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.