Dan Robson - Measuring Up: A Memoir of Fathers and Sons

It begins with a phone call, as these things often do.

Ive been asleep for only a few hours when the ring shakes me awake. Im behind on a looming book deadline and have been working through most nights. Im dazed, and my eyes feel too heavy to openuntil the sharp cold-water splash of panic.

Im supposed to meet my publisher at nine. Ive slept in.

I grab the phone expecting to see that its him, calling me from a table at Starbucks, wondering where I am. But the display says Jai.

Jai?

Jai is my older sister. Were a year and a half apart. Two of three siblings. Our little sister, Jenna, is five years younger. Were close. Close enough to know that neither would ever call me at seven a.m.

Its that rare feeling that reaches beyond worry. You feel it in your chest. Something is wrong.

I answer.

Jai?

Dan. Are you awake?

Jai rarely betrays emotion when she speaks. Shes either happy or annoyed. Thats it, two modes. But this is different. Shes rushed. Shes scared.

Mom just called. Something happened to Dad.

What?

She thinks he had a stroke. Hes okay. But theyve taken him to the hospital. She wants us to meet her there.

Its the kind of news you know exists. You know it will come, one daybut you never expect it. Then it crushes you from the blind side.

Jai lives in the east end of Toronto. We agree to meet at Jennas condo in the west end, since its on the way to the hospital in Mississauga. Our mothers a nurse. Shes requested that the ambulance take our dad straight to a facility that specializes in strokes.

To me that means she doesnt think its a stroke. Mom knows.

I dress quickly while Jayme, my partner, turns towards me in bed, trying to catch up and trying to slow me down.

Its probably just something small, she says.

Her father had a scare with his heart a couple of months ago. But it was just a warning shot. Its likely something like that, she says.

Yeah, I say. Probably.

But Im running down the stairs. I have to go and Im not sure when Ill be back.

You need to take care of Henry, I say. Hes our seven-month-old Goldendoodle.

I stuff my laptop into my bag, hoping to get some work inhoping Jaymes right. Probably. But its self-preservation. The sound of my heart beating deep in my ears tells me its not true. Bump, bumpbump, bumpbump, bump.

Okay, love you, I shout from the door. Call you soon.

Mom is in the waiting room when my sisters and I arrive. She is alone and looks scared. Shes pale. Ive never seen her like this before.

Dad fell on the floor beside the bed, she tells us. Shed been downstairs, and when she came into their room she found him there. He tried to get up, but couldnt. He tried to speak, but couldnt. She called the ambulance. She stayed beside him, holding him until they arrived.

He must have been terrified.

Time is a blur now. A nurse tells us that a doctor wants to see us in a private room.

Mom used to work in an ER. She shakes her head, squeezes her lips tight, and then her voice breaks.

Its never good when they want to take you to a room, she says.

Shes never flinched. Shes witnessed it all, no problem. But now shes falling apart. I try to calm her as we wait in a lamplit room with two brown couches and flowers on side tables. Ive never been more afraid.