Just when I thought it was ok, that progress was being made, the phone rang....

Grandpa's incision was leaking. The doctor was worried that bowel was spilling in to his abdomen. So back into surgery he went, knowing that when he came out not only would he have a colostomy bag, but he would be on a ventilator. The thing he hates most. But he made the decision. So there we all sat in the waiting room with thousands of questions circling. I watched Grandma as she drifted in and out of sleep, her lips moving silently as I knew she was praying. The doctor came out and everything went well. However she kept using the word, "if". "If" he survives, "if" he comes off the vent.....Hard word to hear. AS I walked into his room after he'd been brought back up, my heart leapt to my throat. What happened to the strong, funny man I knew? In his place was this weak old man. All I could do was stand next to him, hold his hand and tell him that I loved him. That I needed him to hang on a bit longer. That he had great-grandkids who love him desperately. That I needed him to meet this baby, who would have his name. At the same time, I also had to say, if you need to go Grandpa, go. So buckle up, here goes the roller coaster again.