Second Chances

As a kid, I remember being embarrassed to tell my friends that my dad was a pig farmer. We lived in town, so most of my friends’ parents were bankers or lawyers or something that required a suit. But my dad would wake up at dawn, pull on his boots, and drive out to the family farm only to return like clockwork, each evening at six, smelling like his office. 

As I grew up and moved away, I found myself longing for home. Not the town that I grew up in, but the farm where my childhood memories were made. I became proud of being a farmer’s daughter, because I could finally appreciate the grit and determination that had been instilled in me, the no fuss and frills. I worked hard, appreciated the small things, and had an understanding of the interdependence of life.

I also developed a nostalgic love for pigs. If I couldn’t take my daughters to South Africa to cuddle a squealing piglet, I’d make do with collecting little pig trinkets to display around the house. This summer, however, I lucked out with two opportunities to pet a pig. On each occasion, I made sure to snap a photo to send to my dad, the pig farmer. It was a little connection we had that conveyed a multitude of sentiments.

So, when my dad called three weeks ago to tell me he was going in for heart surgery, I was filled with angst. His valve had prolapsed and a replacement was necessary. To fast-forward to the end would be to tell you that after a complicated surgery and weeks in the ICU, he phoned me on Friday to tell me he was home. Up until that moment when I heard his voice for the first time, I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. Caring for a parent in a different country is hard and I know I’m not alone. I’ve spent hours discerning whether or when to go home and ridden the rollercoaster of relinquishing control, fighting feelings of irrelevance, persisting in prayer, and being sustained by support.

Through tears, my dad and I exchanged a few sentences, but behind the small talk was a deep gratitude for second chances: for him and for all of us who get to enjoy him again - even if it’s through a virtual hug with a photo of a pig. After all, that’s whose valve is working in his chest!