Screencap of what Amazon thinks I should buy. Jokes on them, I already OWN all of these. #Iamanadult

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Nate&Kelly had a photobooth at their reception. Em&I re-created a great moment in television. #arresteddevelopment

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(Warning: Sincerity) Until Last Week, My Dad Thought His Kids Were Assholes

A week ago, I was on the air and my Dad called. My Google-voice transcription of the message he left didn't relay any urgency so I thought nothing of it - my Google-voice transcription was wrong and when he called again, I called him right back.

"I have to tell you something you aren't going to like," he said.

I almost said "Which llama died?" Instead I said "Ok. What?"

"I took your Mom to the emergency room this morning and while she was there she had a heart attack. They are having a helicopter take her to Plattsburgh and a surgeon is standing by to put in a stent." (My Dad didn't hyper-link it - I'm doing that for you so I don't have to try to explain: "It's a thing ... science ... artery helpfulness ...".)

I asked him to tell me again using more detail and then asked if I should get in my car and drive up. He asked me not to do that yet and said he'd be back in touch soon. My uncle (my Mom's brother) was waiting to drive him to Plattsburgh (an hour drive from my parents' house in Saranac Lake). I had gone into a small studio to talk to my Dad. I have a few good friends at work but didn't want them to be the first people I sobbingly spoke to about this so I called [My] Emily. After some comforting, she asked me if my siblings knew. I hadn't asked my Dad about that, so I called him back.

He said he was hoping I'd tell them.

I haven't met all of the people in the world. I know you might think I have, but I haven't. Still, I think I can safely say that my sister, Jennie, is just about as different a person from my brother Logan as there is - at least when it comes to the way I knew they would process the news about Mom.

Since I was crying, I called Jennie first. She listened, cried, and agreed to wait until I spoke to Dad again before making plans to do anything. (the theme of the afternoon's conversations is "Stop. Tell me again.") Jennie told my brother, Tim.

I took a few deep breaths and called my brother (the robot), Logan. I told him and said that Dad asked us not to go to the hospital yet. Logan said something like, "I will begin making preparations to travel to Plattsburgh. Please give me this information again so that I can be sure I've processed it correctly." (Really, that's how he speaks in these situations.) At some point that day he told our brother, Chris.

I spent the rest of the afternoon furiously texting my siblings and continuing to work. My Dad called each hour. "She ended up having 3 stents put in." "She's in recovery." "We'll see her soon." Sometimes when my Dad called my brother called, too, and I jumped between calls to piece together what was going on. Early in the evening, my Dad said, "Why don't you come up tonight, go see your Mom, and then come to the house." So I did. Plattsburgh is right off the highway a few exits higher than the one I'd take to go home.

I'm going to jump over that first night because it was very scary, and feels both private and (thankfully) distant.

I stayed upstate for the rest of the week, taking morning shifts at the hospital with my Mom where she frequently joked that while all of the doctors and nurses were very nice, none of them were as attractive as George "Dr. Ross" Clooney. On Wednesday she asked me if I'd called him to come see her (she must have been on some heavy-duty meds to think I had Mr. Clooney's phone number - do people that attractive and famous even use phones?). Lying in a hospital bed, with an auxiliary pump helping her blood flow she quipped, "If George Clooney walked in here - I'd probably have a heart attack." (Good one, Mom.) Each day, her recovery was significant and visible.

I spent the evenings pretending I knew how to take care of the house. I also helped a bit with farm-y stuff like feeding the llamas (pausing to take their pictures, of course - they are such weirdoes), unloading boards from a pick-up truck, and salvaging antique nails. Whatever my Dad asked me to do. My sister also helped out a great deal. She really rose to the occasion and since she lives near my parents, I have every confidence that she will continue to help. She, Logan, and I filled different roles throughout the week - all of which still fell shy of what my Mom takes care of everyday.

My Dad is always concerned that he's communicating his thoughts poorly, so even under normal circumstances, he repeats things to be sure you get what he's trying to tell you. My Dad could not have been more scared about Mom while simultaneously being appreciative of the help and responsibility his kids were demonstrating. It got to the point where, on Thursday night, as I walked past his bedroom door to go to the kitchen, he shouted to me, "Hey, Sarah - one more time-" and I cut him off and yelled back "You're welcome. Go to sleep."

As I'm typing this my Mom is still in the hospital. She was moved out of the ICU on Friday morning. She hates the food in the hospital and wants to go home. She knows that being able to complain about things like that is kind of amazing and wonderful.

I know that people go through this kind of thing all the time. I know that my Mom isn't better or more important than your Mom (well, she might be ...). I know that we can't be sure yet when she'll be better or how close to 100% she'll ever be - I know that we're lucky.

It isn't attractive to brag - but I've boasted about things far less legitimate than this so why reign it in now? I have fantastic friends. My upstate friends were all ready to hang if I was. My Albany and elsewhere friends sent positive thoughts and support rushing through the internet and up 87N. My parents' friends were there to help, too. Our extended family excitedly heard every update but didn't pressure us to be in touch more often. Everyone at work was fantastic about covering for me and helping me out. Today hasn't even been too much of a catch-up nightmare. I'm sure I forgot to tell some people who would have wanted to know.

I don't know how to thank everyone.

I do know that until about mid-week last week, my Dad thought all of his kids were assholes. I'm glad we're not - or even if we are - we can bury it when need be and take care of each other.