My rough calculations estimate that I have been alive for 14600 days. (Give or take for leap years sprinkled here and there)
Today was a nice, cool, crisp fall day. I sat in my folks back yard, I think Papa would give anything to sit in that yard like he likes to do right about now. To feel the cool air. See his birds eating up the bird seeds. He might even enjoy racking some leaves.
There seems to be no end in sight. They say it's leaking again. Where do we go from here? I cannot believe how weak, frail, sick he really is. This was not the plan and that is why I am angry. Here we are nearly 6 weeks post op and he's still sick!!
I envy Whitney for her ability to stay positive and have that optimistic spirit. I am pissed off now. I have lost it. Dom is the logical one. I am the emotional one. He scratches his head they way he does and tries to figure out why this is happening. I want to kick something.
You know the story. You know what he's been through. What my mom has been through. How I can't talk to him everyday. Can see him maybe once a week. Wait for news from doctors passing through the halls. Live in awe of nurses reading computers on wheels. Mental health nurses making him draw clock after clock. Sips of water from a cup you use to take cough medicine or Nyquil only every other. If that they might have taken that way from him. A sponge on a stick to swab his mouth. Where is this all going?
So we sit and we rest in the corner. Shake it off. Take a breath. Wait for the bell and start another week and keep fighting. Right? We will win this one. HE will win this one.