Victory Lap

I was glad to have the notebook paper and pens. It kept me from having to look at my mom. She was holding her own, looking strong, but you could see the tension around her eyes and in her cheeks. The room had family and people from church. They talked and laughed. I loved them, but I didn't really want to participate.

Straring at the blank sheet of paper I had a decision to make. Twenty Four or Nine? If I picked twenty Four it would be me razzing my Dad. He, like many NACSAR fans, loved to hate Jeff Gordon. To give him that number would evoke that friendly fighting that was much of a staple of who we are. On the other hand if I picked nine it would be the number of his guy, the one he rooted for. Nine had been the number of Bill Elliott, who he had rooted for, for years. Later that number went to Kasey Khane and my Dad's allegiance went with it. This number graced a fair number of my Dad's t-shirts.

My friend, Pastor Jeff, arrived. He was here to pray with my Dad before he went in. We talked, but I don't remember much about it. I kept thinking, "Where is he? What will he look like?".

I finished the number. Twenthy Four.

My mom rose abruptly. They had just told us we could see him before he went. We couldn't all go see him at once.

I got tape from the nurses desk and went with my mom to see him. His normal shirt and jeans had been replaced with a gown. I think he had a tube under his nose and an IV, but to be honest that detail is a little hazy. I remember sneakily taping the number I drew to the rail of his hospital bed.

There was no normal conversation. How are you doing? No. What are you up to? That's not right. I hoped the awkwardness of the situation would be replaced by a little talk of NASCAR.

I pointed to the paper. I let him know it was Gordon's number. He protested, but it was half hearted. He was tired. I didn't know it, but the man before me, my father, was changing. We were changing.

It felt like this man, who was always in charge, wouldn't be told what to do, wouldn't be bent to the whims of anyone, was suddenly out of control. His heart had betrayed him. In that moment, I didn't have any need to razz him, no need to fight. That wasn't who we needed to be. I just wanted him to be okay.

Our time ended and I remember looking back and seeing that twenty four taped to the rail. It wasn't drawn that well and it hung just a little crooked. My dad hadn't even removed. I thought to myself, "I picked the wrong number." and went back to the waiting room.