That place

That place.  I was at that place again.  Not the first time since you passed, the first time was for the Mom of my dear friend, my dear friend that is gone now.  That place you died.  I can't remember what floor you were on, for what ever reason I feel really guilty about not being able to remember the floor you were on, the floor you took your last audible breaths, why can't I remember what floor you were on?? I remember where everyone was sitting in the room, what we talked about,  how we even laughed telling stories about you.  Fishing poles and basketballs. 

I was at that place today, I walked by the table near the gift shop where your princess & I did homework because we would go to the hospital right after school to be with you.  It was a time when you were having therapy and needed some privacy and frankly she needed a break, we went down and sat at that table and did homework. 

I was at that place today, the court yard where she ran outside to play to get fresh air and get energy out.  The same court yard I sat in, making phone calls after you went away, after your last breath.  The court yard I just sat and stared into space as what just happened sunk in. 

It all came back, waiting for my name to be called.  I couldn't say anything, I didn't want to upset my dear.  He got upset when I posted pictures out of the blue, nothing significant to trigger it, no date, no event.  I thought he understood that's not how it works, but I try to be sensitive to his feelings so I didn't say anything today, though he is perceptive & maybe just figured it out without saying.  I don't know.  I'm afraid to talk about you lately, ever since that comment about pictures I shared.  I was very reluctant to mention you during a conversation, I feel bad about that, but then I feel bad about mentioning you.  It's a no win situation. 

It was my Mom's birthday the other day, I worked.  It's not as difficult as it is on your birthday.  Does that make me callous? I still miss her, it's just not a painful miss.  Does that even make sense?   Motherless at 35, widow at 40, did the hollow that consumed me at 40 overshadow the darkness at 35?  I watched you both die, literally you both died right in front of my eyes, hearing the last audible breath you each took.  At 35 I had you to hold me, sit with me in silence, be there when I couldn't keep it together. At 40 I had the shower, to be alone when I couldn't hold it together.  You wrote the eulogy I delivered at my Mom's funeral, you wrote the words no one else could say.  I still remember driving all over town to make arrangements and my brother asked who would speak at her funeral.  My brother said he couldn't do it and neither could my Dad.  Honestly I also said I couldn't do it, but when I heard both my brother and Dad couldn't I decided I could find the strength.  I didn't know what to say, I left that to you and  you wrote the most amazing eulogy.  You were so good with words. 

Four years later I would do the same for you, except I wrote it and delivered it.  14 months after I wrote your Mother's eulogy I wrote your obituary.  All these words. 

On the afternoon of April **, R passed away at M Hospital in C Rapids. He was surrounded by family during the last moments of his life. He was 41 years old. R was born CA, on December *. He was preceded in death by his mother, L. R is survived by his dad, M  his loving wife of 13 years and his best friend in life, K; and his beautiful daughter, his princess, C, 8 years old. As a young child, R moved to IA. He spent countless summers in  MO, with his Aunt S and A B. R met K in  IA, in 1998 and they were married on December 1. R was a scholar who cultivated a deep passion for reading, the arts, and culture. He graduated from University with highest honors as a classicist. He attended the University of M graduate program where he loved to teach. However, his most cherished and highest honor was the job title of Daddy. During his final days, many people across the country and from around the world shared their tributes to R, letting him know how much he'd influenced them and enriched their lives.

April will come again and it will be 10   5   1    the years those closest to me have been taken

60 years old  35 of those shared with me. 

41 years old  17 of those shared with me. 

58 years old   7 of those shared with me. 

And now there are numbers.  The dates have come back to hurt me, I'm constantly working with dates of birth.  I was finally letting go of those, no longer thinking in my head, when your child was born my dearest friend was dead, when you celebrate your birthday I am mourning the anniversary of his death. Those thoughts were almost gone, but now they are back with every patient encounter.  

The day has turned and is now tomorrow.  I must stop and try to sleep.  

take care, 

WE'LL figure it out, once again

Looking at the calendar.  Would have been 18 years.  Just a glance at the date. Planning for a meeting that same week to help others and a quick glance at the date.  And puff it's gone.  I'm grateful for my life as it is now.  Yes ups and downs, the waves will always come.  Just now it was quick and sharp, but it's gone.  I still love you and that will always be a part of who I am, you taught me after all.  I'm still learning to love anew and be loved anew. 

There are changes coming to the practicality of my life, but I embrace them and look for the good and make adjustments for the short comings.  Our motto that started in 2013, we'll figure it out, with having two kids out of the blue all the way to dealing with major medical schedules, school schedules and the like just to happen the very next year and a half.  Used "play it by ear" quite a bit too, that has some negative memories for your princess so I try to avoid that one at all costs.  We'll figure it out started as a fun phrase to get one kid to one place and the other kid to the opposite part of town.  We didn't ease in to two kids like so many do, it was one of the best years, so formidable and added to our family in a way I thought never possible.  Shortly after that year I became a solo parent to one kid and the phrase sentiment remained, although it was then "I'll figure it out".  No more we for quite some time.  From time to time it's we, between your princess and me and starting to become we again with my dear.  This is life, four years and seven months without you and life two years and three months with you. 

Maybe the guilt is subsiding, allowing the happiness to remain.  There are still waves and with holidays approaching I'm hoping not to struggle and simply tread water to survive like the holidays of the recent past.  I want to sail, swim, splash, play.  The water just crossed my mind, I wonder if your princess still has that anger or guilt with water.  I use the water as a metaphor for the grief that will always be there, like waves in the ocean.  Growing up with the beach as a place I visited, it has so many memories for me.  It's been a place of fun memories with family and friends and a place of tranquility allowing me to reflect on my own.  For her the water was a place she was when you left this earth, she was in the water having fun and not with you during your last moments.  I think it was better that way, it's hard for me to think of that last audible breath as we all sat waiting for the next, that never came.  It's not the last memory of you  I wanted our little girl of only 8 to have.  I remember saying your name, "Rick", the name you used when I met you and fell in love with you, the name of your youth.  I did not know you as Ricky, though the rest in the room did.  They'd seen you change and grow to the man you became, proud I'm sure. 

I digress as my mind races.  It's nice to be back to the we'll.  Plural and future tense.  I like that.

take care