Sunday, June 20, 2004

Same Day (Epilogue)

A New Day
The next morning I was awakened by the sunlight coming through the window at the foot of my bed. It was a another glorious, SoCal morning.

I felt reborn.

I put my shoes back on and I wandered out the door to a nearby restroom to splash some cold water on my face. I went out to the nurse's station an asked if I could see my daughter. The nurse said that they were just then in the process of filling out the release papers.

Amy seemed happy, but ready to go home.

I thanked as many people around me as I could see, and asked them to again please pass on my appreciation to the crew who had served us the night before.

I took Amy out to my car and we drove home, to the waiting arms of Michelle and little Shawn. We were a very happy and thankful family again.

In the years since, Amy and I have talked about the incident dozens of times, maybe more. She didn't really remember any of it, except in flashes, and she's actually not sure if those are genuine memories or those manufactured from hearing the story being told so many times throughout her childhood.

But when she was in 4th grade, her class assignment was to write a story about heroes. She wrote "My hero is my Dad, because he saved my life."

Now any father who says he doesn't want to be his little girl's hero, is either lying or just plain stupid. I'm no different.

I'm delighted to know that she thinks of me in those terms. There is a definitely a bond between Amy and me that that exceeds the father-daughter norm. But seriously, I don't look at what I did as heroic. I look upon it as a miracle. I was just a spectator, watching it unfold from up above, hovering near the ceiling. I have no idea who that guy was, performing CPR on my daughter that day.

I really don't.

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