My Box

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Once in a while I need to remind myself I’m not failing.  There are days when something just happen because my body just isn’t up for the adventure, but there are times when things work out to some degree.

Saturday was one of those days when I quite honestly have considered speeding up the process of death.  I felt like a huge failure and it seemed like such a simple thing beforehand that when I faltered, my emotions just got the better of me.

I hold certain things connected to my daughter sacred.  Not on the level of a religious experience, but short of an earthquake shuttering the Northeastern portion of the United States; I was supposed to make my own pilgrimage.  And it had to happen on the 19th!

I know that there aren’t going to be many more opportunities for me to visit my daughter’s grave site.  Winter might make it just impossible to drive the distance and the rest is in the hands of the doctors and my ability to keep it together.

My hands were shaking when I woke up.  The shaking was the reason I woke up in the first place.  Not from a bad dream, not from nerves, but my body was just having one of the episodes where it was not going to agree with what my heart wanted to accomplish.

Some days are like that.  I just wished it hadn’t been this day!

My ride was worried that I would try to go anyway.  That my stubborn need to do the right thing was going to force me into a bad decision.  Kathy just sat there and tried her best to talk to me.  It wasn’t working, and I wanted it to.  Or did I?

There are days when contemplating the overuse of medication has entered my mind.  I’m told that it natural given my circumstances.  But then I started to think about how I was going to take what had been a good memory and I was possibly erasing that for selfish reasons.  Fear enters then.

It was a worse feeling than I had allowed myself in quite some time.  You can always leave a place you feel unsafe, but you can’t escape your thoughts.  They follow you no matter what.  Push them away and eventually they are going to grab onto you and ensure that you don’t feel safe.  That was how Saturday went.

Sitting on a couch, surrounded by people who absolutely love and try to understand me; I felt alone and trapped.  Two days later and I’m still upset with myself for not trying, but I know that it could have ended badly.  This isn’t pushing myself to go that extra lap around a track, we’re talking about keeling over at a grave.

I can see the headline in my mind “Man expires while trying to celebrate life.”  Anyone think that the Boston Globe would run that?  More like a New York Daily News kind of headline.  [yes, a small dig at the silliness of their editorial choices.]

There are so very many things that Kathy and her family can protect me from, just not this.  I can’t run away from the very people I ran to when I got sick.  I wasn’t able to look at my own home the same after everything that had been lost.  Where am I going to go?

For me, failing my daughter is about the worst thing I can think of.  The punishment that goes on in my own head, or maybe my heart, is unbearable.  If follows me into every brightly lit room and every dark corner.

I never thought I would hear words worse than being told “I’m sorry, we lost her.”  I was wrong.  There is something so much worse, something that continues to destroy me daily –

I’m so sorry Abigail.

3 thoughts on “My Box

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