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.