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Heading into a major surgery there are conversations that have to be had.
These are the “what if” conversations nobody likes to have, but we eventually all face. My surgery was a whopper and things like wills, power of attorney, living will all had to be discussed and filled out before the big day.
The night before my surgery, I sat alone and wrote letters to my kids. These were only to be opened if “something” happened.
I finished the final letter, I closed up my computer and turned my attention to my wife. We had discussed a lot, but it was zero hour and there were some final things she had to hear, “just in case.”
As we lay in bed, I told her many things that needed to be said, there were tears, laughing and a lot of hugs. Finally we got down to “the topic,” what to do if I die on the operating table.
We had already discussed funeral plans. Everyone in my family knows, I want a “Dad is Dead 5k” followed by a New Orleans style processional while they play the slow version of Born to Run.
This was what happens after that. I needed to let her know that it was OK to feel love again, to find another man and start a new life. I needed to release her from guilt and the burden of worry. It needed to be said. She is an amazing woman, smart, beautiful, kind, funny, loving and stole my heart from the minute I met her. She has given her all to our family and deserves to feel all that the world has to offer, if it’s with another man who will share his love with her, then so be it.
It was in intense, emotional, painful conversation that went back and fourth as we held each other crying and talking.
I just had one small request.
Though she insisted, she would never find another love like me (which seems crazy because I am a B- at best) she queried as to what my request was.
“If you do re-marry, when it comes to sex, give him 50% of the effort you have given to me.”
I have never run across an angry rattlesnake, but I am sure I came close from her reaction.
“What the hell are you talking about!” She hissed at me, tears gone, fangs out.
“ I think you should remarry, you deserve love. When it comes down to sex, don’t try as hard as you did with me. Fake a headache every once in a while, keep the volume down, you know give it a C+ effort. I am gong to be long gone, you are definitely going to find a better more successful guy than me, so I want to be remembered as “the champ” at something.”
It made sense as I said it.
“You’re a complete moron!’ was her response.
Being a DAD there are times when you can feel like “less of a contributor” to the family. You have no insurance, real income or meetings to fill your ICal, as a “man,” even a dead man, you want to feel like you are valuable at something.
This was my thing. King of the covers! Maybe moan my name every once in a while while in the heat of passion. Seemed like a reasonable request?
Apparently a pre-surgical punch in the gut was approved by the FDA, which was what I got and then the cold shoulder. Conversation over.
The first thing I remember seeing as I came out of a post surgical haze was my wife’s face. She was smiling at me, I had made it, I was alive, ready continue my life with my family.
Still in a daze, as I started to fall asleep, looking up at her beautiful face she leaned in and whispered into my ear, “the doctor said no sex of any type for six weeks. Sweet dreams champ, see you in the Fall.”
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