I'm Scared

Well, Hallelujah, Rex, they have finally found something wrong with my heart.
We were only trying to convince them of that for a year and a half before you died, but they kept diagnosing my symptoms as something else.
Chest pain = hiatal hernia
Shoulder pain = old injury
Numbness and tingling in hands = carpal runnel
Neck pain = sinuses
Breathlessness = obesity
Fatigue = depression
Lethargy = thyroid
Muddled thinking = depression

But, finally, after a prolonged bout with pneumonia, they have found something. The right side of my heart is somewhat enlarged and there is a murmur.I had that before, if you remember. About twelve or fifteen years ago (How the years run together after time passes!) That time,which was also after a bout of pneumonia, it resolved itself, at least to the point of nothing being found.

Now, they want to do an angiogram think, like they did about five years ago when I had pneumonia and chest pain and they sent me to Christ hospital. And found nothing.

This time, though, they are going to put me under. If they have to put stents in, I will have to stay overnight.

And it scares me quite silly.
Dunno why. When they did it before, I was awake and the worst part was having to lie flat and not being able to go to the bathroom. Thought I was going to wet myself and their bed before they let me get up.

I am afraid they are expecting to put stents in and that that is why they are putting me under. Not afraid of the stents -- that's  a fairly routine procedure these days.

The truth is, I don't really know what it is that scares me so badly.
Waking up to NOT YOU, maybe.
Again.
I should be used to that by now.

I don't think I need the stents, but I fit the profile -- fat, fifty, female.
I do not think they are looking beyond that profile.
And I think there is something more going on.

The right side of the heart, as we learned after your experience, is connected to the lungs. And I can't/don't/won't ignore the connection with the illness I had in the spring. With problems I still occasionally have -- I have become somewhat asthmatic.

Maybe I'm afraid of something wrong with my pulmonary system.
Maybe I'm afraid of not being diagnosed.
Maybe I'm afraid of COPD.

I don't know, Rex.
I just don't know.

It's all the more terrifying to me because you won't be there, not anywhere. Not at the hospital. Not waiting at home.

Not to diminish the love from daughters and sisters and friends.
But they aren't mine
They aren't you.

and I'm not too sure I wouldn't be even more frightened to see you there while I'm wandering the in-between world.

I just don't know.
That, I suppose, is the reason and the conclusion.

I just don't know.
And that is scary.

Always You

Alone
Lost                      You
Worried                Only
Afraid                    Understand
Yearning
Sad

Waltzing Warren

I had Warren for two days last week. Thursday, we took Tracy to school, and then it was just he and I.
What fun!
He played and laughed and cried and played and ran and climbed and beeped. He chased the cat and the cat chased him. She would put out her paw and smack him on the head as if to say "Tag. You're it."

I always wish I could record every minute of time I spend with him. (No, not really. Diaper changes aren't that exciting, except when he tries to escape.) I hope the memories will stay with me.

I wish I could share the experience with you. I so want to say, "Rex, look at this boy!"

That was never more true than when he was dancing on the bed.

He climbed up on the bed, bounced on the pillows a couple times, and then he hit the switch on the music box. (The music box is for a crib but on the bed frame)
He listened to the music, and laughed, then threw out his arms, lifted his glowing face, and danced.
He gave himself to the music.
He stepped, and because he was on the bed, there was a bounce in every step.
He twirled and spun.
He swayed.

Through it all, he laughed.
His face was alight.
His movements were fluid and graceful.

I have never seen a child so young so rapturously caught up in the moment.

Rex, will you just look at this boy!

Anniversary

One year ago this day, you were still with us. Barely, but still here.

And, Oh, how I hated to see you that way. I don't think you would have liked it too much either, if it had been your choice.

But then again, in a sense, it was your choice.

We had all said our good-byes, at least as best we could.
How can you say good-bye to someone you don't want to go?
(You look at their suffering, you look at their helplessness, you look at their ravening disease, and you say "enough")

We told you we loved you, and that you could go; we'd be all right. Somehow. Together.

We (your brother, sisters, and niece, as well as Tammy&David) had even gone to the extreme of chasing down your oldest daughter and giving her the chance to say good-bye and I love you. That didn't go so well from out point of view, but we had done it for you, and we hope that you know it was for you. That if you didn't get the love from her (she was much too busy zipping up her twitchy boyfriends pants when he had to go potty) you got the love from us finding her for you.

You awed us, you know.
You were with us still, you responded to our ins and outs; our conversations. We could tell from your heart rate and your breathing and your blood pressure and 'stuff'. The nurses may have thought we were crazy -- they had turned off the machine in the room, but by watchingf their numbers outside, we could tell.

We just could tell.

Then as your time dwindled, as you began to let go, and go, you continued to awe us. Your rates would drop only when your children were not in the room. If they left and came back -- either of them, or both of them -- the drop would stop and begin to climb again.

So strong you were, so determined.
So Rex.

