the red lifesaver

So I've always hated red lifesavers. At least for as long as I can remember.

For the record, I don't like red Skittles, either. (Not that that matters).

But not long ago I had a flashback to quite possibly the defining moment of my red-lifesaver hatred.

It came back to me when I saw a look on my dad's face a week ago today.

He was laying on a hospital bed, being wheeled from one procedure into a new area. It had been barely an hour since he had been rushed to the hospital during a massive heart attack.

The look on his face was that of pure fear.

He had a tear coming out of each eye. He didn't talk.

He was terrified.

We were, too, but that wasn't important. It was about him.

I have an awful memory.

I don't remember really important things, but I will recall a random, pointless occurrence that no one else seems to think actually happened.

The fear on my dad's face reminded me of a day years ago.

I was five or six years old. Maybe younger, maybe older, not real sure.

I was in church. In the pew. With my parents and my brothers.

I was eating a red lifesaver.

I began to choke.

I was gasping for air.

The next thing I remember is my dad grabbing me and running me down the aisle of the church.

He had held me, banging on my back as he ran.

He took me to the men's bathroom in the church that my grandpa helped build.

He set me on the counter by the sink and then my memory fades...

No idea how, but he got the red lifesaver out of my throat.

And he held me again.

I remember the bright bathroom.

The evil red lifesaver.

But most of all I remember the look on my dad's face during the moments before he retrieved the lifesaver.

Fear.

It passed quickly. We returned to church.

But it was real.

And it was back this week.

There's only one other time that I recall that look of fear.

The red lifesaver day and early morning on May 11, 2003 I saw that look in his eye.

On May 11, 2003, it before dawn and I was in labor with our first child, The Boy.

That kid gave me one heck of a time, back labor, face up, all kinds of nice feelings.

My parents met us at the hospital, in a room that happens to be just across the hospital from the room he sits in right now.

He sat beside my bed, gently demanding pain medication be sent my way ASAP as the fearful look covered his face.

This past week I sat beside his bed, not so quietly demanding that pain medication be sent his way as the fearful look covered his face.

It isn't easy.

To see the fear in the eyes of the man who I see as invincible.

And it isn't easy,

to never, ever again be able to enjoy a red lifesaver.