We finally saw Dad on Saturday. It was wonderful to talk to him--he's slower than usual, but he made some jokes and laughed at ours. At the same time, he's bald and bruised--so bruised, in fact, that my brother found him scary. Imagine a bad boxing injury, multiply it by 5, and you've got the idea.
The truth is, Dad almost died. Had we called a day later, we would never have spoken to him again. We're thankful--very thankful--about the outcome, but now we have the luxury of worrying about what happens next. Will Dad be able to function as well as before? How will my parents make their payments while he's not working? How high will the medical bills be? How will my parents save for retirement? For Rod's college? I'm here to help my family any way I can, but I'm not sure that's enough.
This isn't a personal blog, and after this post, I won't write much (directly, anyway) about Dad. Let's just say this incident reinforced my approach to fashion.
I like fashion, I find it interesting, but it's only a tiny part of my life. I've always preferred books and electronics to clothes; I'd rather save money than spend it (I'm a window shopping blogger). I like beautiful things, but I like security more--and I'd much rather have the money to pay Dad's medical bills than any piece of clothing (even those by Azzedine Alaia). Most women, I suspect, feel the same way, and yet most fashion media comes from people who've made fashion their lives, and who maybe, unfairly, expect their readers to do the same. Maybe blogs can change that, I don't know. But I'm hopeful.