I love how you precede the emotional with the rational, scientific, medical calmness that one must hold onto when ones husband is under the knife. It is quite miraculous what contemporary medicine can do, and how darn professional they are when they deal with anxious wives in waiting rooms.
When Dad was so terribly ill it was the doctors and nurses who we admired for their incredible skill and care. I do feel uncomfortable when people start bemoaning modern medicine when it can do what it does. Miracle workers.
I'm glad he's off playing poker. This can't be easy on either of you, but sounds like you take it on balance. What else can one do? Life is not ever perfect - you'd be suspicious if it was - but as you say, it's a good life, and that's what one holds onto - the goal, as it were.
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I told one of the nurses that who was caring for him in recovery. So kind. So attentive. So responsible. I told her I didn't think I could do what she does.
Yes, off playing poker. It's nice to have a goal. He has friends who care about him there, at that game. All old men :)).
I hope this blog didn't bring back sad memories of your father. That loss was so recent.
Be happy, every minute you can.
It's two years in September. I've had a tough week. Grief that came seemingly out of nowhere - very deep in my chest. But your blog was not to blame.
I am sorry. My mother died in 1986. It still hurts.
I am beginning to understand that grief is forever. That both sucks, and is okay, because as you know, maybe you'd forget them if not for those waves of love and grief. 1986. One day, it'll be thirty years since Dad. If I live that long. How old were you when she passed?
I was 39, and I felt like a child who just lost her mother. Never ready for that, are we? And I don't think we should let the grief go. I think that is a way of honoring them. It doesn't have to be a cloud in our lives, but it can be their presence.
Yeah, I call him 'Ghost Dad' and am quite grateful. This bout of grief knocked me fucking sideways though.
I am sorry, but I know him because you write about him, because your grief brings him into the present, among us. How you do honor him, and keep him present.