The house is unusually quiet. I'm amazed at how quiet it is. I guess I never realized how many noises my dad makes. But.......it's really, really quiet in the house right now.

I woke him this morning at 5:45am for his 7am checkin at the hospital. Short Stay procedure to improve his "flow." I don't that anybody is at their best at 5:45am, but my father is especially contrary at any hour before 11am. He grumbled, he barked, he hocked up at least two "loogies" then grumbled some more, shared a stream of obscenities, then hoisted himself into a standing position and finally relented with, "Okay let's go." Lovely.

On the way to the hospital he sang. He sings every morning. Lately he's been singing a little love song he's been composing. It goes something like this:

Tell me pretty girl,

Are you ready for love,

Tell me pretty girl,

Who will you choose...

Or something like that. It's cute, sometimes. My dad can't really sing, so only cute sometimes.

Took Dad into the Short Stay section of the hospital. Got him into his hospital duds, settled onto a bed, covered him with warm blankets, slipped on his hospital-issue sockies, then he started singing again. The nurses are entertained. He acts like he can't hear or see them react, but I know darn well he can. That's why he does it afterall.

I left shortly before he was taken to pre-op. He's supposed to be in overnight. Somebody will call me, I a told. Came home to find Mom still sleeping. Nestled into my home office to work, then stopped to notice, how, quiet, the, house, was. Nice. Quiet. Peaceful. But.......

I miss the singing.