And my dad just randomly lopped off most of his right index finger in a wood-working accident. He's fine, just doesn't have that finger anymore. I'd be more full of angst about the whole experience, but mostly I'm just VASTLY RELIEVED he's okay.
Whenever you get a phone call from your seventy-year-old parents at 9:30 on a Thursday evening about something that's not emergency tech support, you're always worried it's going to be That Call. This wasn't it.
After the initial shock, we reverted to the usual family response to anything short of apocalyptic hardship: we joked about it, to an extent that normal people would probably find vaguely-to-deeply horrifying.
Of course, my friends and I were watching the Veronica Mars movie (which was pretty great, by the way) when the call came in. So, they got to listen to my end of the conversation which went pretty much like this:
"You stuck your finger in WHAT?"
*belly laugh* "At least you have nine other ones. If it makes you feel any better, that wasn't even my favorite finger. Your other fingers are way prettier. How are you going to be able to pick your nose now?"
The belly laugh was about 75% pure relief.
He's doing well, but it obviously hurts like hell and it's going to take some readjustment. I think I'll take a few extra days this Memorial Day weekend and just chill out up north. It's good to have these occasional reminders that nothing's forever. It's easy to get caught up in the day to day details of life; road bumps like this remind you there is more to life than the things you usually stress about.
Also, since he's now missing most of his right index finger, I'm probably going to find myself being cheap muscle a bit more than usual this trip. Not a problem there, I live for that kind of thing.