Tears

It was bound to happen; I was overdue for a breakdown.  I do so well, you know, most of the time.  I go about life smiling and laughing and joking.  Random people have told me I have the calmest face, most peaceful demeanor.  My standard response is a laugh, a smile, and an offhanded "oh, I do a lot of yoga!"  People who don't know anything about me think I'm happy-go lucky.  As hard as I try, I can't keep it up all the time.  I get stressed, okay, there I said it.  And every once in a while, yes, I just break down.  As I said, it was time. 

Sleeping in the sun

Henry has been losing even more ground in the past three weeks.  He is less responsive, sometimes to the point where he doesn't know I'm there.  Julie, his Hospice nurse, has noticed the same thing and was the first one to bring it up.  It has been an unseasonably warm March, so I have been able to bring him outside on the patio during my visits.  Even though he is usually sleeping, he still holds my hand and he is still soaking up sunshine and vitamin D.  I tell him about my week, and even though he may not process it I still like to feel like that's a normal thing to do.  "I had drinks with a friend last night, and on Saturday I'm going to a magic show after work," I say.  Because aren't these the things a Dad would want to know?  "I'm almost done with my taxes, and yours too.  Your old friend Rick, who has been doing your taxes for dozens of years, said he'd finish them for us.  What a great guy." And he's still asleep, and still holding my hand, and then I sit and stare at him. 

This afternoon I had a staff meeting at noon, then headed out to Maryhaven around 2p.  Dad was sitting on the outskirts of the circle they had set up with the residents.  The woman leading the group announced loudly, strictly for his benefit, "Carrie's here!"  I pulled him back and gave him a kiss, knowing that he wouldn't really miss being away from Ring Toss.  I brought him into the foyer, which is relatively quiet and has a couch I can sit on.  He was fading in and out of consciousness, so for a few minutes I just sat there and held his hand.  I rubbed his legs to stimulate circulation, gave him a little shoulder rub, and stroked his arm.  Then I started singing.  I made it all the way through "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" and halfway through "The Way You Look Tonight" before I lost it.  "Lovely, never ever change, keep that breathless charm, won't you please arrange it because I love you..." and I just burst out crying.  Unabashedly sobbing.  And finally he opened his eyes, briefly.  He stared at me, then drifted off again.  Eyes closed, he squeezed my hand.  And I was on a roll- I couldn't stop crying.  For my love for him, his love for me.  For the sacrifices we've both made.  For the length this journey has been drawn out.  For all I have learned, all he has taught me about myself.  For all I have grown.  For his pain....for my pain.  For the fear of losing him.  For the possibility that life might go on afterwards, and how wrong that may seem. 

20 minutes later, my eyes puffy but dry, I returned him to his unit and headed out.  I was restless and a little hysterical.  It was after hours for my regular Hospice social worker, so I got in the car and called several friends with little luck.  I stopped for a coffee, then headed to the gym to practice some yoga on my own.  I've always been physically oriented- I get that from my father- and exercise or movement always makes me feel better.  I went to the library and picked up the next selection for Book Club.  I went to a wine tasting.  I came home around 7p, had more wine, ate dinner, read the newspaper, went for a walk.  Now I don't know what else to do, so I'm writing because in theory it should help.  You know, get it out.  Let go of the pain, the emotion.  But it doesn't necessarily work that way.  My heart hurts. 

I'll fall asleep sometime tonight.  I'll go to work tomorrow.  I'll call my Hospice social worker on my lunch break.  I'll be okay.  This will pass.  I'll get busy, I'll get distracted.  And in three months or so, it will come out again.  I wish knew what was between stuffing the feelings inside and letting them all flow out.  I wish there was a middle ground. 

I wish he wasn't suffering.