The Rock

A year ago today, for just a moment, I thought I was going to be a single father.

It was only that moment that the dreadful thought occurred.  I was fine for the days leading up to the procedure.  I was her rock the whole morning on our way up to the hospital and in the room when they sharpied her temple.

I was cool as a cucumber when we waited…and waited…and waited for the procedure to start.  I was actually even better once everything was underway.  I was relaxed and feeling fine when my mother-in-law and I were called into the private room to speak with the surgeon (we had already been told this was standard procedure).

It was then that it happened.  The doctor shook my hand and asked us to have a seat.  He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t joyful, light-hearted or even chipper.  My heart sank past my pancreas then bungeed halfway up into my throat, beating like I just drank a case of energy drinks.  My mind raced; she’s gone, I’m alone, my boys don’t have a mother, I CAN’T DO THIS!

“She’s alright,” he said, and then proceeded to tell us all the details.  I nodded and tried to listen, but it was tough to hear over my heart returning to its normal rhythm and location.

She was alright. I was better.  She was mine again. I will never have to feel like this again…until January.

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