Help Me

 The most painful moment for me in the entire 3 month ordeal of losing Bob was around this time - maybe in another week or so.  He was sitting in his recliner, looking out the window.  He looked at me, scared and a little lost.  "Annie . . . help me."

Of course.  What did he want?  Blanket? Water?  Turn the TV on?  Anything, anything.  "I don't know.  Just help me."

That almost broke me.  I would have done anything, given him anything.  Blood, kidney, my heart, my soul, my life.  But there was nothing I could give, just stroke his arm.

That was the closest I came to just leaving.  Get up, walk out, get in the car (I could see it in the parking lot from the window) and just go home, because I wanted to do everything and there was nothing I could do.

It would be repeated.  He would call for me in the night, because by then he was too muzzy headed and his hands didn't work and he couldn't press the call button for the nurse.  He would call for me and I would wake up and go over and he would ask me to call the nurse.  I would ask what was wrong.  He'd say - "I don't know.  I need help."  And I'd try to calm him down.

His hands.  He had such huge hands but could do such delicate work.  Usually he stayed strong in front of the nurses, polite, nice, talked, tried to joke.  But one day he broke, cried, holding out his shaking hands.  "I'm a modeler!  I build things!  What can I do without my hands???"   I tried to soothe him, use science.  I even gave the name of the drug that he was one, the one to try to keep his new stem cells from recognizing that everything in his body was an intruder.  That when he stopped taking the drugs he would get his hands back.

OK.  Deep breath.  It's 2022.  Nice day outside, not as clear as yesterday, might rain tomorrow.  I have yard trash to burn, but I might not.  Someone in Panama City burned yard trash, and now there's several square miles of wildfire, houses destroyed, people evacuated.  It's been very dry recently and there is still all the debris from Hurricane Michael to be burned.

I finished sorting the lovely black Finn wool I got recently, and it's soaking.  Did laundry because I go to work tomorrow.  Used my new rowing machine,  Some time this afternoon I'll make coffee, eat a few of the biscotti I made a couple of days ago, sit on the back deck, and read my book.  Spin yarn for a weaving sample.  Play music.

It will be a good day.  I'm OK.