"Your Dad Has Been Caught On Fire"

When she arrived at the small town hospital she could hear him screaming her name through two walls and the heavy emergency room doors. As she fought her way back to him she was was shocked at his appearance and the complete cluelessness of the staff. "We gave him enough medication to put down a water buffalo", the doctor said shaking his head with confusion. They didn't understand that because of the chronic pain he had been in before the fire, his tolerance to medication had risen to an alarming rate. And anymore would surely stop his heart, so he lay there in agony, burning.

My mother had called me after lunch that Friday, I recognized the trembling in her voice instantly. "What is it?" I said as soon as she spoke. "Your dad has been caught on fire, we are at the hospital, and they are airlifting him to The Burn Center. You need to come now." I hung up and ran to my car, in a motion that seemed more like gliding. It would take 45 minutes to get to my hometown's tiny hospital. I drove subconsciously. Unaware of the speed or the direction, not caring of the laws or the police I may encounter. I thought only of the distance between my father and I, not physically but emotionally.

We were never very close. Like many southern men, being a provider and a disciplinarian came first. I can not remember one birthday he attended or one present he bought, not one time we did anything special together. And now as I raced the road to his side, I couldn't push one tear fully from my eyes. I loved him, I respected him, but I still felt like I barely knew him.

Arriving in the parking lot, I saw our pastor first. Am I too late? Next my grandfather and sister sat frozen in the waiting room. My 15-year-old baby sister, Lexie, as usual when upset, was deep within herself, quietly crying and pulling away from the group. I pushed through to the back where I found my mother in the hallway. Her face was unrecognizable, red and swollen, as if it would drip off her face along with the tears. "he's back here", she led me to a curtained off area.

I was unprepared. He laid there in a way I had never seen him. This strong invincible farmer, this man I had feared looked more like a child. Trembling and sobbing to himself. I had never seen this look before... he was scared. His chest and face were smudged but otherwise seemed ok, but from the waist down he was covered by a blood soaked sheet. "What does it look like?" he whispered to me. "Is it bad? Please look under the sheet Lynzie. Please. I need to know how bad it is", he started to cry again. And mom was crying and my sister was crying and then everyone around me seemed to pour water from their faces, like the room would flood unless I pulled the plug. Then from nowhere, I grew calm deep inside and felt myself anchor. Someone had to be strong, someone had to steer the ship from the rocks they all kept crashing in to.

"Well, I am not going to look at your privates, if that's what you expect. This is the south, but not that deep south- so don't be getting any ideas." I winked and smiled as I started inspecting the sheets. He stopped crying and looked at me kind of shocked, then drug a smile to his lips. I knew I couldn't lift the entire sheet, but I also knew that most of his anxiety was not knowing what to expect or what the full damage was. So I inspected him, focusing on the positive and what I could say for sure. "Well, although you are in desperate need of a pedicure your feet don't seem to be burned" he smiled again and said that the steel toe boots were a good investment. "And the sides of your legs and butt seem to look ok too" I continued. "What about my cod sack?" he asked plainly. Then it was my turn to be shocked. What the hell is a cod sack? Ohhhhhhhhhh. Then I got it. Then felt slightly embaressed. Like most men, he was worried he had lost his privates. "I told you old man! We ain't that type of rednecks." Then for the first time we all laughed.

We found out later that even though he did still in fact have his "cod sack", the majority of his extreme third degree burns were centered in this area. He had been wearing cover-alls while cutting down sheet metal that day and because of the extreme amount of pain medication he was taking he noticed too late that a spark had flown back and set his clothing on fire. He told us stop, drop, and roll was not in his mind as he tore at the flames engulfing his body. So, he was basically burned alive from the waist down and arrived at the hospital wrapped in a dirty piece of material covering where his burned off clothing used to be.

My brother arrived and then they flew him away. We followed him to Augusta and stayed there for over a month. My feelings for him still jumbled in my mind, a constant battle between my need for equality and the desperate guilt to help my family, being the strength that they needed. Why was I working so hard during the week to drive 3 hours every weekend for someone that didn't bother to show up for me? Why was I struggling to be a dutiful daughter when I had gone without a "daddy" my entire life.

I found myself quoting " honor thy father and mother" over and over in my head. I struggled to love him and forget the twenty years before. As a child I thought he didn't want me because I was a girl. My brother was three years younger and although he never showed him favor, at least he seemed to notice he was there. So I explained it to myself that our lack of relationship was gender based alone. And even at that young age, I found a peace with that. Then, she came. My surprise sister, ten years my junior, the light of his life. He took her everywhere, brought her alone prizes and candy each night while my brother and I did without. So at ten I decided it was me after all. Then, I went my own way.

I believe that sometimes God provides for these lack of relationships. For me, I didn't have a dad, but was supplied an amazing set of grandparents and a mother that did the best she could. So, it went that way for a long time. Lexie was my father's, Ty was my mother's, and my grandparents had me. Favorites each to their own, and none going without. To some it seems strange to openly live like that in a family, but for us it's always worked. But where was Lexie in all of this chaos? I expected her kneeled at his side night and day as our father lay there suffering, instead of choosing weekend trips with her friends. I understood Ty's distance, but still felt abandoned and unfairly responsible, I, the one most far from his heart was the closest to his bedside.

It's been several months since the fire. And life, like it tends to do, has found it's way back to "normal". For a while the gap between my father and I closed and I felt hope for renewal from tragedy. Like somehow his open wounds finally let me inside, but now as the scars form I can feel the thick wedge pushing me back. I don't know what I expected. Maybe in a way I thought I could prove myself to him by being there and pull something from the fire, saving a relationship from the flames. But people don't always get the ending that they want. Even the biggest fires go out, leaving nothing but ash.