He nodded. But I could see it in his eyes. He didn’t believe me.
Now, in that hospital bed, he turned the tags over in his fingers.
“Do you think Dad would be proud I made it through surgery?”
“Baby, your dad was proud of you long before this.”
“Even though I’m kind of a mess?”
“He was a mess too,” I said. “Ask anybody who knew him.”
I had no idea how soon someone would take me up on that.
A soft knock. A nurse leaned into the doorway, smiling in a way I hadn’t seen the staff smile in a long time.
“Caleb, are you feeling up to some visitors?”
He glanced at me before answering. I understood why. For two years, almost every person who walked into his room came with a clipboard, a needle, or news neither of us wanted to hear.
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