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,