this giant love

dear smoochie,

after a month of waiting, daddy's surgery date is finally scheduled: september 19. two doctors will operate on daddy. one will work on fixing up daddy's lower parts, and the other will look at daddy's liver with a little camera he'll put through a small opening in daddy's tummy. another doctor will use ultrasound to take pictures of daddy's liver just in case there is any cancer there too small for the camera to see. if the doctors find anything, and if it's just in a few small spots, the doctor operating on the liver will remove the parts of the liver where the cancer is growing.

while this is happening, i will be at the hospital in the waiting room. daddy's operation isn't until the afternoon, so we'll take you to daycare in the morning and your cousin teja will pick you up and take you home for your walk, dinner, and bed. i can already feel how much i will miss you that day, but i will be home not too long after you go to sleep, and we will see each other when you wake up again.

little smoochie, i don't know what to expect. right now is a happy time. even though the doctors gave us bad news in june, daddy has been feeling very well lately, and he looks good, too. he has been taking really good care of himself, going for long walks every day, eating lots of fruits and vegetables, drinking fresh organic juices, avoiding sugar, and learning to RELAX. he has actually started to meditate. it is easy to think that daddy is fine and we will all live happily ever after.

september 19 might smash that happy picture into a million little bits.

every day we love you more and you love us more. it doesn't seem possible, but somehow this giant love is always able to grow just a little bit bigger. when you first see your daddy in the morning you laugh with delight. if you can get near enough to touch his scruffy cheeks, you like to pat and pat them.

my heart feels warm and brave, and also still and frozen. it sounds like a contradiction, but in life's logic it makes sense. you will see.