Three generations, resting after lunch.

The patriarch is having open heart surgery tomorrow.

I’m the only daughter, at the bedside again, watching…waiting.

My baby, the only granddaughter, is resting on the stiff couch by the window.

It is calm. Peaceful.

I’m glad.

I’m trying to keep my mind calm.

Memories of cardiac patients I have had, and open heart surgeries I have observed, rush in like waves, and I breathe and push back, letting them retreat back into the dark place they came from.

This is different.

I know the questions to ask the doctors, but I don’t. I let them give me the information as they see fit.

It’s enough.

More is too much.

In this transitional day from anticipating surgery to tomorrow’s actual procedure, I need peace.

Peace of mind.

Peace of heart.

So we rest.

They sleep.

I pray.

We wait.

My therapist said to be present as it unfolds.

This is my goal.

Waiting.