When you’re a mom, a plan is rarely THE plan. One of my friends on Facebook posted this as her status update yesterday, and the phrase immediately stuck a chord with me.

Yesterday morning, my husband, kids, and I left the house at 7:15, about 25 minutes later than originally planned, ready for our day trip to Disney World. We have annual passes which expire in early March, so we wanted to get at least another trip or two in before then. My 4-year old son was intent on adding to his stuffed animal collection, and I think his entire reason for wanting to go was to look for another stuffed Eeyore. My 7-year old daughter’s wish was to ride Space Mountain with me. She likes to watch me scream in fear; it makes her laugh.

We had been on the road about 45 minutes when I looked down at my phone and saw that I’d missed a call from my mom. I listened to her message.

“I need you to call me back as soon as you can.”

An hour later, I was sitting in the emergency room at the hospital where I work, holding my dad’s hand. He couldn’t walk without nausea and vomiting. His jaw hurt so badly he needed morphine. The left-side of his face wouldn’t work. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said when I arrived. “It hurts.”

Today, multiple blood tests, an MRI, and a CT angiogram later, we know he has a small brain tumor that has caused this whole mess. We knew he had this little tumor, but it was benign-appearing, so surgery wasn’t done a year ago when it was found. It has now tripled in size, most likely because it bled on the inside.

Tomorrow a neurosurgeon will operate on my father’s brain to remove the tumor.

My dad is doing better today. He’s still a little dizzy at times, but he’s able to walk on his own. He still can’t move the left side of his face. He’s flirting with the nurses and the therapists. He tells me he’s not scared of the surgery. He knows that he doesn’t have a choice. He’s just worried for all of us, for his family.

In the "friendship line", Grandaddy is the one on the left (G). Nana (N) is on the far right.

I had planned to cook all day today. I had been looking forward to baking something, something I could share with you here. Instead, I spent the day at the hospital with my father, holding his hand, giving him hugs, refilling his cup of ice water when it ran out. My children visited him, and he gave them graham crackers and cookies that he sweet-talked the speech therapist into fetching for him.

When you’re a mom, a plan is rarely THE plan. This rings true whether you’re a mom, a daughter, a wife, a sibling, a loved one.

Tomorrow a neurosurgeon will operate on my dad’s brain.

I will be there waiting for him to get out so I can hold his hand again, and so he can hold mine.