Take Three

I go about my day, survive my commute, drop in on my Dad, but there's background noise. In a couple of days he's going in for the second try (third if we count the aborted procedure) at his spinal surgery. After the last bout of nail biting, gut wrenching drama and trauma, he is facing this procedure more prepared than ever. He has had the tests. He's met with the specialists and understands the plan. He's practiced rolling out of bed and his walker is oiled and ready for deployment. Heck, he even has his new Christmas tree up.

I would be lying if I didn't admit there are some nerves bantering about like free radicals. However in another part of me resides steadfast calm and confidence in a positive outcome. I just know he will endure whatever comes his way and come out the other end victorious.

He has been writing his memoirs for a few years now and I gave him some homework last week. I asked him to think back in his life to times when he experienced failure - and to write about how it made him feel and what it taught him.

From my daughter vantage point with my head turned upwards to observe -- I watched him contort every failure or disappointment into a springboard from which he would catapult to new heights of achievement. He managed to get where he wanted to go, be who he wanted to be - eventually. And I can't see why now - facing a medical hurdle - it should be any different.

So Pops, as promised, I will contain my black humour and refrain from meddling in your care, but I will be close by Mama T's side with my sisters when the doctor emerges to tell us that your are busy writing bossy notes.

But let's be real -- you may have to take a pass on the jingle bell rock this Christmas - or not!