Rambling

In the two years that Michael struggled with his tumor, I was part of an online community of caregivers whose loved one had a brain tumor. Most of these caregivers were spouses, yet some were parents. I kept in touch with a few of these people over the years, and followed many of their stories by way of Caring Bridge once I left the online group. Sadly, over the years all but one of those I have followed has lost their loved one.

Part of me was wanting to hold onto hope, to see that someone was actually going to survive this awful disease. Now not all of our loved ones had the same type of tumor, so to be fair, I'm sure some had a better outcome than Michael. Yet, of the those that I kept up with, just one has held on all these years later.

I'm sad to report that he, a young man, has now entered the hospice phase. As I read the updates posted by his wonderful mother, and I understand every word that she shares. I also empathize with her and her family, as this is a very intimate and painful period. You are savoring every moment, every breath that your loved one still has. This is coupled with complete exhaustion, both physically and emotionally.

Today as I was driving home I was thinking about this family, and wondering how they were managing. As my mind drifted a bit I began to sob heavily. It touched on a pain that I try my best not to succumb to these days. It's the pain of knowing that any moment could be their last, and wanting to hold onto each of them. I began picturing Michael in his hospital bed, and all the love and care he needed. I began to picture him in our own bed, sitting their doing his annoying Sudoku that he loved so much. I began thinking of him laying there next to me, with his eyes fixed on mine. I began to remember the feeling of holding him tightly in my arms as my body spooned his.

I sobbed, and I sobbed some more. I know that it doesn't help to get too lost in these old feelings, yet I suppose I must revisit them from time to time. I miss him so very much. I miss his beautiful smile, and the way he made me feel so loved. I miss his goofy flirtatious ways, and how I would laugh at his silly sexy moves. And I miss the look on his face when we would make love.

Yes, I know. These thoughts will only serve to bring more tears tonight, yet I can't help but go there. The difficulty for me is that this young man who is lying there in his own hospital bed, with all of his loving family caring for him, appears to be following the very same time line that Michael did. In two weeks it will the the second anniversary of Michael's death. It seems like a life time ago.

I sit here and take a deep. I know I was fortunate to have him, and yet I can't deny that I am not still angry that I had to lose him so quickly. I don't really know what the point of all this rambling is.

Just where I'm at I suppose.