You Were There. And Then

when my alarm for my medicine went off this morning, I was so warm and comfortable, snuggled next ti you. Then I turned the alarm off, and turned back over, to a cold and empty bed.

I wondered where you had gone.
Then I remembered that you have been gone for a very long time.
And an even longer time since we could snuggle in the bed, since you couldn't breathe lying down.

So why would I think that?
Was it a dream?
A dream remnant?

Was it just warmth and comfort?
If so, did I conjured it up for myself, or was the loving warmth coming from you?

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

What I do know is that in that moment between sleeping and waking, the bed got colder and bigger and emptier.

I miss you.

Been a While

Wow, it's been a while -- a long while -- since I put anything here. A lot has been going on, and the whole thing with the holidays here and you there (wherever there is), and some of the events -- well, I just haven't had the heart. Or, when I did, I didn't have the means.

The first thing is that it turns out there's nothing wrong with my heart after all. Except, I suppose, that it's misshapen. I guess that if I had to have a heart problem, having it on the tight is better than on the wrong side.

Your brother Charlie died, but you know that. I've seen you and him cracking inane jokes and laughing at one another, pleased and silly and happy. And for the most part, twenty years younger. Oh well.

Your daughter Hazel also passed, and the girls and I went to her funeral. We went to the cemetery, too. That was an awful, awful thing to happen, and I was glad that you did not have to live through that anguish. I hope she has found the peace and acceptance she looked for for so long.

The cord on my new not yet paid for computer broke and a replacement had to be ordered.

I wrecked the car.
I had Tammy and Hailey with me when that happened.

They are all right, I am all right, and the car survived, as well. It took the worst of it.

The woman behind us said it was black ice. I guess it was; I couldn't say. One minute I'm driving along, and then the car was trying to go off somewhere all by itself.

Seemed like we slid around forever, but we didn't.
Airbags deployed.
Tammy got throwed around.
I crushed the steering wheel.
Tammy started screaming for Hailey flying into the back seat.
Hailey says, "Mammaw, why did you hit that tree?" in a normal conversational tone.

I didn't hit a tree, I hit a guard rail.
Tammy's head was bonked, and her right arm messed up.
My -- er; um -- chest was bruised badly, and my right arm is giving me some problems.

I started putting things in storage, since it doesn't look as if I'll be moving into anywhere any time soon.
Pretty sure that isn't doing my arm any good. Arm and shoulder and neck.

And I stayed at Tam's a few days, but now I'm home, and now my cord came in, and life is pretending to be getting back to normal.

And that's it for now, except we are still missing you.
Always.

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