Today might be the day. My heart is breaking again. I am in the room with her and she is breathing rapidly. Shallow breaths. She's been asleep 12 hours. At least she's not groaning. But she is struggling. She's so brave, she declined all morphine. She doesn't want to die, but her body is so weak.
I'm not saying the meaningful things I intended when I picked up this journal. I wanted to say how meaningful it all is. And meaningless. I mean, everything seems so meaningless right now and so meaningful. Everything is meaningless, and everything is so unbearably meaningful.
I don't know how I will face the world alone. I've been alone in my head for years, always. But she's been there in my back pocket, always dependable to keep me from straying too far. She brought a level of beauty to my life that I would never have found in my undisciplined flailing.
She was a gift to me, a sacrifice of a life, to show me how to be a human. I'm not a very good one, a pathetic baby duck.
Oh, honey, you'll be in my heart forever. I'll never get over you, and that's OK. Some scars are beautiful relics to treasure. But I'll miss you. The cats, too. Everything will have a filter of the love and sadness of you over it.
Looking through my photos on the computer, the slideshow is going along with some soothing Enya music. So many memories, some long ago, some recent, that I shared with her. Pictures from my bike rides. I would look for things to photograph for her.
Cows were her favorite. And horses. And green fields. And barns. Or was that me? But she liked it when I would show her pictures of where I'd gone. It took her places. I took her with me in my head. When I decided to photograph this or that, I always thought, "What would Boopie think of this? What would Boopie do here?"
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
Journal entry for March 13, 2018
Hi, I'm Andrew, AKA Hoodyup the Evil Caregiver, and I approved this blog post. I may not have been in my right mind at the time, but what's done is done. I stand by my sins. Eppur si muove.
I started this blog as a way to vent my frustrations with life, the universe and everything (not the book by Douglas Adams; that was quite good, actually).
My seemingly charmed life took a turn in 2004 when my wife Sharon was diagnosed with MS. This blog documents the fallout and revisits the past, as well as chronicling my dreams and rants throughout the years.
Be warned - explicit language and content that runs the gamut can be found in these posts, which describe personal events, both real and those dreamed up by my overactive nocturnal psyche.
Also, I use real names whenever possible, so if you see a post with your name on it, it probably refers to you. Unless, of course, you don't know me, in which case it is purely coincidental.
Enjoy your visit. Comment, if you so desire, or lurk privately. This blog can be your guilty pleasure (or displeasure).
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