Today my dad may or may not have had a heart attack, they don't know yet. It's the most horrible morbid sentence there is "they don't know yet." I remember waiting in the freezing cold station wagon because I couldn't stand the unspoken strain of the waiting room where we all huddled waiting to see if my brother would get through the surgery. This is like that only I am not around to see what happens, I am far enough away to have to rely on second hand news, only what they think I should know. I do not like waiting for the phone to ring. I do not like the stupid guilt of thinking ahead, I feel guilty for thinking the word Death at all, I feel guilty for even letting dark dresses and dark dirt into my head at all, I feel guilty for hanging up the phone and continuing to watch tv like nothing had happened until that security broke and I surprised myself by crying, and I feel guilty because what if he dies now before he gets to do all this stuff he wants so badly to do. He wants to tell my mom they are going to the movies but really he is taking her to the car dealership and he is going to buy her that one she's had her eye on. This is for thirty good years, Maryanne, he wants to say. She has not told him she is crazy about that car but she told me and I told him and he has been delighted about his sneakiness ever since. And selfishly, forget walking me down the aisle but what if he never gets to meet the person who turns out to be the right person for me? What if I miss his happiness from that? He's old and this isn't the first time his heart has done frightening things, so unfortunately I am not overreacting. I feel guilty for doing everything too late, I mean look at all the time I've wasted. What if he dies and then I decide to have a baby? I would send him a get-well card if they only made one that said Dear Dad Please don't die Please don't die Please don't die.