A community of peers created by the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation
I had meant to write this before C's bday, but never quite got it out.
For those who have cared for a loved one with a serious illness, there is no way you can forget that person's birthdate. I can't even begin to tally how many times I had to give his name and birthdate to the endless stream of nurses, doctors, PA's, LPNs, dieticians, respiratory therapists, priests/rabbis, physical therapists, transport staff, IR staff, social workers, secretaries, and likely even some cleaning staff, with whom we interacted over 3 yrs. Sometimes C was awake and lucid and able to give the details himself, but often it was up to me to provide the relevant data. It got to the point that even now, 6 months after his death, when asked my birthdate I have to hesitate and make sure I'm giving mine and not his. There is no way I will ever forget that date and there is no way that an October 8th will ever pass without me wishing that he were with me in the flesh. It was a priviledge to be with him during his illness and to see how his innate friendliness and genuine interest in other people never wavered even when he was feeling lousy or was having an unpleasant procedure. I still have a lot of guilt over what happened during his last week of life, but I hope that wherever he is now, C has forgiven me. I also hope that with time I can forgive myself.
C always promised me 50 years and we only got 8. That's some pretty lousy math. However excrutiating the pain is right now (and it is excrutiating), I know that I wouldn't trade those 8 yrs for the world, but I would trade the world for just 5 more minutes with him.