Gave Chris a sparkler

Mom had a cancer spot on her forehead and for some reason my sisters and I decided to have it removed. I'm not really certain why we did it. It was a basal cell carcinoma, which means it would not metastasize to other parts of her body. At 91 . . . well, I'm just not certain what we were thinking. I suppose one always wants the best for their parent, but I'm not totally convinced this was the best for Mom. In retrospect, I believe my sisters are of the same opinion.

Mom really can't understand what is happening. Thinking she can't hear us, we have started writing her notes, but she really can't understand the written word any longer either. She can still read them, but they are simply words on paper.

So today King and I took her to have Mohs surgery.

The surgery can be a long process. They cut out the cancer, cauterize the wound while they send the patient out to a waiting room while they study the removed cells under a microscope to determine if there is still cancer. It can take anywhere from an hour to two hours to study the cells. If they still find cancer cells, they call the patient back in and remove some more. The entire procedure can take several hours -- to almost a full day. Fortunately for us they were able to remove all the cancer on the first try. I don't think Mom could have gone through round two or three or four.

I sat with Mom through the procedure and held her hands. The hands that cooked our meals, sewed our clothes, brushed our hair and even held the end of a lead line for the horses. (Although Mom was not the bravest of women when it came to the horses).  I would know those hands anywhere -- despite the gnarled joints and countless age spots. I studied her wedding ring for the first time in years (mostly to keep from passing out while they sutured her forehead closed). Her wedding band and engagement ring are close to 70 years old and still beautiful.

Mom showed me Dad's journal from WWII once. Dad was not a wordsmith. Sometimes the entries said simply, "We marched today," or, "Swam in the ocean." The one I remember the most was, "Gave Chris a sparkler." I remember asking Mom why Dad gave her a sparkler when it wasn't anywhere near the Fourth of July.

"He gave me an engagement ring," Mom told me. I was a very young child at the time. "But why did he call it a sparkler?"

"That's just your father," was all Mom said.

Looking back, and having spent the past 37 years with one of the most unromantic men in the world, I guess I can forgive my father for his lack of details. Dad always was a man of few words.