It is time to begin the journey again. I start with portions of a journal entry from the beginning of a new year.
Clarity Suite 868 'A' Street Ashland
A new year. All is well, or at least on the road there. The journey to this moment has been long and incredibly difficult.
Brian went home on December 12th. He is walking, talking, "alive, well and awake". He is 18 and healing. He is exuberantly happy, sweet, affectionate, grateful. He is staying ten days with each set of parents - the first ten with Marshall and Kellie, the second ten with us here in our little one bedroom guest suite. He was here from the 21st till 5 pm yesterday. It was a total joy to have him, and I miss him. We never missed a day with him. all the time he was in the hospitals, and when he went to Marshall's initially, it was VERY difficult to be away. But to help him adjust, and to keep the peace, we had to. I called twice a day, though. Now I will call once a day, to talk to him, to see how he's doing.
I want to write daily now. I need to. I couldn't before - I was so wrapped up in the days, in the activity, the moment, the fatigue and sorrow and joy. Now I have some time to write it out, I can take some energy and do this for myself.
Now, when Brian leaves to return to China for another year, I cry and cry and cry.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Miracles
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Brian is on my mind. I haven't spoken to him in months. As far as I know, he is doing fine. His dad and I tried to arrange a Christmas call, but it never worked. Sometimes it's a real bitch having them so far away. I think they are headed off for a vacation, now. Chinese New Year is coming up.
Sometimes the pain is still acute. Certain things will bring it up: a piece of writing he during the first year of recovery, a photo from childhood, being around his brother, Jesse. Doesn't take much. When I was in the hospital recently, I was overwhelmed by it at times (when I wasn't overwhelmed by painkillers or pain). It was my first hospital stay since those weeks in ICU, and I wanted OUT. Yet, the nurses and doctors reminded me so much of those who cared for Brian: gentle, warm, funny, friendly. And when I was being wheeled to surgery, I remembered Brian going in for his first defibrillator replacement, when he was too long for the gurney and was chanting, "Beep! Beep! Long load!"
I don't like being a long-distance mother. Even having Jesse and his family in Seattle isn't close enough. I miss so much. Sometimes I just want to sit and watch my sons and grandsons. Just be an observer and soak them in. They are so beautiful, so miraculous.
Brian is on my mind. I haven't spoken to him in months. As far as I know, he is doing fine. His dad and I tried to arrange a Christmas call, but it never worked. Sometimes it's a real bitch having them so far away. I think they are headed off for a vacation, now. Chinese New Year is coming up.
Sometimes the pain is still acute. Certain things will bring it up: a piece of writing he during the first year of recovery, a photo from childhood, being around his brother, Jesse. Doesn't take much. When I was in the hospital recently, I was overwhelmed by it at times (when I wasn't overwhelmed by painkillers or pain). It was my first hospital stay since those weeks in ICU, and I wanted OUT. Yet, the nurses and doctors reminded me so much of those who cared for Brian: gentle, warm, funny, friendly. And when I was being wheeled to surgery, I remembered Brian going in for his first defibrillator replacement, when he was too long for the gurney and was chanting, "Beep! Beep! Long load!"
I don't like being a long-distance mother. Even having Jesse and his family in Seattle isn't close enough. I miss so much. Sometimes I just want to sit and watch my sons and grandsons. Just be an observer and soak them in. They are so beautiful, so miraculous.
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