So Tammy decided to go home to her babies, not wanting to prolong your imprisonment in a faulty failing body.
Tracy went to distract herself with a tv, and to not distract you from Going On.

And I sat and held your hand and watched the numbers go lower and lower.

That big old loving heart stopped first.

You kept on taking just one more breath, even after that.
Just one more breath.
And another,
And another.

Until you finally realized you were free of the need for that struggle, and you let it go.

As  we had to let you go.

We miss you. Even Hailey tells me how she misses you.
Warren talks to your recliner.
White Castles and GoldStar make me cry, inside if not outside.

But one year ago, at this time (@6:30 am EDT), we had approximately six hours left to see how you loved us.

And we did see, dear.
We saw.

Sawyer Brown - The Dirt Road

Birthday

You would have had a birthday Saturday.
You would have been 59 years old that day.
You would have had to renew your driver's license. Or decide not to.

School started, and River Days came and went before the date.
Reminders.
Reminders of a date I was trying not to think about.
(At least there was no Tobacco/ Farmer's Festival this year the weekend of.)

My sisters remembered you.
Our daughters remembered you.
I knew it to e your day, minus you, and I slept and went to work, where way too many of the men in the pictures had some feature that reminded me of you.


I don't think you have birthdays Where You Are.
If you do, wouldn't your birthday there be October 16?
But your mom is there, and your sister Dorothy,(and others) and I like to think that you felt the good memories and love from here, and that they somehow reminded you and remembered the day as yours, and I hope that they gave you the attention and the loving notice that I could not this year.




I could not, because you weren't here.
Because you aren't here.
 
You will never be here again.

But August 23 will always be your day.

I Miss You - Avril Lavigne with lyrics

I want You Back

I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.

I want you to come home.
To me.

I don't like me too much without you.
I don't like you being without me.

come hme, come home.

How I wish you could.

Or that I could be wth you

Still

Still here; still missing you; still loving you.

Working third and driving makes it hard, sometimes, to have any other life but working, driving, and sleeping. That's okay most of the time, I think. Less time to brood or feel the aloneness. Less time to listen to the Silence of the Home.
Our Home.
Where you aren't.

I think the blog will be boring if I were just to write that opening line every few days. Doubt that many people would find it useful or helpful. Although there are those out there who would probably be reassured that they aren't alone. I may have to think about that.
Hmmm.

United We Stand - Brotherhood of Man

3/4 of a Year

That's how long you've been gone.

What an empty, useless, lonely year it has been.
Empty.
Useless.
Lonely.

Soon, I'll have most of the dreadful and dreaded annual firsts behind me -- and I don't want them behind me. I want them ahead of me still. I know that isn't going to happen -- if I haven't wakened to a 'before' reality in nine months, I'm kind of getting the idea that it will never happen.

Oh, but I wish.
I wish.

The biggest first is looming before me. Your birthday. I don't wanna have your birthdate without you. That's so "not right" that I can't express it.

Hailey's birthday, too. It will be strange without you to share it with. And then yours. And, of course, your family, with its cluster of August birthdays. I know they will think of you, too, and that a bit of them will feel the loss of not knowing you're there -- of knowing you're not there -- on the day that was always yours.

I dread the day. I know it will hit me hard. The week of the 10th through the 16th of every month is so hard, and those are (usually) ordinary days. Should I work and sleep and pass the emptiness that way? Should I take the day off and wallow in grief and aloneness?
But that would make your day about me, and I don't want that. Somehow I will make it your day, because it is.
It always will be, for me.

All out of love - Air Supply (With Lyrics)

In My Dreams

In my dreams, you live.
In my dreams, you laugh.
In my dreams, you love, you share,
you speak, you care.

But only in my dreams.

In my dreams, we talk
In my dreams we walk
In my dreams, we're hand in hand
and face to face

But only in my dreams

again

the nightmare returned last night. I lay awake in the night, hearing that woman doctor saying "This is end stage" and something about decisions. don't remember the exact words, but we both knew what she meant.

I didn't want you to die in the city; I so badly hoped we could bring you  back out here; to the hospice here. But that didn't make the list and we had to make do with looking down on the trees. Not that you were able to look at anything.
In the long hours of the night, hearing those words echoing, I remember sitting beside you holding your hand. I hope you remember that, if you remember anything of here. I just held your hand.

I told you after the other hospitalization that I wouldn't leave you downtown again, and I didn't.
You left me.

Not by choice, I know
There was no choice that would have allowed us to stay together.
"This is end stage"
The words echo and echo again, and I am holding your warm firm hand, unbelieving of what is happening, but knowing it to be too real, too.

How can something be real and unreal together at the same time.

I held your hand.

And I count myself fortunate that I had that option.
Not everyone gets to be there or do that.

"End Stage"
"End Stage"
"End Stage"

I wish the wirds would go away; echoes should fade into oblivion. Isn't that what they are supposed to do?
.

Working with Tammy

Working with Tammy is very like working with you. Not only does she have your work ethic, she has your work style. It makes me smile.

