End Of A Long Week

Well, it has truly been the longest week. My father made it through his heart surgery, and he is very weak but stable.

The morning of his surgery, before they took him to the operating room, they told him he needed to remove his wedding band, his answer to the nurses was that he had never taken that ring off in 53 years and that he had no plan to do it now. Needless to say, a small war was at hand.

After several tense minutes of pleading with him, he took the ring off. For him, that ring symbolized those vows he had spoken to my mother so many years ago: for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.

Later that night, as I was standing by his bed listening to the gentle rhythmic sound of the machine that was now breathing for him, I gently touched his forehead and began stroking his face and I realized that I had never touched my father's face in this way, and I noticed how old and frail he now looked. It made me mourn this tenderness that I was now able to give to him. It is something which he never allowed while I was growing up.

As I leaned into him I gently whispered, "I love you dad," and for a brief moment I think I felt him squeeze my hand just a little bit — once again his silent way of saying he loved me too.