I was on the phone with my father this morning and he told me he was eating a soft-boiled egg. I told him I loved soft-boiled eggs. He said, “I’ll make you one.”
Someday … not tomorrow.
Tomorrow my father is having major, life-threatening surgery. He is having 2 feet of colon removed. He has a pacemaker. He is 88.
But – he is vital, robust, lucid and a delightful, loving man.
His wife, my stepmother, and I are speaking only in terms of pleasantries because to do otherwise will be to breakdown. We are otherwise close. I love her.
All week – morbid thoughts have sunk my naturally ebullient, positive self. My thoughts spark reservoirs of un-fallen tears that I struggle to choke back but that blind me.
All week – he has been his naturally ebullient, positive self. Although today I heard a hint of the fear that must surely be strangling his psyche.
Tonight I will pack my bag: computer, books, tablet and gum – lots of gum, gum to give focus and and act as an outlet for energy that wants to come out screaming but can’t.
Tomorrow it begins – 7:30, the first surgery of the morning – a good thing, he laughs, the surgeon will be rested and the instruments will be clean.
Tomorrow when I wish him well before they wheel him away on the gurney, I will remind him that I’m holding him to his promise to make me soft boiled eggs. I will tell him that I love him.