My Heartbreak over My Daddy’s Heart Attack
by Opal Peachey

Then I thought, how silly! Just answer it. 

“Don’t worry Opal, your father is fine. He had a heart attack, but we got to the hospital and the doctors are taking very good care of him…it happened last night, but we didn’t want to worry you until he was out of danger…” 

Calls to friends with cars went unanswered and I cursed my retail weekend. Unable to sit still for thirty seconds, I grabbed my purse and walked to the nearest bus stop, propelling myself thirty miles to the Tacoma hospital bed where my passionately healthy father lay at the mercy of his heart.  

My dad will tell you about the functions of his body with a pleasure bordering on eccentric. My parents’ quest for health has lead to a profound understanding of the effect food has on the body. Intolerance to dairy can touch everything from skin tone to symptoms of depression. My parents have taken food out of the kitchen, turning it into a practice, a philosophy, a way to understand life.  

Daddy bikes the eight mile round trip to his carpentry shop four days a week. He’s visited a naturopath for over a decade and salutes the sun every morning in a faded, green sweatsuit. It’s a given he has low blood pressure.  

And yet — boom.  

I crouched at his hospital bed, searching for words as clues to what had gone wrong. My tongue froze at the taste of his mortality and all I had to show for myself were handfuls of tears. As soon as he was in recovery, my Dad was checking in with these same questions: 

Is this how I will die?

What went wrong to make my body react this way?

How can I make sure it never happens again?

What is this strange suit of flesh and how can I, can we, live peacefully? 

Though the existential bend of the twentysomethings assures me otherwise, I think I have an inkling of how precious life is. And if my father’s journey is any indication, this joie de vivre can come in strange forms.  

Last weekend my dad and Lore came over for dinner. As daddy and I squinted into the late afternoon sunlight, he confided in me that, though he never would have wished for it, he’s glad he had the heart attack.  

“I’m good at paying attention to my body, but the attack was a wake up call. I needed to open my heart. And that’s about so much more than good digestion.”