about the day of my father-in-law’s surgery. It was just a moment. The nurses were
wheeling him off to surgery at Memorial Sloan Kettering in Manhattan and just
before they pushed him through the double doors, he looked back at all of us.
He smiled and gave us a little wave. We all smiled and waved back, and I
remember giving him a “thumbs up.” I remember feeling a pang of fear right at
that moment. Then he disappeared through the swinging doors. We had no idea
that his surgery was about to go horribly wrong and that the complications would
eventually kill him.
I snapped back into the present moment, in the back of the cab and listened to
my dad. I pictured my father waving goodbye from a hospital hallway, and I was
afraid. I don’t know why, but I really wanted to know if my dad was scared too. I
had an instinct to ask him and immediately hesitated. I started think.
“Don’t ask that, it’ll upset him. Of course he’s scared, you moron. Keep it light and positive.
Don’t stress him out, that aneurysm could explode.” That was the push moment. Leave
nothing important unsaid.
5..4..3..2..1..
“Dad, are you scared?”
There was silence on the other end. And I started to regret asking the question.
I was not expecting to hear what he said next:
“I’m not scared. I am nervous, but I really trust my surgeon. You know, Mel, I actually feel
kind of lucky.”
“Lucky?” That’s not what I expected to hear.
“Yes, I have an opportunity to try and fix this thing before it kills me. And at the end of the
day if something happens I have no regrets. Watching my mom take care of my dad after his