Routine, even…

I took my parents out to eat this past Saturday and my father informed me he was going to the hospital Tuesday, today, for surgery.

He didn’t seem too concerned, as the particular surgery was routine. Thus, I wasn’t too concerned.

At the time.

Of course, later on that night as I was lying in bed, my imagination slipped out and started running rampant in my head. What if this, what if that.

By Sunday, the what ifs went back into hiding.

Today, my sister called me as I was leaving the house and started asking a bunch of silly questions, knowing that it would irritate me since I was in a hurry. “Why are you still home? Why did your schedule change? When are you leaving?”

I promptly hung up on her and went to work.

When I got to the office, I called her back and her first question (of course) was, “Why did you hang up on me?”

“What do you want?” I replied. The day was already starting off to be busy one, so I didn’t have much time.

“Do you know where I’m at?”

“Where?” I asked.

“I’m at the hospital with daddy.”

I had forgotten all about the surgery. It definitely wasn’t intentional, I just have this knack of discarding things that worry me. I asked my sister to keep me updated throughout the day, and hung up.

And that’s when the what ifs came back for a visit.

I left work about 3:30 and headed for the hospital.

When I arrived, my dad was just being admitted into his room.

Everything had gone smooth. Routine, even.

My dad was in good spirits, if a little worn.

I hung out for a couple of hours and headed home. The thoughts that went through my mind on the way home are irrelevant for this post, as, shockingly enough, I do keep most of my shit private. But they certainly centered around the fact that my parents aren’t going to live forever as I had thought.

And that bothers the piss out of me.