When Greg started spending so much time at my house, I bought him a chair. He often talked about how he wanted, but could never find, a chair that reclined, but that you could still keep your feet on the floor. I found one - kind of - on Overstock and I had enough credits from over the years that I was able to get the chair at no cost other than the reward points I had accumulated.
It wasn't the prettiest chair, but it was leather and it reclined and it had a leather foot stool shaped to fit against the chair if you wanted to put your feet up when the chair was reclined - OR you could push the foot stool away and recline with your feet on the floor.
Greg was hard on that chair - he spent a lot of time in it in the evenings, watching television with Michael and me. It's a heartache to see the chair, knowing Greg would never sit in it again, but I didn't want to let it go. I could see him - his long, lanky body sprawled in that chair. I could see him.
Last night I sat in the chair and was surprised at how uncomfortable it was. I'm sure that I tried it when it came and thought it was pretty comfortable. It probably needed replaced 6 months ago. I feel awful. I wish he had said something.
My blood runs cold when I think of the things I should have said - should have done - should have known. For the past year (at least a year) I was conscious every day that it could be the last for Greg and so I tried every day to say and do everything I could so that I would have no regrets later. An exercise in futility.
The first week after Greg died, I felt no guilt. I was confident that I did the best I could. Every week since July 4th gets worse - as the memories flood in - and I'm less and less sure of the positive things I did - and more and more sure of all the mistakes I made. The wisdom of hindsight haunts me. Why can I see things so clearly from his perspective now. I thought I could before - but not enough.
How do I live with the guilt and the knowledge that perhaps this was a preventable death? I would have given my life for him - on any day - at any time. Why wasn't that enough?
Because the chair was a place where I could still see Greg, I hated to get rid of it. Last night, when I realized how uncomfortable the chair had become, I couldn't stand it here anymore - a reminder of yet another way I failed him.
Michael took the chair out to the curb this morning while I took a bath. By the time I went out at lunchtime, the trash men had been here and the chair was gone. I'm glad I didn't have to see it on the curb. I'm hoping someone saw it and took it and the trash men didn't have to take it. I can't think about it.
I'm sorry, Greg. Such a small, stupid thing that I could have done to make your life just a little better - a new chair - and I missed it.
How could I be so stupid?
It wasn't the prettiest chair, but it was leather and it reclined and it had a leather foot stool shaped to fit against the chair if you wanted to put your feet up when the chair was reclined - OR you could push the foot stool away and recline with your feet on the floor.
Greg was hard on that chair - he spent a lot of time in it in the evenings, watching television with Michael and me. It's a heartache to see the chair, knowing Greg would never sit in it again, but I didn't want to let it go. I could see him - his long, lanky body sprawled in that chair. I could see him.
Last night I sat in the chair and was surprised at how uncomfortable it was. I'm sure that I tried it when it came and thought it was pretty comfortable. It probably needed replaced 6 months ago. I feel awful. I wish he had said something.
My blood runs cold when I think of the things I should have said - should have done - should have known. For the past year (at least a year) I was conscious every day that it could be the last for Greg and so I tried every day to say and do everything I could so that I would have no regrets later. An exercise in futility.
The first week after Greg died, I felt no guilt. I was confident that I did the best I could. Every week since July 4th gets worse - as the memories flood in - and I'm less and less sure of the positive things I did - and more and more sure of all the mistakes I made. The wisdom of hindsight haunts me. Why can I see things so clearly from his perspective now. I thought I could before - but not enough.
How do I live with the guilt and the knowledge that perhaps this was a preventable death? I would have given my life for him - on any day - at any time. Why wasn't that enough?
Because the chair was a place where I could still see Greg, I hated to get rid of it. Last night, when I realized how uncomfortable the chair had become, I couldn't stand it here anymore - a reminder of yet another way I failed him.
Michael took the chair out to the curb this morning while I took a bath. By the time I went out at lunchtime, the trash men had been here and the chair was gone. I'm glad I didn't have to see it on the curb. I'm hoping someone saw it and took it and the trash men didn't have to take it. I can't think about it.
I'm sorry, Greg. Such a small, stupid thing that I could have done to make your life just a little better - a new chair - and I missed it.
How could I be so stupid?
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