She does her assigned job and does it well. She is also ready, willing, and able to help anyone who needs it. All they have to do is ask.
And ask they do.

She keeps an eye in me, too. Sometimes she knows I'm hurting just by a look. Doesn't matter what or how I try to bully my way through the pain, she can tell.

She takes good care of me, dear. You would be so proud of her. I wanted you to know that.

Poppy Family - Which Way You Goin' Billy (1969 - HD - 720p)

wish you were here

Dear Rex,
I am sick.
I wish you were here.

I seem to have one of your illnesses.
I'm certainly getting all your medicines -- the medrol pack, the nebulizer, a puffer, mucinex ...
I don't wanna have what you had.
I don't wanna live how you did.
I don't have you to see me through it.
To take care of my medicines
and myself.

well, it is what it is, and it will be what it will be, there's nithing I can di about nit except take the medicines and be compliant.

I am sick.
I am afraid.
I am alone.

A Moment; A Reminder

I had a moment the other day.

I was talking to you, as I often do. About my pain, about work, about the girls, or the babies. Or maybe the mowing -- I think of/talk to you a lot over that. I don't remember what the topic was, but it suddenly hit me, like a physical blow, that you weren't really there, that you can't answer, that there is no sharing
.
You are gone, and I am left with this big hole in my soul where you have been for nearly half my life.
I was hurt; I was angry.

And then I remembered.
1) You are no longer struggling for that one more breath
2)  You are not hungry and unable to eat
3) You don't have to choose between eating or breathing.
4) Your bones are no longer painfully grinding themselves into dust.
5) You aren't tethered to a chair, a room, or an oxygen machine

While I wish you were still here, I am glad that you are no longer sick; no longer suffering.

I have to remember that when those moments hit me.
Because those are all the things I've wanted for you, all the years that I couldn't make it better.

I had to give you up to give you what I wanted for you.

Mother's Day

It was my second night at work, and the first whole shift I worked. It was also busy, and I'd have been a terrible disappointing failure if our Tammy hadn't been there to help. Her and her whole crew, because they were all helping "Hey Tammy's Mom."

Anyway, the long, long, very long night was coming, finally, to an end. The morning shift people were coming in and everyone was greeting everyone and some, of course, were saying "Happy Mother's Day."

Tammy passed me and said, "Happy Mother's Day. I got you a job." and went about her business.

Still making me smile.

Summer and Sun

I got a job; I am going back to work.
Someday.
Having to wait on uniforms, and who knows when they will arrive? I did do orientation.

But, there's an unexpected plus side to the delay.
I was ordered a sleep study a couple months ago. First they had to cancel, then I did. I don't remember why, now, that I had to cancel. But, with starting this job, I figured I would have to give up on that.
Well, the hospital called me this morning. They had a cancellation for tonight. Would I like it?
Yay! I can get that in without having to juggle it with a work schedule with an unpredictable schedule. I'm pretty happy about that!


Remember last summer when I told you I (we) would get the mowing done, if it had to be a little bit every day and ten start over?
Well, that's what I have been doing this week. It's working. It's getting the job done. Tracy is helping. I think you would be pleased with both of us -- and impatient that you couldn't get out there and do it yourself in 1/4 the time.

Amd, with the return of 80 degree temperatures, I need to set the pool up for the kids. I really need to do that because the water will keep your little Buddy out of the road. He runs us ragged when we get outside, trying to keep him in the yard.

Good News

I got a job. Tammy talked and kept talking and got the ear of the right person at her job to give me a chance, and I go tomorrow to get started.
So I wasn't so very wrong when I said she'd take care of me, because she is really doing her best to do so.She said that someone offered to give her my schedule already, even, although I haven't yet been to orientation. That sounds pretty good, doesn't it?

The other good news is more mixed. The landlords brought a push-mower over for me to use. It starts fairly easy, so I can use it. But boy that back yard is tough. all bumps and dips. I got most of it done yesterday and today. Ran out of gas just short of finishing. Went and got gas, but cant get it started. I think my pulling arm is too weak, so I guess I'll wait until tomorrow or the next day. Depending on my work schedule.

I like the sound of that.

Pretty tired and sore from shoving that mower over the bumps and all. But it's a good tired. I can sure see why you couldn't  do it though. Especially not with a walk-behind.

I miss you, but I'm getting by.
And that's a little sad.

seeing

I wonder why I never saw how badly you were looking, how close you were getting.

I saw that you were losing weight, losing height, losing energy. I could see the circles under your eyes. Big black circles. Sunken cheeks and prominent cheek bones. Bony chin and bony fingers. The very white skin. (I only checked that it wasn't blue or gray)

I never saw that your face had become a death's head.
Did I just not see it?
Or was I refusing to see it?
Or denying that I saw it?

I don't know. I'll probably never know.

There's familiarity, and the everyday changes that no one ever sees when they are looking everyday at the every day.
And there's what the heart sees, sometimes whether it's really there or not.

This picture of you with the babies haunts me now, because I can see so clearly the hovering spectre.







