Hey mom,
I got a surprise in the mail today. A package from Mike Tygart and it was huge. It took a while to get it unwrapped, but once I did get it out of the vault he encased it in, I found the most beautiful chest of drawers. My goodness mother, you would love this thing. It has 3 large drawers and 8 smaller ones. The wood he used is gorgeous and kinda reminds me of your casket. Here is a picture of it:
I put it on the dresser in your room… er my room… someones room anyway. The sunlight through the window right behind it made for a over washed out picture, but you can certainly get a good idea of its beauty anyway. That Mike is one hell of a guy. I am so happy that you and dad had many wonderful years of friendship with Mike and Linda. I know how much they meant to you and especially dad. I really felt terrible for Mike when dad passed. Mike lost a good conversation buddy. Anyway, Mike, thank you so much for all the neat things you have made for me and my family. Mom dearly loved those puzzles!
Today was an okay day. I am still unsure of what to do with my time, though perhaps that predicament will become easier to deal with when the temperature cools down. It has been too hot to do much of anything besides sweat. Still in the mid 90s today, but not the 100 we had yesterday. Tomorrow I have an appointment with the cardiologist and next week I have an appointment with a hospice grief counselor for some one on one time. Not sure if it will help, but certainly worth a try.
You know me better than anyone and you know what I am going through. We talked about this and you were worried that this would be difficult for me. I suppose that regardless of how or when you left us, it would be a struggle for me, but I really feel like it was far too sudden and we didn’t get a chance to do everything we talked about. You went from normal (sick) mom to dead in a week. I took a picture of you at Starbucks just 6 days before you passed away. We went to the gym for the last time just 8 days before you passed. You declined so rapidly. It is possible that is how you wanted it, but it pains me to think that one the last times you said something to me it was that you didn’t like what was happening. Why couldn’t it have been how you were proud of me or you loved me or you thought I did a wonderful job caring for you. I know all this things to be true, but I am just saying that I would have rather heard something like that than how badly you were feeling. I also feel bad for not understanding what you wanted when you could no longer speak well. I know that you were wanting something, but couldn’t tell me. I told Jodi that I was going to write things on a small whiteboard that you could point to, but I didn’t get to it in time. Not knowing what you were trying to tell me weighs on my mind. The very last interaction we had (besides when you actually passed) was early in the morning the day you passed and you wanted to stand up. I really tried mom. I just couldn’t keep you up. I am so sorry because I know all you wanted to do was get out of that bed and be alright again. It broke my heart that I couldn’t hold you up. I heard the frustration in your moan. And the no you were able to muster when we laid you down from the sitting position you were in. I have the pain of missing you, but I also have the pain of not knowing if I did the right things for you.
I suppose this is the part where I just have to pretend to hear you tell me that everything is alright and that I have nothing to be down about. That’s not good enough right now though.
Alrighty, I will end this one for today.