I haven't been around much. Yep, I lost my TU status, I've been unable to post more than the extremely rare comment. I've missed this place, you good people, the stimulation, the exchanges, and perhaps most of all, the odd sense of comfort and community this grand place gives me.
Just when I needed it most, I had to be away. I'm writing this while I'm up at my parents' home, the house I grew up in. My 84 year old father just went to his room, turned on his oxygen (he has pulmonary fibrosis,) and crawled into bed. Through the door, I can hear him crying. We've all been doing a lot of crying lately, but seeing, hearing my father's grief makes me yearn to comfort a pain that must be endured.
You see, my mother lost her toughest battle, her cruelest war last night. ALS stole my mother's nerves, then her muscles, and last night, stole her respirations, her life.
I haven't been to DKos much, because I've been commuting 150 miles each week to be caregiver for my mother 3 days a week, so my sister could drive home to have a break and be with her family. When I've been home, I read DKos, but there's little time to respond usually. And I've missed it even more than I anticipated. At a time when I needed that sense of community, it was beyond my reach.
Tonight, my heart aches, my nerves are taut, shredded, my tears scalding, and now and then, a sob wrenches unbidden from my depths. For all my logical realization that my mother's pain, misery, and indignity are thankfully over, my emotions are devastated that I can never hold her again, look on her sweet face, turn to her in joy or need.
I was proud of my father last night. His devotion to my mother, his overwhelming love for her, have never been in doubt. I always knew he was tough, but his courage last night took my breath away. When it was time to unplug the BI PAP, Dad insisted he do it himself, as he had promised Mom he wouldn't allow her to be kept indefinitely through artificial means. He'd kept every promise to her; the room was filled with a dozen vases of flowers, her favorite music softly playing by the bed, in her own bedroom, no sterile hospital. As the machine wound down, Dad held her hand, telling her of his love for her. He was a rock, never wavering, soft tears on his cheeks, kissing her forehead, and he did not leave her side for an instant, even when he was told her heart had stopped. He stayed beside her until they came to take her away on that last, long cold trip in the back of a van, that trip we take alone.
Maybe it's odd that this is the place I wanted to be at this moment. Among those who are strangers, yet there are ties here that bind. I realized how much I've missed DKos and you brilliant, quirky, sometimes cantankerous, usually empathetic people, with your admirable motivations and esteemable ideals.
I'll be away a while longer. There are things to do when a beloved wife of 62 years leaves her fragile mate alone. Things must be done to finish seeing my mother out of the world and other things are required to be done, prepared, for my father's physical and emotional well being. Ultimately though, I'll have to leave him alone to confront his ghosts and frailties. I'll have to take that drive home, wondering if I should have left him, knowing I have obligations awaiting me at home, preparing to worry about him here alone. But there will be a an orange ray of sunshine in this dark cloud of loss, because I have missed DKos and each of you glorious Kossacks and I look forward to the comforts of home.
Peace be with you, may it hold you and keep you, until we meet again.