But when I look/looked at you, this is the man I saw.

Even after all this time; even after this great change; this is the man I see.

This is the man you were.
Always.

Stepping Forward,

Got some answers.
Well, Rita got some answers. Maybe they called her back because she has a Bethel -- or 513 -- phone  number. Maybe she just speaks more clearly than I do. You'd think cemetery people would be used to getting calls from people with difficulty speaking. But then again, maybe that's why they make people call back repeatedly until they can talk legibly. (I know that isn't the right word, but it's closer than audibly in meaning.)

So, now I have my answers.
I know what to do and have a better idea of how to do it. Only one thing holding me back. You know what that it -- same as always. But together we'll get it done. I mean with my sisters' help, and some other people. Maybe even lots of other people.

This is in Winchester, not Bethel where you will be.

It's a load off my mind to get started on that. I'm afraid I'll be a little more lost once it's done. But then again, I'm not so sure I can BE any more lost.

It's so weird to come home still.
I guess it always will be.
Hope that's a little better after I get it together and can move somewhere, but it's been half my life that I haven't come home to you.
It's such an empty, meaningless change.

I miss you.
I want to talk to you.
I wish you were here to talk back. (But, with things being as they are, I'd prefer that you don't. That would be creepy. Besides, I want you to be at peace and unworried. And loved, but I know you are that, even if it's on this side of life.)

So Sorry

for you -- me

Having difficulty keeping that last promise to you. Money is part of it, but the most frustrating part is from the other end -- authorities not co-operating. Makes me crazy; makes me want to scream and bash things. But, then again, maybe the delay is to help give me time to arrange the money get-together. That will be quite a trick since I haven't mastered yet getting enough money together to live beyond today. But it could be so.

Nothing is working out the way we thought it could. My last resort for myself (and Tracy) has become an even more unappealing option -- but that's the direction things are going.
It makes me crazy. I hate it. But if it's what must be, then it will be. I can't go around throwing out moochers so I can mooch.

Past of me wishes you could/would help, but the larger part of me wants you to know nothing of these problems. Not because of pride or any other deadly sin. Because I want you to be free from worries. Things here are to never ever ever cause you stress. I want you to be happy.

Be happy, be free, and be whatever-the-equivalent-is to breathing easy.
Love without worry.
Live without pain.

I will muddle through somehow.
I always do.

A Bad Day

Just one of those days.

Yesterday, I got a phone call from Social Security that I hadn't filled out a whole section of the appeal I filed a nd I had to hop online and do that RIGHT AWAY. Good thing we have  Internet, because that person might have had a stroke or just her head explode. She "just can't do anything with this" unless this other part was done. I didn't see whatever that part was (Disability Report) when I filled out the form. I don't think it was there; I think it's part of their delay and intimidation tactics.
Okay, that might be a bit too much.

I wish these damn lawyers would help. I don't know what I'm doing with this stuff, and I know I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm not disabled enough for the lawyers.
Or Social Security, for that matter.

Storms today and that awful noise in my head that I call subsonic music. Never had that until you were gone. It's like a bass, only the tomes arr more baritone and tenor, but the teeth-screeching effect is like that of overloud, over-amped bass being played. It can hurt so bad.

Went to the Dr yesterday and she gave me anti-dizzy medicine for the noise. Because it must be making me dizzy, at least sometimes. It's possibly labyrinthitis from the cold I had last week, a lone virus hiding out in there. Same damn medicine they gave me for the dizziness when I actually was dizzy, but it was migraine complex, not labyrinthitis.
Then as now

Let me tell you, that noise just got worse and worse with that medicine. Or maybe it was with the storms passing through. I don't know.
I was going to give it 48 hours, but I would be nuts by then. Stark raving mad.The noise eased off and even stopped some when I skipped the next dose.
And my nose started running and I have a choky cough now.
So I dunno.
I just don't know.

Wish you were here to advise and bully me into finding -- somehow! -- an ear Doctor. Because I really do need one. You could shout at me, and I could shout at you, and then we, together, could figure out what to do.
It would have been nice to have you here to take me to the ER when I was all but screaming to get the music to stop.

I miss you.
I need you.
I Love you.

Hard luck for me, I guess.

One More First Without You

Warren's birthday is over, and you weren't there -- and you were. Your devilled eggs, your paper plates, your grandchildren, you. Just you.
And Warren wearing a suit and tie, but his dress shirt that just wouldn't stay tucked in. (Remind you of anyone?)

Day after tomorrow, Tommy will be 14. I doubt he'll even know it's his first birthday without you. If he does, I doubt that it will matter much to him. He never got a chance to know you, save for those few weeks he won't remember.

Coming up, Easter. I  should be able to make baskets for them, and maybe some clothes (new to them.) They won't be able to show/share them with you, and that makes me sad.

The whole upcoming spring and summer makes me sad.

The return of October makes me more than sad. Hailey says you might come back when it's Halloween again. I tell her that you can't, and she just says but you might. Last visit she didn't go into details but was happy talking about October when it will be Halloween again.

