Wednesday
Up early to prepare for Kate. Mornings are not my best thing and I want to be ready and outside waiting for her when her dad pulls into the driveway at 9:10am. We agreed on 9:00 which means he'll be here at 9:10. I smile the first smile of the day.
Dressed, hair, makeup, clothes - check. It's a pretty morning - 70's - low humidity - a great morning to sit on the porch and read while I wait for Kate.
We have a welcoming front porch that had three large hanging pots of gorgeous New Guinea Impatients. They died a death of drought last week, but I can still seem them in my mind - dark green foliage and flowers in shades of dark pink, tumble over the sides of the pots. The plants hang on three white posts, strong and straight (Greg replaced two of them this summer), that hold up the porch roof. Between the posts, hang dark bronze, dulcet wind chimes that Michael bought for me. It's calm - peaceful.
Richard arrives and I can see Kate in the back of his car - grinning from ear to ear, her curly brown hair kisses her face with blonde wisps bleached by the sun. She is sunshine.
She runs to me, smiling and laughing. I hold out my arms to catch her and tell her how happy I am that she's here. Richard walks behind her and the three of us spend a few minutes talking and laughing. It's going to be a good day.
Richard hugs Kate and leaves for work. Kate and I go into the house together, laughing and planning our day.
Kate's favorite thing to do while she's here is to play games - board games - card games. I love it too, and I'm looking forward to our day.
(I hope I have enough energy. I hope I don't fall apart.)
I tell her that I have a couple of new games and to pick one and we'll start in the kitchen. I explain that Michael gets an infusion every Wednesday morning with medicine to help his lungs and that he and Claudine (the nurse who gives him the infusion) take up half the dining room table for about a half hour. When Claudine leaves, we can move to the dining room.
Kate's curious about the infusion and asks if she can watch. Michael agrees and so Kate and I start a game of "Ticket to Ride" while we wait for Claudine to arrive.
Once Claudine comes, Kate is back in the dining room watching Claudine put on surgical gloves, drape the table, set up the IV pole. Claudine starts mixing the medication and Kate returns to the kitchen, stopping to ask Michael... "Would you call me when she's ready to stab you with that needle? I want to watch."
"Sure," Michael replies, laughing.
Soon Michael calls and Kate returns to the dining room, her eyes fixed on Claudine and the needle. She watches as Claudine finds a vein and inserts the needle, draws back a little blood to ensure that she's found a vein, and then hangs the IV bag with the medication, on the pole.
Kate is incredulous. "That's gotta hurt!", she tells Michael. "I mean, that's really gotta hurt."
"It really doesn't, Kate. It's okay."
"It's gotta hurt." Kate repeats. Claudine laughs (she is sweet and a very good "stabber").
We play some more of the game... Claudine leaves and Michael helps us move our game to the dining room where we have more room. Kate is thrilled with her new medical knowledge - an excitement that was a bonus.
Kate beats me (really) by 9 points and she runs and gets the "Dutch Blitz" game - both are new since her last visit. She wins two games to one (kind of) and we're ready for lunch.
Part of our 'play day' tradition is to meet her dad for lunch. I'm not sure who enjoys that part more - Kate or me. Kate's traditional 'play day' lunch is shrimp - it's part of the day she loves, so shrimp it is - followed by a mega-maxi chocolate chip lava cookie with ice cream.
Back home for two more hours or laughter - and trash-talking:
"You're going down on this one Kate. No mercy. You're toast. Prepare to lose."
Kate: "You wish. You're the one with no chance to win."
Laughter from both of us.
It doesn't matter to me what we do - as long as we do it together. I love this child with everything in me. I remind her through the day how beautiful she is - how funny - how incredibly smart - and most of all, how very much she is loved.
Kate needs to be home by 3:45pm so that she can eat dinner (if there is any room inside her for dinner) before she goes to soccer practice at 5:30pm.
She's been barefoot all day, so she gathers her shoes and I give her another hug and we go to the car together - still laughing. Michael decides to ride along. I'm grateful.
At Kate's house, I 'm greeted by Julie (Richard's wife - Kate's mom - who I love), Chase (5), and Brynn (7) - more hugs - more "I love you's" and promises to Brynn and Chase, who both want to know (energetically) when their day will be - that they will soon have their day. One last hug for Kate - and we head home.
I'm worried that it was too much - there was no space for grief - that the sadness has been waiting all day to come after me. I'm afraid of the quiet at home.
I'm tired - but happy. The grief settles in, but it's not awful. I'm grateful for the break from sadness - grateful for joy that I haven't felt in almost a month - grateful for my son's sensitivity and thoughtfulness - grateful for Kate.
