If Dad were to be believed, the year is 1983 and Bret is engaged to someone named Carolyn. Bret was 11 in 1983, so we’re pretty sure Dad’s not quite “with it” yet. But he is waking up from time to time, and this morning he recognized me, Bret, and Mom (and likely Uncle Howard and Aunt Dorothy yesterday). So that’s a good sign.

His breathing is still fairly labored. They’ve got him on a breath mask most of the time, then they take it off him for an hour or so and let him work a bit on his own. The docs are hoping breathing will continue to get easier for him, but if not, they may re-intubate him or do a tracheotomy. It’s kind of up in the air currently, but they’re hoping that he’ll be able to do without either of those two measures.

Dad has put together a string of “good” days since his surgery, and, God willing, he’ll just keep rolling them up. Mom will go up to Portland again once Dad’s more lucid; I’m hoping to join her if I can arrange for child care. (Current problems in that regard: Jonah has a cold and his nose is running non-stop and child care will have to arranged same day, since I won’t know if Dad’s lucid until the day it happens.)

We and the doctors are increasingly optimistic that Dad will, in time, return to good health. We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s turned a corner and that everything will turn out OK. As always, our gratitude to everyone for their love and support.