A rare find indeed–a photograph of my then-married parents, Jill, me (precocious in pink and striking a pose; Jill already the cool older sister wearing shades and a “whatever” attitude), beloved Grandpa and the ice blue Ford Galaxy 500 I’d call a “land yacht” today). Mom and Dad would soon be kaput which might explain her “Already Gone” disinterest in smiling for the camera, probably trained on us by her nemesis, Grandma. I’ve no idea where we are or where we’re headed, that day or as a family.
Like mine, theirs is an acrimonious divorce impressively hidden from us or blocked from my memory as a “coping strategy.” Almost 40 years later they oddly bond over memories of a shared hometown and high school. Worst 40th birthday dinner ever–they talk of the old days and mutual friends as my stepmom and I study our pasta. One of the few times I feel sorry for her.
I suspect they’ll traverse memory lane again as Mom’s here to support me through my “lung thing,” as Dad calls it. He’ll provide us transport to and from the hospital, keep me company through pre-op procedures and bring my overnight bag and cooler filled with vegan protein shakes, green juices and iced coffee (better safe than sorry with the latter). Yes, I’ll write the hospital’s nutrition director about its current menu items, but hope to lower my library book tower by one and catch up on much-missed sleep too. I wonder how much pain to expect, if I’ll notice the missing bit of lung.
Before pre-op, however, there’s blood work, an EKG and physical today (I’ve been writing this since, oh, 3:30AM after a good three hours sleep). Dad’s taking me and maybe Mom. They’re coming through for me big time in their own ways. My heart swells with love and gratitude.
Let the fun begin!