"This feels like deja vu," Dad remarked as we sat in the Stanford Medical Center waiting room while Rhonda was meeting with the surgeon.
"I remember reading that deja vu means you might be uncomfortable in a situation and so you feel as if you have experienced something already as a way to feel more at ease," I rattled on as I studied the Better Homes and Garden design of this rich, long hallway full of separate waiting areas for each office.
"Everytime I am in a hospital, it always feels like deja vu," he added.
Seems like our lives have been spent a lot in hospitals these past two decades. From Mom's Cancer Year, to his step-father's ongoing battle with prostate cancer, to his mother's stroke, to losing first great-grandchild JaRon prematurely, to his heart problem last November, and now to his wife's chronic heart issues ~ hospital waiting rooms have become like a family room to us.
But this time it was different. This time it was Rhonda. His sweet first born. My older sister. My surrogate mother in many ways since Mom's death.
This time it was Rhonda who has never had surgery in her life. This time we knew it really could not be cancer, but could it? Could she be one of the 2.5 in a million persons whose growth inside her leg was really cancer? I refused to even go there, but hearing that she had to have a 14 1/2" incision just to clear out this large growth was still alarming.
I know my sister is scared. Scared to go under the knife. Scared of the pain during a four week recovery. Scared of something going wrong.
There are no magazines in this sterile yet so richly decorated waiting area. And so you just keep talking during the wait.
We talked about how close in age Rhonda and I are now to Mom's age when she died. We talked about our fears for Rhonda and her kids. I saw how I was possibly in denial that Rhonda could have cancer, but that Dad clearly envisioned the possibilty of losing his eldest daughter.
We talked about where we were going to eat afterward for lunch. How he had given her two choices ~ The Cheesecake Factory or Harry's Hofbrau ~ as a way to have something to look forward to after the appointment. Two restaurants that we rarely have to chance to visit.
Doctor said he was 99.9% certain that it's not cancer. Just by the look on the cat scan. Now we prepare for her surgery and recovery in two months.
She gets to celebrate her 50th birthday next month without being on crutches. Her youngest son and his fiance get to still take her to Cache Creek for a soul concert in early October. And, oh, yes, she can cover up her gray hair once more before the big day.
But first it was off to Harry's. For once good dose of comfort food. Turkey and gravy, pastrami, potato salad, macaroni salad, pickles, and apple pie.
"We can order one turkey and one pastrami sandwich, Rhonda, and then we can each have a half of each, and Robin, I'll order you the senior turkey dinner which comes with two sides and a jello!" Dad described so joyfully during the car ride, making our mouths water with each mention of comfort food.
"Your mom always used to order the potato salad, and I would get the macaroni salad at Sam's Hof Brau in Sacramento," Dad remembered on the way over there,"so let's get one of each, too."
And in that moment, I remembered the woman who left us so long ago ~ who was once young and vibrant as my sister is today.
I felt her presence in that fancy Stanford waiting room during Dad's deja vu moment, and I felt her presence now as we headed off to Harry's Hofbrau to be comforted by food and by memories of our family ~ with the man who has kept the family together for so many years ~ throughout so many hospital visits ~ and so many losses along the way.
And then I knew that deja vu was just another way of Mama saying "Hello from The Big Sky" ~ that "I am still here with you ~ through each of these hospital visits ~ with every bite of comfort food ~ with every struggle you are facing today ~ yes, I am still here as I have always been ~ loving you ~ comforting you ~"
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