The surgery lasted several hours.
For me, it passed in a blur of anaesthesia and recovery.
For my father, it felt like an eternity.
He spent the entire day waiting.
Pacing.
Praying.
Watching every doctor and nurse who walked through the theatre doors.
Checking his phone repeatedly.
Hoping for good news.
When we are patients, we often focus on our own fears.
What we sometimes forget is that the people who love us are frightened too.
They sit in waiting rooms carrying their own anxieties.
They smile when we are awake and cry when we cannot see them.
They try to remain strong even when they feel helpless.
Years later, my father admitted that it was one of the longest days of his life.
Not because he was physically present in the operating theatre.
But because his heart was.
Love often looks like waiting. Waiting with hope. Waiting with faith. Waiting because there is nowhere else you would rather be than close to the person you love.