These are my souvenirs. My mental pictures of everything.

Pop made it through the surgery, but he was still in full-on Darth Vader mode when we left town to head home. Even with the nerves and the dismal amount of sleep, I still managed to record a few lucid moments throughout the day.

-"Slow down, Denise. I'm not quite as anxious as you to get there," Pop said as we walked back into the day surgery prep area.

-In what universe does open heart surgery count as day surgery?

-Grandpa Harvey insists the edema on his legs is from salt consumption. Pop swears it is not. Odd way to leave things if this all went the other way.

-Ah, the first pre-operation visitors need to get past the magnetically locked door. Looks like I'll be playing doorman this morning.

-Wonder how many group prayers these prep nurses see in these rooms? Two this morning at least.

-Funny how an impromptu recitation of Psalms 23 makes everyone in a room stop their actions for a moment.

-Glad the 30 minute wait in day surgery was equal to the time it takes to walk to the critical care waiting room.

-Dang. A lot of people get up early. This waiting room already has 12 people before 7:30 a.m.

-No. I don't recognize the number either, Mom. But it looks like some extension from the hospital here. I just had to refer a guy to the main number after he mistakenly dialed the waiting room extension to ask about the state of his friend. I'll take this call too.

-"David?" Pop? "Why are you answering your Mom's phone?" You're surprised? Aren't you under anesthesia right now? How did you get a phone back there?

-First update. The waiting room hostess answers her line. Calls for the family. Mom should take this. The 30 people with us look for her. Nothing like 60 eyes watching you walk out of the bathroom to take a call.

-Childhood best friends fall away quickly, even when they officiated your wedding. But times like this adjust your definition of family: the people who show up.

-Blackened chicken fettucine alfredo. Are you kidding me? Break my leg and admit me, man. This is delicious.

-Second update. They have replaced one valve. Repaired another. Examined the third and repaired that as well.

-10 pots of coffee by 1 p.m. Not one of them good. Mind if I try? Tough crowd, this bunch.

-How do some guys go 20 years without changing their hairstyle?

-I'm telling you. There is more to hockey than the fights.

-Final operation update. Surgeon walks in. Mom walks out - of the bathroom. Again.

-Don't bury the lead, doc. You always start with "He's alive, and that's what's important." You don't end with that. The gallery is turning blue here. I guess I am the only one who saw the smile he shot at Mom when he began.

-OK, now you have to get something to eat, Mom.

-It always helps to have an inside man to gather intel. In this case. A woman. A nurse. From another department. Who almost got busted trying to guess the keypad combination for the surgery wing. He's almost sewn up.

-Moved past recovery and straight to ICU about 3 p.m. Three hurdles: bleeding out, liver congestion, getting off the vent. This physician's assistant has way better delivery.

-More praying. So much praying. Seems to be working.

-Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there. In the waiting room. We just opened our eyes after the group prayer, and our family's agent had magically appeared. My brother and I sing the jingle simultaneously without prompting.

-This drive home is worse when you just made it less than 15 hours ago. But a phone call right before arriving makes it worth it. He's awake, so his liver processed the anesthesia. No bleeding in his chest tube. He is breathing over the vent, so that will probably come off later tonight. I bet those ICU ceiling tiles were the prettiest things he's seen in a long time.

-Good. Now I won't have to find those specific songs he asked me to get for his funeral. Not for awhile.