Of course, when that happens, we will have completed the cycle of calendar firsts, won't we?

I wonder if that may nor be a way you "come back" to us.

I wonder, too, about the Halloween thing. Is she expecting you to come back as a ghost? Or maybe you'll be reincarnated by then. ? Or does she think you will come back as the you she knew? Is the Halloween when she couldn't show you her costume and call you about trick-or-treating her benchmark of your death? It's so hard to know what to say to her when I don't know what she is thinking? And she doesn't have the words to explain her thought or emotion. How could she have? I am barely able to do so and I've been reading and writing and using/learning words for a half century plus.

You won't be here to  see the forsythia this year.
That is so unbearably sad to me,that you won't see the bright blooms you looked forward to and enjoyed.

The firsts will continue as we go on without you, Rex.But we will soon be halfway through the cycle of calendar firsts, and it looks like we've made it so far.

The distance between now and next October is nothing at all compared to the distance from us now and where you went last October.

Warren's Going to Be 1!

Tam wants me to make devilled eggs.
Well, to be honest, I said I would.
I will make them, too. It's a way of you celebrating with us, I suppose. That's how I am going to look at it anyway.

Tam said she really liked that chili mac stuff we had after your service. That would be Johnny Marzetti, and I hope it was Rita's that she liked so well, because it was someone from the other side of the family -- your side -- that made the other pan of it. They were basically the same; one had more cheeses, I believe.
Not that I remember a lot from that time period.
Another interesting way to make you a part of it just turned up. Rita asked Tammy if she wanted Paper plates and stuff, because she has a lot left over from -- then.
That's really strange because someone had said something about them being plain white and how Warren might someday feel slighted, because Hailey usually has Ariel plates and we have tons of pictures to prove it. Now we can tell Warren, if he's ever that petulant, that the plates were left over from the celebration of your life we had after you were finished with it, and that it was your contribution to celebrating his first year of life -- even if you could only be here for half of it.

That's an interesting way to keep you as a part of out celebrations. Even as a changing part of our changing celebrations. Because, life evolves; life goes on. Yadda yadda.

missing you again

It makes me crazy sometimes that you are not here.
The house is so big and so empty without your presence.

I miss coming home to you.
I miss calling you when I'm ready to come home.

I don't want to be here if you aren't here.
I don't want to be here.

I'm having a harder time with Warren's upcoming birthday than I had with my own, or with Tracy's or Tammy"s. You would so enjoy celebrating him and his first year, and it tears me up that you aren't here to see it.

And Tam needs me today and there's nothing I can do for her.
Tracy needs me tomorrow, and I can't.
The things that mean the most, and I can't.

I am so tired, Rex.
So tired and so alone.

I love you.

How Do I Make Them Listen?

Gosh sakes, Rex, sometimes I think you are the only person on earth who ever listened to me and heard me, too. For someone intelligent and articulate, I have the hardest time making nyself heard.It's so terribly difficult.

My biggest concern is my health. Every symptom I have is dismissed or checked off a list or something. Not even my provider seems to be hearing me.

I am weak. Physically weak. Not just lack of strength -- I can't stand at the stove long enough to grill cheese. Lack of overall energy or even desire to do anything. Like that grilled cheese sandwich. If it is going to make me so tired, will I even have energy to eat it while it's hot? It's something that's not so good cold.
My back twists.
My shoulders ache.
My hand feels as if it's being squeezed and the arm twisted all at the same time.

And I can't seem to make anyone understand how damn scared I am of driving more than a few miles or a few minutes.
Some of that is the fatigue, I'm sure, but getting lost coming home from work has (I know it's ridiculous) traumatized me. That should never have happened. Never. Never Ever.
It terrifies me. That is not an exaggeration.
But people seem to think it's normal don't-want-a-wreck fear of driving.
It isn't.

I hate to drive.
I hate to leave.
I hate to come back.
I can't stand.
I can't clean.
I can't put away when I do clean.

And yet there is nothing -- or nothing much -- wrong with me.

Oh, Rex, what the hell am I going to do?

Wearin' the Green

Another first, I guess. First St. Patrick day without you. If you were here I'd have to bully you into your camo green t-shirt, I think. Hailey would be calling wanting to make sure you were wearing your green.
Or maybe that's just in my head. We don't know what she would have done, what she would have brought home from school to share with you/us. Her first year of school you never got the chance to live through the seasons of.

Days like St. Patrick's aren't anything we ever really celebrated, or paid much more than lip service. But we were there, and we were aware. Although those days were no big deal for us together, they are a great gaping hole in my calendar.
Not the days, but the acknowledgement of them
Not the acknowledgement of the days, but the loss of sharing.
Nothing makes any day special like having someone to share it with.
Your own special someone.

This little guy, your grandson Michael,  had his second birthday yesterday. I acknowledged it for your sake.
Sad that his second birthday celebrates the fifth month anniversary of your departure.