God is good.
Up early to prepare for Kate. Mornings are not my best thing and I want to be ready and outside waiting for her when her dad pulls into the driveway at 9:10am. We agreed on 9:00 which means he'll be here at 9:10. I smile the first smile of the day.
Dressed, hair, makeup, clothes - check. It's a pretty morning - 70's - low humidity - a great morning to sit on the porch and read while I wait for Kate.
We have a welcoming front porch that had three large hanging pots of gorgeous New Guinea Impatients. They died a death of drought last week, but I can still seem them in my mind - dark green foliage and flowers in shades of dark pink, tumble over the sides of the pots. The plants hang on three white posts, strong and straight (Greg replaced two of them this summer), that hold up the porch roof. Between the posts, hang dark bronze, dulcet wind chimes that Michael bought for me. It's calm - peaceful.
Richard arrives and I can see Kate in the back of his car - grinning from ear to ear, her curly brown hair kisses her face with blonde wisps bleached by the sun. She is sunshine.
She runs to me, smiling and laughing. I hold out my arms to catch her and tell her how happy I am that she's here. Richard walks behind her and the three of us spend a few minutes talking and laughing. It's going to be a good day.
Richard hugs Kate and leaves for work. Kate and I go into the house together, laughing and planning our day.
Kate's favorite thing to do while she's here is to play games - board games - card games. I love it too, and I'm looking forward to our day.
(I hope I have enough energy. I hope I don't fall apart.)
I tell her that I have a couple of new games and to pick one and we'll start in the kitchen. I explain that Michael gets an infusion every Wednesday morning with medicine to help his lungs and that he and Claudine (the nurse who gives him the infusion) take up half the dining room table for about a half hour. When Claudine leaves, we can move to the dining room.
Kate's curious about the infusion and asks if she can watch. Michael agrees and so Kate and I start a game of "Ticket to Ride" while we wait for Claudine to arrive.
Once Claudine comes, Kate is back in the dining room watching Claudine put on surgical gloves, drape the table, set up the IV pole. Claudine starts mixing the medication and Kate returns to the kitchen, stopping to ask Michael... "Would you call me when she's ready to stab you with that needle? I want to watch."
"Sure," Michael replies, laughing.
Soon Michael calls and Kate returns to the dining room, her eyes fixed on Claudine and the needle. She watches as Claudine finds a vein and inserts the needle, draws back a little blood to ensure that she's found a vein, and then hangs the IV bag with the medication, on the pole.
Kate is incredulous. "That's gotta hurt!", she tells Michael. "I mean, that's really gotta hurt."
"It really doesn't, Kate. It's okay."
"It's gotta hurt." Kate repeats. Claudine laughs (she is sweet and a very good "stabber").
We play some more of the game... Claudine leaves and Michael helps us move our game to the dining room where we have more room. Kate is thrilled with her new medical knowledge - an excitement that was a bonus.
Kate beats me (really) by 9 points and she runs and gets the "Dutch Blitz" game - both are new since her last visit. She wins two games to one (kind of) and we're ready for lunch.
Part of our 'play day' tradition is to meet her dad for lunch. I'm not sure who enjoys that part more - Kate or me. Kate's traditional 'play day' lunch is shrimp - it's part of the day she loves, so shrimp it is - followed by a mega-maxi chocolate chip lava cookie with ice cream.
Back home for two more hours or laughter - and trash-talking:
"You're going down on this one Kate. No mercy. You're toast. Prepare to lose."
Kate: "You wish. You're the one with no chance to win."
Laughter from both of us.
It doesn't matter to me what we do - as long as we do it together. I love this child with everything in me. I remind her through the day how beautiful she is - how funny - how incredibly smart - and most of all, how very much she is loved.
Kate needs to be home by 3:45pm so that she can eat dinner (if there is any room inside her for dinner) before she goes to soccer practice at 5:30pm.
She's been barefoot all day, so she gathers her shoes and I give her another hug and we go to the car together - still laughing. Michael decides to ride along. I'm grateful.
At Kate's house, I 'm greeted by Julie (Richard's wife - Kate's mom - who I love), Chase (5), and Brynn (7) - more hugs - more "I love you's" and promises to Brynn and Chase, who both want to know (energetically) when their day will be - that they will soon have their day. One last hug for Kate - and we head home.
I'm worried that it was too much - there was no space for grief - that the sadness has been waiting all day to come after me. I'm afraid of the quiet at home.
I'm tired - but happy. The grief settles in, but it's not awful. I'm grateful for the break from sadness - grateful for joy that I haven't felt in almost a month - grateful for my son's sensitivity and thoughtfulness - grateful for Kate.
God is good.
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