I showed up at the hospital with my dad’s favorite biscuits and some strong coffee.
We had a plan.
I would spend the morning with him. His wife would arrive before the doctors started their rounds. My sister, a doctor, would join by speakerphone to help translate the medical jargon that the rest of us would feel like was French.
It was the third day after his surgery. He had a portion of his lung removed, and we were waiting for the results from the 32 lymph nodes they had evaluated.
I held up my end of the bargain.
Early arrival. Favorite breakfast. Strong coffee. Hiding my fear.
Sadly, the doctors did not follow our schedule.
Leading up to my dad’s surgery, there was a lot of fear.
I lost my mom suddenly years ago. My siblings and I have had a lot to work through since then. She was the great connector in our family.
My sisters and brother were especially close to my mom.
I was especially close to my dad.
I’m also a lot like him.
We don’t show a ton of emotion. We rarely ask for help. And by rarely, I man never. And our battles are usually fought alone.
What I know about myself is that when I reach the scariest part of the journey, I often wish someone knew I wanted more help.
Preferably without me having to ask, since I grew up thinking asking for help showed weakness.
Which makes it a little difficult for people to know.
So, for three mornings, I showed up early with breakfast and kept him company until his wife arrived around lunchtime. My version of forced help. He wasn’t going to ask and I wanted him to know I wanted to be there.
That meant doing something I wasn’t very good at….
ask for help.
I knew that I didn’t want to pass that flaw down to them. And that I needed to talk to them about it. So I leaned into what I didn’t want to teach them. I asked for help.
With me not around for morning routine, I asked if they could each cook a breakfast this week. That would allow me to leave earlier and be with their Papa. They instantly said yes. They said that they could also take care of making lunches, which was a nice little bonus.
I told them I was scared. They asked if it made me think of my mom. I told them it did.
I explained that Papa might not ask for company, but I wanted to be there when he woke up.
They got to FaceTime him in the evenings.
We prayed. We cried. We shared our fears. They gave me a big long hug that made me
And I doubled down on gratitude. At dinner or bedtime, I made sure we talked about what we were grateful for. Every night, I wrote down ten things of my own. Most centered around my dad. Some centered around his surgery.
My fear was already getting plenty of practice. I wanted to practice gratitude, too.
That third morning, my dad and I had time to talk about the worry. Then the doctor walked in with his assistant.
His wife hadn’t arrived. My sister wasn’t on the phone. The doctor talked about the surgery, then launched into the results.
It felt like a mild ambush.
There had been a finding in one of the lymph nodes. They recommended an aggressive round of chemotherapy, followed by immunotherapy. The doctor sounded hopeful about the chances of beating it. With the added risk factors, they wanted to be aggressive.
I took notes on my phone while trying to ask the best questions I could. I watched my dad try to process the news and ask questions, too.
We weren’t ready for what we heard.
And we really weren’t ready for when the doctor left. The silence seemed to last forever.
I broke the silence by repeating what I believed I had heard. My dad clarified some things. Then he did the same, and I clarified a few more.
We wanted the details in my notes app so we could explain them to his wife and my sister.
The heaviness was heavy.
Really heavy.
And then my mind went to gratitude.
I didn’t will it to arrive. I hadn’t planned on it showing up.
I told him I was really thankful for the surgery.
The surgery had allowed them to find this.
I kept thinking about that one little lymph node and what might have happened if it had gone unnoticed. Because of his lung issue, the doctors had discovered something they believed they could treat successfully.
There was a hard road ahead.
But they had found it. They had a plan.
My dad expressed gratitude as well.
How Gratitude Protected My Perspective
In my last article, I wrote about the nightly gratitude practice I started and eventually shared with my boys.
Before my dad’s surgery, I became especially determined to keep it going. I knew I was scared. I knew where my mind could go if I spent the whole night thinking about what MIGHT happen.
Each night, I spent time noticing what I appreciated within the experience we were having.
When the ambush by the doctor was complete…
gratitude arrived without having to go looking for it.
I firmly believe my nightly practice helped prepare me for that moment. Apparently, there was a muscle I could work on outside my garage gym.
Gratitude protected my perspective.
I was still scared for my dad. But I could also recognize the significance of finding something the doctors could act on.
The fear was real. So was the blessing.
What We Practice Can Stay With Us
In The Little Book of Gratitude, Dr. Robert Emmons describes how practicing gratitude is like fertilizer, it helps more gratitude grow. He references and idea from Rick Hanson who said that….
“The brain takes the shape the mind rests upon.”
That made me think about my gratitude work outs. Workouts that left my brain resting in gratitude as I fell asleep. Rather than resting in worry.
Leading up to my dad’s surgery, there was plenty of that, worry. Worry around death. Worry around saying goodbye to another parent. Worry about not being strong enough to give him the support he needed. My mind could find plenty to worry about. It didn’t need any help from me at all.
Gratitude was a different kind of workout. Each night, the phone would come out. The notes app would open. I would type out 10 things I was grateful for from the day. If it was Tuesday, Taco Tuesday was on there. Some days were harder than others. But 10 was the magic number of reps. That was the goal. Sometimes more. Never less.
And The Little Book of Gratitude helped me see that my nightly practice was actually preparing me to be grateful later. Like a muscle that keeps growing after you worked out.
Now if only a few minutes of working on my abs could go that far.
The Reset
I do not do this every night. Heck, sometimes I miss a couple days in a row. I have started to notice that when I get away from it…
Resentments increase….
Frustration comes faster….
And sometimes my boys ask if I’m okay. WAY before I’ve stopped to ask myself.
So I return to my phone, a notes app, and ten things I am grateful for from the day. Because I am training for those moments that I want gratitude to be there for me.
Like the morning with my dad.
The doctor left. The room was silent. The news was heavy. And the blessing was still there waiting for me to notice it.
Keep Exploring About Gratitude
Read: The Magnifying Mind - My mind has the ability to turn a pile of clothes, a full sink, or an empty toilet paper role into the story of the night, even if it was a great one.
Try: Friday Fieldwork — Gratitude in the Hard Parts - A three step process to help dads like me find gratitude in the hard moments.
Listen: Gratitude > Gas (Especially on Mexican Night) - A podcast reflection on gratitude with the boys, on Taco Tuesday.