Waiting..., Part II

Dad's second brain surgery began at 12:21 p.m. Here we sit, again, for the fourth time in 10 years, waiting to hear from a neurosurgeon about the fate of a loved one.

Sitting with Dad in his hospital room this morning, a tiny sparrow landed on the ledge of his window and seemed to look right at Dad, who was the first to see it and exclaim, "Look!" What is it with birds and brains? During medically trying times, seems like we're always getting messages delivered by beak. My white-tailed grackle, the heron back in the sad days with mom ... I guess it's easy to transmit a sign via wing. For me, it does provide that connection from solid ground to the sky.

Going in to surgery, Dad was calm. Because his brain isn't making all the connections between speech and understanding, we're not sure how much he's grasping. But we do feel strongly that he's still up for the fight. He's clearly said things like, "I want to do this! I want to keep living!" He can't quite carry on the conversation he could a week ago, but his personality, his jovial attitude, his big grin, his desire to learn and grow and work hard, his love for his family and friends -- it's all there.

We are all trying to follow his lead: chins up! We pray and hug and smile at little Charlotte toddling around the waiting area, bringing smiles to other anxious families. But I can't deny that I feel my heart's been ripped away, piece by piece ... It's amazing how attached we humans get to each other. That's the best and worst parts of love.

I cannot believe it's only 1:47. Godspeed to the physicians in that OR with Bill Beecheler ...