Pops G. Heart of Steel.

On Monday morning, I awoke to find four new messages, two left by my oldest brother Phil, boding bad news. Talking to him, I was alarmed and terrified to hear that my father had had a heart attack on his latest adventure in Scotland. I spent at least 20 minutes in hysterical tears before dialing the 357 numbers it takes to contact the UK. After babbling back and forth in equally incoherent English with a young attendant, I was connected to my father's room. I was told I couldn't talk to him, but that he was doing well. In true Dr. Charlie G style, I heard him squawking in the background, "Who's calling? Who is it?". In tears, I told the nurse to tell him I love him, and that I would call back soon. The last week has been a trying one, knowing my father is alone accross the ocean and I am unable to hold his hand through monitoring, angiograms, angioplasties, etc. But, I am convinced by conversations containing all of his typical witticism that all will be well when he returns on Tuesday. Needless to say, changes will be made. To our lifestyles and our attitudes.