My Hero: My Dad

November 22, 2011
By PM_23 SILVER, Defiance, Ohio
PM_23 SILVER, Defiance, Ohio
5 articles 0 photos 0 comments

‘Please help my dad get stronger and keep him safe,’ I prayed for my dad every day after his accident, and I still do to this day. My father is my hero, and I hope that one day I will be like him. When I was fourteen years old as I watched him progress from his accident, my father became my hero after his accident, which happened in 2009. After two days in the hospital, the doctors told my mom that my dad would not have any motion on his left side due to the stroke that caused the accident. They also told my mom that my dad may never be able to recognize who people were and if he would be able to talk again. It is October 27, 2011, and my father is walking, talking, and recognizing people. He’s overcome therapy, hospitals, doctors, and all the people who said, “You cannot” or “ You will not.” My father has overcome so much, and he is still determined to get movement out of his left arm just like he did with his left leg.

The phone rang at 5:03 a.m., and my mom bursted through my door around 5:30 a.m. sobbing. “Emily, your dad has been in a terrible accident,” my mom cried. At 5:30 a.m. my brain doesn’t respond to the activity around me. When my mom said that, I couldn’t process what was happening. I sat up and rubbed my eyes and said, “Huh?”
She said those words again, “Emily, your dad has been in a terrible accident,” and started to cry even harder. After that it was mostly a blur until my sister and I were sent to our neighbors, the Ericksons so that way my mom could go see if my sister and I were allowed to go to the hospital to see our father, an hour away in Toledo, Ohio.
My sister and I waited at Ericksons for three hours before we were allowed to start making our way to the hospital. By the time we arrived, all of my aunts and uncles were there with my mom in a very small compact waiting room. My sister and I still had yet to see our father and waited another forty-five minutes before we could see him. It seemed like it had been years since I had seen my father. I kept thinking to myself, ‘What is he going to look like? Is he going to be in a hospital bed with a nightgown on like they show on TV?’
When my sister and I arrived at the waiting room, all my aunts talked about the pillar my father had hit with his semi on the way to the Toledo hospital. I still have yet to see the pillar, but the news covered some of his story on his accident. They showed where his accident took place, his name, age, and the hospital where he was. I felt like time was moving in slow motion while I sat and waited for my mom to get the okay from the nurses to go back and see my dad. In the waiting room, everyone knew what happened or had the main idea of what happened or so I thought since no one had asked what happened.
When we first saw him, he was in the ER, lying there wrapped in sheets shivering. I said “Hi, Daddy,” trying to not cry hysterically like my mother. When I said those words, a smile came across his face, but his eyes did not open. The nurse said, “He heard you.” His accident made me realize just how precious life is and how easily it can be taken for granted.

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