Today calls for focus – all my life calls for this moment. Focus, the thing I am told, by experience and by others, I do not have. A “lack of focus” creates endless obstacles against all of my life’s pursuits. Insurmountable at times. It seems. 

But today, there is no time to think about my struggle when the moment calls for so much more than a commitment through struggle; this is life and death. The most important life of all. And so, my emotions do not hit me until she is being wheeled away. I turn before she is even out of sight – I can’t take one more moment of anticipation. And I stop just before we exit to the waiting room.  

“Babe,” I whisper.  

Next, I choke out, “give me a second.” And then I lose it like I only have twice before. I did all that I could to that point and now there is nothing left to do but prepare for the next moment. But first I have to flush this one.  

_______________ 

…This is routine. The surgery, I mean. I had my own tonsils out when I was a year younger than she is now. I told her the truth about my experience. “Your throat is going to hurt for a few days. Just like when you have a sore throat. But the truth is, I don’t remember that part at all. I remember ice cream, TV, and lots and lots of special time with my dad. I really don’t remember pain. Not even discomfort”  

I broke my leg less than two years before I had my tonsils out, and I can remember the discomfort, when I also contracted chicken pox from my older brother and my leg was infected under my cast. The memory from that: my four-year-old balled-fists pounding on my cast to scratch those fucking pox. I told her some version of that – age appropriate. Reassurance. 

But when she changed into her new dress, the disappointingly plain blue hospital gown, surgery was not top of mind. She discussed how she would create her first bowl of ice cream post op. The small disappointment that all the traditional sundae toppings weren’t approved the first couple days after surgery could not deter her optimism. We talked about activities we could start to add in to her days as she healed. Oh, and did I mention she is recovering over her Spring Break? Not a problem.  

She admitted she was scared. Just like that. And we moved on. 

Dad said this had to be done and so she showed up, prepared for whatever the day – the scariest day of her life – brought her. Focused on the task at hand.  

Because today calls for focus. I told her that too. That’s what I needed to hear.

She was showing me she was ready the whole time. She listened to every word I said or never needed to hear them in the first place.  

She’s letting me know she’s got this – and she does. Worrying now is only an insult.  

_{ZORO ❤}