The Last Month

As I prepare myself for the one year anniversary of the day you passed away, I am reminded of something: that day? That moment? That wasn't the hardest part.

This is the anniversary of the hardest part.

The preparation and the month leading up to it. Meeting with hospice and signing papers that agreed we wouldn't be seeking any further medical treatment. Signing papers that said if anything happened, we wouldn't be taking you to a hospital (like grandma Julia always said, a hospital is no place for a sick person anyway.) Signing papers that said we were ready to let nature take its course.

Watching the Godfather and Lirda's dining room transform into a hospital room with pills and products brought over by your nurses that continued to pile up. And watching you lay in that room, unable to move your limbs and only managing to shake your head or blurt out a few words here and there. Changing you and turning you so you didn't get bed sores, and transferring you in and out of a wheelchair that just a year before that would have seemed like an absolutely impossible concept. You were never supposed to be stuck in a wheelchair, not even for 5 minutes to take you out onto the deck. 

That F word started slipping out of people's mouths, and not the one you loved to say after a really stressful day because "sometimes, you just need to say it." This F word was even worse. We skirted around it at first, but eventually we had to address the elephant in the room. We agreed that your hatred of funerals was reason enough to forgo one and throw you a party instead. Cancer had changed your every feature and I can't imagine you would want people remembering you that way, even with your laid back and carefree attitude. Besides, a funeral never would have suited you. Mostly because we would have insisted on having you laid out in your favorite outfit, and I'm not sure exactly how people would have reacted when they would have come to pay their respects and seen you there, naked. In your most favorite outfit. 

We started to prepare for life without you more than we were ever willing to before, because we knew your physical absence was now on the horizon.

But even those things weren't the worst.

If ever there was a time when we watched you suffer, it was that last month. We were so lucky that you didn't seem to endure much pain throughout your War on Beulah, but you were no longer comfortable or content. Your body was stiff and you were just barely hanging on by a thread. You couldn't gulp down glass after glass of water like you always had (from your piggy glass), and what little fluid we could get in you without that God awful choking sound was thickened with that disgusting powder that turned it into a pudding-like concoction. You bordered on miserable, and that was the most difficult thing in the world to see.

While these memories are difficult and painful to remember, and they may not seem like anything anyone would ever want to recall, they are so important. Because years from now, when September is approaching and that crack in my heart starts throbbing more than usual, I need to remember what a blessing it was when that day finally came for you. I want to be able to look back to shortly after 2 pm on Monday, September 23rd and remember not how heart broken we were; but that sense of peace and relief in our hearts, knowing you were finally free.

I never could have imagined...

As we approach the one year mark of the day you had to go away, I never could have imagined I would be where I am today.

I never could have imagined that I could make it through a minute, let alone 10+ months without tears completely blurring my vision and making me incapable of functioning. 

I never could have imagined how much peace I would find, as opposed to sadness, in the sweet little memories of you that pop into my every day routine. I can't help but smile when I tell stories about the things you used to say and do, and the person you always were. I used to always wonder how people lose such an integral part of their being and continue to move on, knowing that every encounter you have threatens to rip open the delicate skin on the wound that takes so long to heal. The truth is, the skin never really grows back, you just learn to deal with that feeling that will never really go away. Eventually, the pain makes you stronger than you ever thought you could be, but every day poses the risk of bumping that injury at just the right angle to make you wince and swear and scream and cry in pain. But it's okay, because I have a box of multicolored band-aids and the peace of mind to know that's okay sometimes, too. 

I never could have imagined how endeared I would become to those who are suffering loss. How frustrating it is, knowing you are helpless, because there is no right thing you can do or say to make the situation better. We can't save each other from loss, but we sure can lean on each other to help us move forward and continue on. I never knew how much it would affect me, watching someone else lose a parent and remembering all those feelings while still appreciating all the time we had with you that allowed us to say goodbye. All those bitter sweet moments when I would lay with you and kiss your cheeks and just study your face, hold your hands, and admire the way they so perfectly fit with mine, ever since I was little. 

I never could have imagined how much love I continue to have for those around me, even knowing how much it hurt when one of the people I loved the most on this earth was stolen from me far too soon. Someone recently posed the question: is it worse to lost someone who was never able to give their children the kind of love you gave us, or is it worse to know what that love is like and to lose that special bond? Neal and I both agree that the answer is quite simple. It's worse to never have experienced it at all. The love you gave us every single day is what has kept our motors running. You literally could not have loved us any better, and there is absolutely nothing you could have done to show us that you loved us any more. 

Finally, I never could have imagined I would be the happiest I have ever been right here and now, even after you are no longer here to see me this way. Watching you over the course of your final year with us reminded me that life is fleeting, so it's pertanent that we take risks, fall in love, and follow our hearts, regardless of where they lead us. There are going to be really crappy times and we are going to encounter really crappy people, but the good far outweighs the bad, and the bad makes us appreciate the good so much more.

Thank you for making real life better than my imagination.

I love you, a bushel and a peck...and I never could have imagined how much I could miss someone but still "keep on keepin' on."