The rink was packed. Erin skated and ate pizza. She did the Hokey-Pokey, the limbo and the skate races.
|she didn't know I was taking her picture|
I looked out the great big windows at a snowfall that seemed like a white out.
Dad stopped by to drop off the poncho for Lanie. He crocheted it. His mother was very crafty. After his first heart attack, he took up crocheting and knitting to relax himself. He taught me how to crochet when I was in middle school. I can only make granny squares.
He gave the poncho to Lanie and said he could stay a while to help me remember my knitting stitches. He ended up pulling out all of them and starting me over. I filmed him.
His old hands. The big purple marks on his hands. His voice. In some ways it reminds me of Tracey's voice. Every once in a while I would turn the camera to his face, and his glance reminded me of a crocodile's. I laughed.
He gave me a few practices to watch my technique.
He chatted me about a recent visit to have a stress test. How they were getting ready to inject him and put the leads on him when someone did a double take at his chart and put a halt to it.
"I'm sorry," he was told. "We can't do this test on you. I'm afraid it might hurt you."
I watched him as he spoke.
"It would have killed me," he said.
It was only after he left and I told Shane what happened that I felt like my very breath was being pulled out of my body and sucking my own life out with it. How I sat where my dad just sat, and how this past week could have had a very different ending.
My dad told me he's wondered if this will be the year he dies.
The words are so big.
I don't even know what to do with them.