And, just so you know, I miss hearing your lawn mower talk: that was the surest sign of Spring arriving.

Needed You Today

I could have used your help. I slipped into a ditch taking Tracy to school. Same damn intersection that killed the blue car.
I know you couldn't have helped by pushing or pulling the car out, but you could have been a telephone help-call co-ordinator. We called several people, and waited.

Rescue came, and we reversed our trip and just came home.

Home to an empty house.

Oh, there's no one here to care that we made it, that we were safe, that we were back.
I wanted you to hold onto and to hold onto me.

Coming home to this empty house, trip after trip, is sometimes the hardest part of missing you. Sometimes I don't go, because I don't want to come home to the empty places.

If you were here, you would probably have felt frustrated and helpless, but just being able to make phone calls would have been a big help.
Just being here to welcome us home, to care that we were there, would have been a big help.

But, it's not that way, and will never be that way again.
All we can do is miss you.

And that we do. Every day.

What to Say

I talk to you so often in my mind (or spirit) that I sometimes don't know what to write about here. Sometimes, maybe I wouldn't write at all, except that not doing so would be such a betrayal to all our years together and all our time.

You would be leased that I am taking somewhat better care of myself. But it's the Health Care Act that has made it possible, and you were never a proponent of that policy. Without it, though, I would be withering worse than I did while I still had you to care for and about.

I miss having someone to fuss over, fuss with, and fuss about.
And I miss you, too. Just -- YOU.

Warren has your grin.
He has something of you in the way he uses his hands. Tammy noticed it first and neither of us can really explain it any better than that. It's not the shape of the hands, or the gestures, but there's just something about the way he uses his hands that is very strongly you.

I sometimes feel you were so cheated to not get to know this little boy child. You had all girls, and except for the few months with Tommy, in 2000, the year our life went to hell, you never got to be a daddy to a little boy. We, your girls, were looking forward to you having that chance.
But it will never happen  now.

A lot of things will never happen now.
Other things that wouldn't have happened before will happen now. Not that I can think of any that I want or wanted. I want to have a few dozen more years of holding you, hugging you, sitting on your legs. I want decades of arguing Fox News (entertainment TV) and shooting down moving to Alaska and agreeing on time-wasting jobs, and does beef taste better from the slow cooker or boiled in the oven.

I just want you.

Couldn't Forget You if I Wanted To. (Which I don't.)

Sometimes it seems as if there's some great conspiracy out there. Not sure sometimes if its goal is to make me remember or to make me forget. I wonder if *it* knows which.
Of course that confusion inn itself is enough to invalidate a conspiracy theory, if such theories followed any rules of logic.

Facebook has decided I would like to like all your damn ol' wrestlers pages. I don't know why they are doing that, and it stabs me in the heart with every suggestion. I have never liked any wrestling page, and very few sports things. My friends who like those things have liked them all along, so it's not like a new possibly shared interest that has come along.

All I can do for now is to ignore them as best I can, and hope the stab wounds are scratches not gashes.

In the meantime, I am glad the gas station moved across the street and into the bigger store. I couldn't stand the Little Debbie aisle in the old store. The brownies made me cry.
So did the Vienna Sausage display, but there was no way I could avoid that. It was on the endcap by the cash register. Dunno where those are in the new store.
But someone donated me several cans that I thought to keep for Hailey.
She won't eat them either. Nor hard-boiled "pappaw" eggs.

Funny, when you ate so little and were so particular -- although maybe that's why -- that some of our biggest reminders are favorite foods. I haven't made beans and cornbread since your funeral.

I miss you, baby. I miss trying to tempt you into eating; I miss you enjoying what you would/could eat. Maybe someday I'll be able to eat a Little Debbie fudge brownie (not the cosmic brownie) in your memory.
Maybe someday I'll enjoy it again, if and when I do.

Today is Tammy's birthday -- her first without your phone call. She's missing you so badly, and I can't help her either.

You were loved.
You are loved.
You are so very missed.

Wondering about You and Warren

I sometimes wonder if your souls hadn't met in passing. His as he was growing and entering into this earthly life, and yours going the opposite way on the same road.

We didn't know -- at least I didn't; you may have suspected -- that you were traveling that road back last winter, last spring, last summer. We knew you were on the road, that you would too soon be traveling on it, but that you had actually started on your final journey, we had no thought of.

We did know Warren was coming, although we knew no name, no details, just that HE would BE.

It takes a while to grow a child. Perhaps it takes a while for the soul to fully engage with the body.
(Perhaps sometimes it never does, but that's a thought for another day and another blog.)

It was a while before Warren came to stay with us -- it was Father's Day, June 16. Tam put the boy in your arms and left him there.

And his face lit up with your first words, and he laughed.
And you lit up looking into his face.
With recognition, soul to soul, I wonder now.

And you could never remember his name, which makes me wonder, now, if you *knew* him by another name, or not-at-all by name.Just soul to soul.

