and I wailed.
Body shaking. Toes curling.
Wailing.
My dad.
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