Maybe it was the circumstances. At the beginning of August we learned that my 83-year-old mother needed at least a triple, if not a quadruple, bypass. Arrangements for the surgery were made, and I planned to go to my parents' home 500 miles away to help Dad while Mom was in the hospital. And then . . .
The night of Sunday, August 15th my brother called to tell me he had taken our 88-year-old father to the emergency room that afternoon because of the pain in Dad's abdominal region. But, even worse, the physicians suspected that Dad's pain was caused by liver cancer. Nothing in our paternal family history had prepared us for this shock. The biopsy results were pending, and Dad had been admitted to the hospital.
Suddenly Mom's imminent surgery became almost trivial. (How we poor humans readjust our thinking just to cope with life!) All concern focused on Dad.
While some readers may want to dispute this fundamental truth, I have the best husband in the world. We arranged our plans. I.T. Prof even agreed to babysit our grandson on Wednesday afternoons and Fridays, so our son-in-law could attend his classes. Thus, Monday morning I could set off on the long drive to my hometown. My plan was to remain there 16 days until after Mom's surgery.
(To be continued.)