Skip to main content

Strokes and father's

I was lucky to have two fathers: My “real” dad and my stepfather. When I think of Father’s Day, I have several examples of a “father.”

My Dad was a complicated individual. Even though I lived with my dad for 8 years, I did not really know him. Sometimes, the memories are great. Often, the memories are nonexistent or bad because I was scared of him. Perhaps that was normal because he was the disciplinarian.

When my parents were divorced and Dad moved to Boise, several weekends a year and during the summers, Dad and I were forced to have a relationship. There were some rough patches in those early days, but I found out that I loved my Dad.

Even now, when I make scrambled eggs, watching cartoons, BBQ’ing, etc, I think of my Dad. He became like a great wonderful older brother to me.

My step father was my “real” father. When my mom married my step father, I was 8 years old. The comparing of fathering styles was evident. My dad used a belt to enforce his rules. My stepfather, on the other hand, was so calming and reasoned when he had cause to discipline me.  

A belt was a harsh punishment, but it made me resentful. For my stepfather, all he had to say, “You let me down, and I am disappointed.” His words were more punishing than my dad’s belt.  

However, I realized later that my mother married two wonderful men who were similar in many ways. They were very intelligent and incredibly smart, irreverent, quick witted, successful, devoted to their families, selfless, compassionate, etc.

Though different in many ways, I realized now that they were more similar than I ever knew. Mom had great tastes in husbands!

When my second massive stroke happened January 13, 2012, my dad had been dead for 18 years. However, when the hospital staff was rushing me to have another MRI, I distinctly heard my dad saying, “Mark Patrick, you will be fine. I love you. You will be fine.” Though confused and scared, my dad was with me.

After that stroke, my parents arrived from Twin Falls. Mom and Karl, held me tight and said, “You will be fine. We love you.” They passed away 10 months after my strokes.

Often I tell people, I had three great parents. My three parents helped me during what was the worst day of my life. I am grateful for them.

I was blessed to have two great dads. On Father’s Day, I will remember them with love. I think of them every day.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Two Faces of the American Dream

The massive wave of Norwegian immigration to Minnesota from the 1850s through the early 20th century wasn't a casual choice; it was an escape from crushing land scarcity and economic desperation.  My ancestors, the Dunhams, arrived in 1851 and built a life in Otter Tail County in Minnesota. My great-great-grandfather, Jens Christian Dunham, didn’t just survive—he thrived. He served in the Minnesota legislature as a Republican from 1888 to 1890 and later became a staunch advocate for President Teddy Roosevelt. He was the literal embodiment of the American Dream: an immigrant who fled poverty to become a lawmaker in his new home. Fast forward a century, and a new wave of immigrants—this time from Somalia—is following that exact same blueprint. Like the Norwegians before them, they fled hardship to build a future in Minnesota, and many have run for office to serve the state that welcomed them. Yet, the political rhetoric surrounding these two groups couldn't be more polarized. Don...

Phantom Blindness and Taking a Break after Strokes

I met with my eye doctor last week about taking some time off from my vision therapy. I have been doing therapy since my stroke almost two and a half years ago. I am tired, and a need a break. My doctor said, “This is completely understandable. Take some time off.” At the appointment, my doctor tested my vision. Because of the strokes, my vision was affected, and I have a problem in my field of vision on the right side. I have a deficit with my right side peripheral vision. However, it is getting better. During the test, I told him that I “sense things on the right side of my peripheral vision.” It seems that I know that something is there, but I cannot really distinguish what it is. He told me that there is a body of thought describing phantom vision or phantom blindness. A Polish researcher, L. Bieganowski, described this phantom blindness this way:    “The subject of the paper is the phenomenon of phantom vision. It occurs among the blind (or almost blind...

Eye floaters, Strokes, Another ER visit….

It is always something.... I’ve had eye floaters for as long as I can remember. My paternal grandmother had them. My brothers have them too. They’ve always been part of my vision—little drifting specks, threads, and shadows moving across my sight. Over time, you learn to live with them. Sometimes they swirl around, sometimes they settle toward the bottom of your vision, and most of the time you simply ignore them. Floaters are actually tiny clumps inside the eye that cast shadows on the retina. They’re common as we age, especially after fifty, and usually they’re harmless. Doctors will tell you that most people eventually tune them out. But sometimes they change. On Wednesday, while we were driving home from an overnight trip, something felt different. It was my left eye. The floaters suddenly looked darker, heavier, and there were flashes of light along the edge of my vision—almost like a bright crescent moon flickering on and off. At first, I tried to ignore it. After everything ...