Time for group therapy of one again. I have never been one to discuss my feelings with anybody. There is no crying in baseball. There is no open crying allowed by the manly man, son of a military warrior father, grandson of a Survivor of the Great Depression in rural South. Not allowed. There were times during the day when Meredith would have a cry. There are many different reasons for tears. Joy, happiness, laughter all can bring tears. Meredith and I shared tears of laughter during these last six and half years. There was the night many years ago when I was the sole care giver….I had finished changing her into her night shirt, brushed her teeth, put lotion on her face and body, wheeled her into the bedroom, transferred her into her recliner, tucked her in, hooked up the oxygen and gave her the night time dosage of pills. I was sitting at the foot of the chair and started massaging her feet because there was some discomfort in her ankles as the muscles were atrophying and turning her feet in. She started crying. Tears and sobs so hard she had trouble catching her breath. I had to ask several times why she was so upset. Between sobs she was able to work out the statement “I am such a burden to you”. I stopped massaging and moved my chair next to her, gave her a hug, she was still sobbing and I told her she was using the wrong word. She sobbed again. I said Meredith, you are using the wrong word. She turned her head in mid sob and had this incredibly confused look. I said “You are not a burden to me, you can be pain in the ass but I knew that before we got married.” And that was the night we started labeling things Pre-MSA and Post-MSA. When I fell asleep thirty minutes later she was still giggling.
Enough tears for tonight. It is very difficult to go upstairs. Even Stephen King, with all his mastery of the written word, can not describe the emptiness of this house. If I wasn’t already crazy, it would drive me insane. (Sorry Jimmy B. it just popped out)