I drove my stepdad to the ER on a cold, heavy morning — the kind where you feel something is wrong before anyone says a word. He’d had a heart attack at home but insisted he was “fine,” even as sweat dripped down his temples. I ignored him, got him in the car, and stayed by his side through every test, every worried glance from the nurses, every moment he drifted in and out of sleep. His daughter lived hours away and couldn’t get there in time, but I never held that against her. Some distances in life aren’t chosen — they simply happen. In those days by his bedside, I felt the weight of what he’d quietly given me over the years: stability, patience, and a fatherly steadiness I never expected.Continue reading…
