I was supposed to go to Lisa's tonight for dinner.

She emailed me yesterday to say that she couldn't remember if she'd told me or not that she couldn't do dinner this week (we get together every Thursday) because she was going to the baseball game with her office.

On Sunday, Father's Day, my sister and her live-in man friend had invited me to join my parents at her place on Thursday night for dinner. I had said I probably couldn't because I was supposed to get together with Lisa. I texted her yesterday as soon as I found out that my plans with Lisa were off and I was free.

And so it was set. Thursday night the family four and Carlos, her man friend, would be together at her little house for dinner. Tracy would be nervous, Carlos would be super-duper nervous, but it was a sunny and warm day in the city and Dad was actually in a chipper, talkative mood.

Early yesterday morning my uncle, Dad's younger brother, went to hospital because he had suffered a stroke. He had been working security at the Eagles concert the night before, came home late and went to bed. The dog woke my aunt up in the early morning. She turned to wake her husband except he wouldn't wake up and she called the ambulance. He was rushed to the hospital and it was hailed a miracle that they had caught the stroke early enough that they were able to give him super strong clot busters to help. Thank goodness for the dog.

My mom phoned me yesterday while I was on training in the call centre. She left a voicemail to let me know about my uncle. I didn't phone back until I got home from work because I was in meetings for most of the day and it sounded like he wasn't well but would be okay.

Tonight when my mom, dad, sister and Carlos got together my dad sounded optimistic. He had gone to see his brother in the afternoon. Some of the doctors seemed to suggest that my uncle would be okay although there could be a long road ahead. One doctor, a specialist, didn't have such a cheery outlook but we dismissed this as the outlier opinion. Of course he would be fine. He was only 54 and an otherwise healthy and active man with a wife, son, daughter and grandson.

The five of us went in and sat down to dinner. Dad, who is known as much for his laid-back nature as he is for his moodiness, was in high spirits. He was teasing Carlos and digging into the meal without his usual grunting complaints about overcooked carrots or weird vegetables. Tracy had done a great job of barbecuing. We were abnormally normal and happy.

Dad got a call on his cell from my aunt, his sister. He took it outside. Carlos at some point looked out the window and noticed that Dad looked upset. Tracy stood up and looked. Dad was wiping tears, she said. Mom went out to see him.

They came back inside. Dad spit out the update. It wasn't good. There was swelling in the brain. My uncle wasn't stable and they were not able to move him to the Health Sciences Centre where they could do what needed to be done to help him. Things suddenly were not looking so optimistic. The road to recovery was suddenly dust. My Dad kept apologizing as he wiped his eyes with a paper napkin.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen my dad cry. The truth is that my mom is the rock in this family. You'd never guess that if you were meeting them for the first time or the twenty-seventh time. My dad is an M&M--hard and crusty on the outside but soft and easily melted on the inside. On top of that, he hasn't had a very close relationship with his brother over the past two decades or so. Family gatherings have always felt a bit tense for us. They're just different people. So to see him A) broken up, and B) broken up about this person who he always seemed mostly indifferent towards...I don't know how to put it into words but I tried really hard to be strong for him and I almost was able to hold it together. Not like my mom though--she's amazing.

We didn't get to eat the dessert mom brought. Mom and Dad went home and then to the hospital. I stayed at my sister's for a while longer. As soon as Mom and Dad left I started asking questions of Tracy and Carlos, the medical experts of the family. Carlos works at the hospital where my uncle was at and had already put in a call to his co-workers to request updates.

Tracy's special dinner didn't turn out the way we had hoped. I told her that it was a good thing though because she was able to have us all together and happy, if only briefly. Imagine if we had all been at our separate homes. We were meant to be together tonight.

My dad is due to retire this September. For the past few months I have silently worried about him because I have not ever before seen him work as hard as he has been for the past eight months or so. He doesn't lead the healthiest lifestyle and he needs a break. Dark thoughts have crossed my mind on numerous occasions about him not getting the chance to realize his dream of retirement because the stress of work and his bad habits contributed to stealing that time away from him. I am feeling selfish, in a way, right now. I am not thinking of my cousins, my aunt or my grandmother. I am thinking of my Dad, because I cannot stand the idea of him crying over his brother. My dad doesn't deserve, can't handle that kind of sadness right now. It's just not right. He shouldn't have to watch his brother go through this stuff yet. He shouldn't ever have to see that; he's the older one. He should be old and senile before this was to happen. So while Tracy, Carlos and I sat at the table in her un-airconditioned kitchen, my only prayer was, please, don't do this to my dad. Don't put him through this shit and don't you dare make him cry.

I'm at my mom's and dad's right now. Dad called Tracy to update us and let us know that they have stabilized my uncle by inducing him into a coma. Tracy said he sounded better, more hopeful. I guess they are going to try to keep him stable until morning and then assess if they can transport him to the other hospital where they can operate on him to relieve the pressure on his brain. Dad asked if I could swing by the house on my way home to let Elmo out.

I let him out. Now I'm stuck here worrying about my dad and wishing I could be there to hold his hand. And I'm blogging. Because you are all I have to talk to right now and words on a page are all I know.