Every tomorrow has two handles. We can take hold of it with the handle of anxiety or the handle of faith. Henry Ward Beecher 

I’m home again. This visit is mixed with undertones of the familiar: giving my mom a tight squeeze bear hug, laughing and bickering with my sister, and embracing roads, both literal and figurative, that I’ve crossed many, many times before. During these conversations with my mom and sister, we talk about my father, Himat, and what we think he might say about a situation with his usual “charm.”

Today I didn’t say Dad, but said his name Himat as I talked with my Mom. I’m home again for a reason. My mom is having knee-replacement surgery on her right knee tomorrow morning. We walk the familiar terrain again. Yellow-walls, beeps, a constant slew of interruptions with stale coffee in a hotel named Hospital. I’ve detailed my ambivalence toward hospitals in many different entries in this space, but I’ve realized that I do have a choice in how my family and I can approach her surgery.  I told my Mom she must remember one word during the surgery – Himat, which means courage/strength. There is no room for anxiety, but a need to embrace what happens with faith.

Isn’t that the lesson? That every day, every tomorrow we have choices, to either riddle ourselves with an armor of uncertainty or anxiety or to have faith that all happens as it should. And what I’m choosing tomorrow is to pick up the handle of Himat and some faith.

Good luck Mom. Love you.

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