Sunday, March 18, 2012

Using my parents' computer now....much better than last night.

Almost a week later from when we heard the news and several days since my post on Wednesday and the shock and horror of it all hasn't lessened. The wound is a little less raw but by the pain and deep sadness hasn't lifted, nor do I think it will. We both know it may "move back in the line" of life...but will always be there. And, that's ok...it has to be.

We've take a few of the large pieces of reality which survived the crash into our lap on Monday and have suspended them from a new thread in hopes of breathing again and in hopes of finding a groove to live life to its fullest. I know that sounds a melodramatic, but really, you stop taking full lungs-of-breath when you hear this kind of news. Its like a huge elephant sat on your chest.

Thursday was a day lost in thought and lost in emotion. The world simply no longer made sense. So, when the world doesn't make sense you need to stop and identify with something that DOES make sense. For Roger, that meant working on projects and in this case, the Mercedes. For me, that meant buying pansies and planting them throughout the yard and in the back courtyard. The Mercedes is one step closer to being ready to sell, and the yard is a profusion of color. The world still doesn't make sense but we both found temporary moments of peace. As I look back at this, I am reminded of a memory from when I was in high school. I think I was a sophomore. My best friend Linda's mother passed away and my mother suggested we go pick her up. Which we did. And then we went to the mall shopping... and maybe went to a movie (I think). Anyway, I'm struck with the simplicity of the action but how grounding it was in a time when the world was upside down for Linda.

The game plan for the next few weeks is whole-brain radiation once a day for approximately 15 minutes each treatment. The doctor has prescribed approximately 13-14 treatments. Roger said he wants to try but will stop if it is too much. And, I wholly support whatever he wants to do. I am in awe of his strength and perseverance. This radiation thing rocks me to my core. #1, I hold the brain as absolutely precious. I can't get my arms around messing with it. #2, the actual treatment freaks me out. They make a mask of your face with this mesh-stuff. It is completely pressed against every inch of your face and wraps to the side of your head. For each treatment, you "wear" this mask which is then fastened to a board so that you cannot move. Makes my heart rush to even type this. God love Roger, he said he can endure it for 15 minutes.

I think we are going to chill here at the river for another day/night. Will probably head back to Indy Monday. The radiation appointment is 6:30pm, so there is no rush. We'll see how he handles the treatment and then will keep trying to find that illusive "groove". I'll head into work during the week for a while a couple days. I've been making calls and working on the computer from home. The other (well, there are more than two) impossible thing about all this is trying to merge into life as though nothing is going on.

My favorite moments as of late include the moments when we finish each other's sentences or make some silly noise at the same time randomly. Example: we were driving down here to the river house, we passed a business in the middle of a small town and saw a chicken along the side of the road pecking at the ground. And then, simultaneously we both started clucking. Silly, but funny. Another favorite moment is when we go to bed, I settle in behind Roger and spoon behind his skinny evaporating frame. As his Ambien starts to settle in, his body quietly starts to relax with little body twitches. With my arm wrapped around him, his breathing settles and slows and soon the quiet "puff. puff. puff." of him breathing comes as he falls fast a sleep. And there is peace. Of course, then I'm lost in my thoughts but soon find my own peace with him and drift off to sleep.

The sun is shining. Temperatures are absolutely toasty. And its, just beautiful. We will probably head back over to the boat at some point to work on a few more projects and then will come back here for an afternoon nap.

Hoping your day is peaceful and beautiful in your part of the world.
hugs, a&r

2 comments:

  1. God, Angie & Roger. Heartbreaking news! Can't wrapt my brain around the suffering you have endured and are enduring. Would that I could erase it. We need a miracle. I'm willing to apply for one if you are! There has to be a mirvana out there...Love, Evie

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  2. ok, Nirvana, not mirvana. But, you get the idea

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