This Is My Rifle: The Scariest Day of My Life Posted by Jason James on 01/29/14 | Filed under Opinion, This is My Rifle

Last week my dad had a heart attack.

For the past two years I've felt like I've been riding a bullet train- speeding through life and ripping around the world at an extreme velocity in search of happiness and freedom. My focus has been unwavering to a fault. Everything in my life that has not been supportive of what I am working towards has been ignored or obliterated as it attempted to slow me down. Then, all of a sudden, last Monday my train came to a screeching halt.

Growing up, my relationship with my dad was nonexistent at times and strained at best. Having left my household when I was 4-years-old, I never understood why my dad gave up on us and throughout my childhood I felt abandoned by him. Although he did everything within his power to try and reestablish his connection with my brother and I, there was always a barrier between us. In our opinion, he had chosen to follow his own personal interests over raising his family, while at the same time he bit his tongue and withheld himself from telling a side of the story that might not be so favorable of my mother. I knew he was overwhelmed with guilt as it was, but I insisted on constantly reminding him that he fucked up. It was the only way that I knew how to express the depth of pain I was carrying with me.

On Monday morning as my phone rang, I was a little more upbeat than usual. The Seahawks had won the NFC Championship the night before and I had a few new songs developing in my head that I was sure would become highlights on my next album. Then, as I answered the phone and heard my stepmom's voice on the other end, my mind went blank.

My dad just had a heart attack. Holy shit.

As a teenager I began to see less of my dad over the years. Weekend visits turned into weekly phone calls, which then turned monthly phone calls and ultimately became brief conversations on birthdays and holidays. I don't necessarily know why or how this happened but honestly speaking, I didn't care. The wedge between my father and I had been driven so far into the ground that any level of involvement in my life was totally unwelcome. I had moved on and my stepfather courageously stepped up to take on responsibilities my dad didn't want.

When I hung up the phone all of the pigment left my skin and as the words, "my dad just had a heart attack" vibrated off of my vocal chords I began to sob uncontrollably. It's strange how that happens. As long as the information stays inside of your head it sits in limbo- real but not actual. But right as the words connect with your breath they become reality- a picture drawn in front of you with the three dimensional stamp of authenticity.

My stepmom's voice then started to reverberate inside of my skull; he's ok. He's in the emergency room and the doctors are taking care of him. Do not go to the hospital yet; they will not let you see him until they have cleared him of any immediate risks. Go home, collect yourself and wait for the phone call. You may not be able to see him today but they will let you know when you can.

What the fuck!?!?! I can't fucking see my fucking father today!?!?? My dad might fucking die and because of some stupid fucking formality I can't be there with him. Fuck the doctors and fuck the hospital. I'm going to see my dad. But first I'm going home and changing into something comfortable.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?! How fucking selfish am I?!?” that's all I could think of as I was on my way home. My dad's heart just went full coke party inside of his chest and I need to put on some sweatpants and a hoodie before I can properly deal with this. Jesus Christ, man. I keep calling the hospital and I can hear my dad's voice in the background. He asked for his cell phone. Ok, he's awake and coherent. It's probably gonna be a long night in the hospital waiting room so I'm doing the right thing. Get some comfortable clothes on, grab a few books and go to the hospital.

"I'm sorry Jason. He hung in there as long as he could but unfortunately you're too late".....

I've heard those words before and now they're flashing inside of my mind like neon lights in a strip club. If this happens with my dad I'll never forgive myself. If he dies and I'm not there with him it will be the biggest regret of my life. My younger brothers, one full and two from my stepmom, are depending on me right now. They're gonna be looking to me for guidance and how the fuck am I supposed to tell them that I needed my sweatpants before I could hold my dad's hand and usher him into the great unknown. Fuck. Me. Grab your keys you piece of shit and get to the fucking hospital NOW.

It wasn't until I was in my mid-20's that I was able to bury the resentment I had for my father and see him not as a dad, but as a man. He was in his 20's as well when I was born and he had reacted the same way most of the young men in his position would have. As hard as he tried to uphold a certain standard of fatherhood, he just couldn't make the grade. His relationship with my mom was falling apart and he was not equipped with the right tools to fix all that was broken. His alcoholism was destroying him and his unwillingness to change was pushing him further away from us. I understood this now and I recognized that he wanted nothing more than to repair our damaged connection. He was 50 years old now and was working on correcting his mistakes, his top priority- finding relevance again with both myself and my brother.

I swear I steamed through the hospital doors like an angry bull. My nerves were going haywire inside of my body and I felt like I was moving so fast that I appeared to be walking in slow-mo matrix bullet-time. My dad had been admitted to a room now and I was allowed to see him. "Oh, how fucking gracious of you to let me see my own father" I thought as I smiled at the nurse in the cardiovascular unit. "Room 228? Great. Thank you........ cunt".

When I walked in the room my heart dropped into my stomach. My dad forced a smile but I could see that he was in a lot of pain. I looked at him and just said, "Wow, huh?". It felt like a million years went by as he made the "yeah, this sucks" face back at me. I wanted to say more but I couldn't. It was hard to see my dad vulnerable and at the mercy of a healthcare system we've both shared hate for in the past. I sat next to him and held back my tears. As he told us the story of what happened and how he felt, all I could think to myself was, "He's alive. Thank you, universe".

In the last few years leading up to my dad's heart attack, he became one of my best friends and most trusted confidants. He has been sober for some time now and we share a very similar view of the world around us. While my younger brother is more like him personality-wise, my dad and I are on the same wavelength mentally. We spend hours pouring through philosophies and ideas, and as a reformed born again Christian his knowledge of the bible is so sharp that I honestly think he could change the world someday. He can quote entire verses verbatim and explain their historical and metaphorical meanings. To make a long story short, he knows god so well he abandoned religion.

The day after his heart attack my dad had a stint put into a major artery. He was lucky - for the past decade he has walked a minimum of 7 kilometers a day and he is 160 lbs of muscle. He is in beyond perfect health; the reason for his heart attack being genetic heart disease and high cholesterol, which I more than likely have as well (awesome!).

By the fourth day my dad was home and recovering. We talked about his pills, research he should do to get off of the pills and the benefits of hemp. As I got up to leave and head home for some much needed sleep, I gave him a hug and as I walked out of his front door I said, "I love you dad".

This time I really, REALLY meant it.

(Jason James is an artist, freelance columnist and writer for RefinedHype.com. You can read/download his free eBook, "This Is My Rifle" and listen/download his most recent album, "Pyramids in Stereo". You can also contact him here and here.)