A year ago today was a fairly normal day, at least I thought it was.
I had no idea that the flu virus was already making inroads on your little body.
A year ago today, I posted this picture, thinking I knew what it meant to rely on God to hold me together.
I had no idea.
I'm still not sure I do. I mean, I feel like I have and continue to fall apart into a million pieces.
But I also know that He holds me, and somehow, holds me together, or fills in the cracks, or something...
A year ago tonight was the last time you slept in your bed.
I woke in the morning to a phone call from your nurse:
"Aaron's heart rate is pretty high."
I'm thinking, of course it is, you just gave him albuterol, but asked, "How high?"
"140's"
Oh.... that's not albuterol. "Have you taken his temp?"
It was 104*.
We started Tylenol and Motrin. I watched you closely. Your sats were (mostly) okay but you crept higher on your oxygen. We went to the hospital for a scan because of the pockets of infection that had been found on your spleen. We needed to know if they were getting bigger, smaller or staying the same because your body was too frail to fight things off. There was no change.
And by about 10 o'clock that night, a year ago tomorrow, you needed more oxygen than we were able to keep you on at home.
I called 911 for the last time.
One year ago...
Sometimes it seems like so long ago
Sometimes, especially this past week, it seems like it just happened a few weeks ago. It is unreal that it has been a year. You only had two more weeks to live, and somehow, I didn't realize.
I mean, on a deeper level, maybe a cellular one, I think I sorta knew? I was much more anxious than I had been in a very long time, but I chalked that up to wanting to be home for the Christmas season, trying to find my sea legs at work, and getting in enough hours to take time off between Christmas and New Years, which was really hard while also juggling the hospital.
As I drive home at night, I see the stars, the crescent moon, the lights shining on your stone, the small Christmas tree and the butterfly shadows fluttering at your site. The black mountains silhouette against the inky sky.
I see a lone pine tree lit up on the mountain. I'm told it is done in memory of someone who died; I know I've seen it shining, all by itself in the dark surrounding every Christmas since we moved here.
The darkness deepens, my heart aches, and yet there is light. The light is small, dim, but I can still see somewhat. And my headlights light the road in front of me.
Are you like my headlights? Do you show me the way?
I love you so much. I miss you so much.
How has it been a year? Only a year? And how has it not been so much longer since I held you?
Mama
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