Maybe there are rest stops on that two-way road. Maybe you and he both stopped at a roadside park and played in the grass. Maybe you even went fishing together, knowing you'd not have the chance here, since you were two souls going two directions.

I hope you did.

I will probably never know, but I wonder.

He seemed to know you, so well and so early.
You took such joy in him. (Even if you couldn't remember that name!)

I'll never know, but
I'll always wonder.

Warren is Explorin'

He's walking! He has been for a while, but he's beginning to get into it. His latest thing here is to step in and out of the kitchen-to-living-room doorway. There are the two curtains for one thing, and also a light/dark factor, since I keep the kitchen light out when he's here,  but most importantly, there's a step.

At first, every time he crossed, he had to get down on hands and knees. Then, he figured out he could hold onto the doorframe and step up, with one foot.
Then with two feet.
Then he didn't have to hold on any more.

This weekend he discovered he can step down, too!
After that, as you can guess, there was no holding him back. He crossed the kitchen to discover the bathroom.
In the bathroom, that's where we keep the wonderful magical bathtub!

The funniest thing is that if I pick him up and stand him on the scale, he will stand there and cry instead of stepping or even crawling off!
Silly boy!.

He's exploring with sounds, too.
Most of it is baby babbling, but Mom-mom-mom sometimes means Mom and Dadadadada often means Dad.
But Diddy is Sissy.
Mam sometimes means Mam (me)
Hay --ee is Hailey or Tracy.
I asked him if he was ready to eat, two different days, and he replied with "Num-num." That's outside his usual range of baby babbling, and was response to a question.
And he's got the four front teeth so he's biting and eating.

He's growing well, that boy is, but he's going to be a little one. Like his mommy was; like you were.
And he has your eyes. A different color, but the shape and clarity is uncanny.

And it makes me smile to see you again.

Snowed In

Been a horrible couple of weeks. Snow and ice and trees falling on the house. Big ol' chunk of tree fell on house and into yard, and Tracy thought I fell. I don't know who should be more insulted, me or the tree.

Keep hearing you say "Have you had enough snow yet?"
The answer is "YES!" Now, please stop asking. It isn't funny anymore. And I hear you cackling, too, don't think I don't.

Been glad, again, that you aren't here to endure this crazy winter. Even your closed off front room hasn't been able to stay warm.

Been waking up at night thinking I hear your nebulizer. Must be ice in the chimney or something; does seem to be related to the furnace. The furnace which sings opera. My ears are really making me crazy.

No great news, no horrid news. More people dying every day. Might be getting crowded where you are. You had more friends than you knew, diodn't you? At least the take-a-minute-to-visit kind.

Missing You -- Lots

I feel so alone, even when I'm not.

The hardest thing/time is whenever I come home from anywhere, and you aren't waiting for me.

Even your front room is cold and awful in this weather. I am so glad that I'm not having to try to keep you warm and healthy in this terrible terrible cold -- and if you did get sick, I wouldn't be able tio gbet you out. If you weren't already dead, this weather would kill you.
At least I was spared finding you cold and dead in your recliner.

My thoughts, as you can see, are scattered and disconnected. I don't know why.
All I do know is that this last week or so, I have missed you terribly, and it is almost painful that you aren't here and I can't find you, and you never will be again.

And, in some other way, I don't want you there. I want you to be somewhere where you are at peace, where you are warm and healthy, and free. For all my loneliness, I prefer to think of you that way.
It's an either/or choice, and one I have no choice in making. You are where you are; I am where I am; and that's all there is to it. I hope you know where I am, but I also hope you don't know how bad things are for me. There's nothing you can do, and you are free from earthbound worries (or so I hope.

Makes me kind of silly for saying so, doesn't it. But, even if you are not, I can write. I feel a need to talk to you, about you, with you, around you. Sometimes you feel so far away, ansd the words are what I deal with. They are me.

Be happy.
Be healthy.

But, oh, I wish so that you could be with me.

worrisome weekend

It was a scary weekend, Rex, let me tell you. I went and got the kids -- Hailey had been insisting I would be there Friday, so what could I do? When we got there, Tam was telling us how the baby is sleeping for short periods of times, or for long times -- no rhyme or reason that she could tell. Also that he was having some short temperature spikes -- which Hailey does in the night on a fairly regular basis. She wasn't too terribly worried because he had a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, anyway, and she intended to bring that stuff up.

So, we bundled up and hauled them off. Warren was pretty fussy at times Friday night, and took the short naps, but he would get down and play. I had to put chairs down tom keep him out of the kitchen. What is it in the kitchen that so fascinates the little ones? All the legs to hide behind and under?
I started saying Warren is Explorin' (like Dora the Explorer)

He warmed up to his horsey, after a while. The one he got for Christmas, that Hailey just fell in love with and decided he had to share with her. He didn't mind sharing. He was scared when we first sat him on it; kept trying to put his feet up. Then, eventually, he wanted to stand beside it and push the buttons to make it make noise, and he did finally throw his leg over it. Couldn't quite make it without help, but he tried.

