The next morning, Dad goes into surgery without a kind word coming out of his mouth. Can’t say I’m surprised. He is who he is, and if a near-death experience isn’t going to change him, nothing is.
“How long do you think the surgery will last?” I ask my mom.
“The surgeon said three to four hours if all goes well. But it will be some time after that before we can see him,” she responds.
“Do you want to go do something?”
“I think I’ll just wait here. I don’t want to be too far away from your father.”
“Okay, then we wait. Let me at least get us some good magazines.” I tap my mother’s knee and promise to return soon.
I’m not sure what it is that my mother enjoys reading. Her whole life has been my father. So I grab one of everything remotely interesting that the gift shop has to offer. I
