Day 6 Update: The Moments You Hold Onto — Small Dignities and Jazz Grooves

This morning dad was in a new room — a six-bed room, and he is in bed 4. He was tired, but there were these small moments that felt really significant.

The nurses helped him brush his teeth and rinse with mouthwash — something that sounds simple, but you could tell it meant a lot to him. Those small dignities matter when you’re in a hospital bed.

He’s resting more and more, which is expected, but hearing him snore this morning was oddly comforting. A reminder that his body is doing what it needs to do.

At one point in conversation he looked at me and said, “I will advocate for you — will you advocate for me?” Without hesitation, I told him, “Yes, I will, Dad.” That one stayed with me.

A nurse from the neurological ICU unit stopped by just to check on him — not because she had to, just because she wanted to see how he was doing. That kind of care doesn’t go unnoticed.

Physical therapy came in the early afternoon, which is a good sign. Progress, even if slow.

The highlight of the afternoon was watching my stepmom, Jeanie, with him. She started singing and snapping to an old jazz song, and dad was right there with her — snapping his fingers, swinging his arm, bebopping to the groove. Present, engaged, smiling. Those are the moments you hold onto.