Saturday started out the same way, with a whiny Warren occasionally explorin', but then about noon he stopped. He wanted to cling and cry and he would doze off while I was holding him upright, but if I laid him down, he'd wake up. His nose was running and his fever was climbing. And he didn't even want to play with the wet washrag on his head!

And, as it got later, he started getting those black black circles around his eyes. The ones you used to get when it was not quite time for the nebulizer.

And I could feel rattling in his ribs when I was holding him upright, so he could breathe or sleep at the same time. Not have to choose one or the other.

The washrag wasn't doing much for his fever.

I was pretty sure he was going into pneumonia. I called Tam and said I was bringing them home. If she felt it was just a cold, then she could treat it, but I knew it was more than a cold. He was either developing pneumonia or on the verge of a full-fledged asthma attack. There is something seriously wrong when a baby won't play, at least a little bit!

And those big black circles!!!
I was scared and edging on hysteria. I know respiratory problems when I see them, and the little ones can go into pneumonia so fast!

It turned out to be upper respiratory infection -- not a cold. Throat, ears, sinuses infected. I may have been hysterical, and over-reacted, but I wasn't wrong.

I wasn't wrong.

And who knows that acting as I did when I did didn't prevent a pneumonia? I can't claim that it did or didn't -- but it could have.

I never want to see anyone with those black circles all around their eyes. Certainly not our Baby Boy.

All's well that ends well, as far as Warren is concerned. I do wish I hadn't panicked, but I'm glad there was just cause for my concerns.

And very glad that Tammy listened to me, for once, when it comes to her kids getting sick. Although I have been wrong about Hailey a couple of times.

I lied.

Well, at the very least, I was wrong.

I can't take care of myself.
I can't work,
I've turned into a fat useless blob of a person.

Thank you for not saying so. For letting me have my illusions and delusions for a little while longer.

Guess I should have been clued in when you had to regularly tie my shoes for me, and then help with putting on my socks.
That should have told us all a lot, but I know now that we weren't listening.

I couldn't do the job, Rex.
I couldn't do the hours, or the floors, or the repetitive motions of the job. I ended up back in the ER all twisted up. Not like the proverbial pretzel or question mark, but somewhere between the two. I got up to go to work Saturday morning and couldn't stand straight, and it really really hurt to propel myself.

So much for that.

More frightening, to me, was the getting lost while driving thing. The first night I was coming home through Mt Washington. Well, Beechmont.
The second morning I was late because I 'lost' the road to work. Was 5 minutes late that day.
The second evening I found 32 to come home, but I found it via Taylor Rd, where the airport is, and I have no idea how I got on Taylor Rd. I turned left after Amelia High School.
Friday morning, the snow covered morning, I rode up and down the road for an hour trying to find the plant entrance. Once it started getting daylight, I found it, but I was an hour late.
No problems getting to where I needed to be afterward, though. Thank God.

Rex, I have driven those roads all my driving life. I would have thought I could not possibly get lost on c Clough and Shayler and McMann. How did that happen? How is it even possible? Throw in GlenEste Withamsville, and 125, and I should have been home in half the time, not twice the time.


I could see myself on the news as one of the crazy old people who just drive off and no one knows where they end up until they find them starved and dehydrated in their cars, That's if they are even still alive. (Of course, I'm not really old enough to qualify as an old person.)
I don't want to drive forever, running around in circles on roads that I should be able to drive in my sleep.

It didn't help when Phyllis Walls was killed driving roads she probably knows -- knew -- like the back of her hand.

Maybe it's the car. I just haven't trained it on my drivinhood roads.

It has all scared me. Not shook me up; it's really scared me. Terrified.

So, I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll figure it out. I have to.

But I'm so, so sorry I lied to you, even if it was more a being wrong than a big fat lie.

Back to work.

Well, I did it. I got a job. A stinking, stupid, boring factory job, but I got it. I'm working. I told you I could take care of me, and I am doing it.

I liked taking care of you much better.
Didn't have to put my shoes on for that. At least, not much.
Didn't have to stand for three or four hours at a time either.
Didn't have to drive unfamiliar roads in the dark. First night going home, I ended up on Beechmont heading into Mt Washington instead of on 32 heading towards Batavia. Don't know how I did that, even now.

But, I'm doing what I told you I could and would, when we had to let you go. Not that we had much choice in the choice, but I hope it helped you that I said I could take care of me, and now you see I'm doing it.

I hope you are looking the other way when I cry from the pain. I'll get used to it, and maybe I'll even be a fit person again someday.
If that happens, I'll give you the credit, because I had to make a scared lie into the truth once you were gone.

In other news, Bub is taking steps, Tam says. I haven't been able to see them because of the work thing -- looking forward to next weekend, when I hope I will be more flexible and less achy. I miss them both so much. Almost as much as I miss you.

But I can go see them, even if I can't bring them home. I haven't visited because it would be so hard to not bring them home.

Promise kept, Rex.