I'm very draggy today. OK, but draggy. I read until 2 a.m. and finally cried myself to sleep around 3. But I had forgotten to turn off my alarm, so it went off at 6:30 (yes, I went back to sleep for another hour or so).
Driving in to work yesterday morning I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of homesickness - for Shands Hospital, in Gainesville. Most people would never wish that they were back in a hospital. But that was the last place that I lived with Bob. We always said that "home" was wherever we happened to be together - so that was our last home together.
And everybody was so damned nice. Bob often said that he was humbled that so many people, doctors and nurses, were trying so hard to help him. And not only physically - they did everything they could (including bringing him cake and the whole staff singing on his birthday). And I was remembering one day, when we were taking our walk around the nurse's station. Patients were encouraged to walk as much as possible; he couldn't leave the ward, but 15 laps around the nurse's station was a mile.
Our room was on the east side. One of the nice things about the rooms is that one side had a huge window - running the entire length of the room. We were on the east side, and our room faced across the street to the children's hospital. For two people used to living alone in the woods, the whole situation felt claustrophobic. And even though the building was quite colorful and tried to be cheerful - well, it was a place for sick children.
One day, after we had been there for a week or so, we were walking down the west corridor and a door to a room was open - the patient had checked out, and they were cleaning the room. On the west side, the land sloped downward, and you could look over the buildings (we were on the 7th floor) and, in the distance, see the wildlife refuge, Paynes Prairie.
We just stood there, gazing for awhile. The charge nurse came over to check on Bob - was he OK, did he need a chair? He sighed a little, and said he was just looking at the view.
Next thing we knew, a team of nurses and staff were wheeling the bed and furnishings out of that room, and moving in Bob's stuff. That was a lot of extra work for them - in addition to having to move everything, they now had to sterilize Bob's old room. And we didn't even ask. They just did it.
I miss being there with him, high up, gazing over the Prairie.
I think what brought all that on was knowing that after work I would be saying goodbye to someone. I've often written about the "kids" that I work with. Most of the other volunteers are college students, doing their intern or volunteer hours. And they are so great to work with - we chat, laugh, tease, and work hard. Most of them are there for 6 months, sometimes longer. I'm very fond of all of them - but I also know it's temporary, so I don't get too attached.
Except that I did. I don't know why, but Nolan and I just clicked from his first day there. I sort of thought of him as a puppy - I honestly don't know how he saw me, but he always asked if he could be teamed with me whenever possible (our shifts only matched one morning a week). We talked a lot, sometimes on deep subjects (religion) sometimes just being silly (he would make airlock sounds whenever we had to go through a keeper cage into an animal enclosure). He would hug me hello and goodbye.
Yesterday was his last day. He's graduated now. He's off to work in France for a few months and after that hopes to move to the West Coast. He's 22, and the world is in front of him. As people always say, we'll stay in touch - but I'm going to miss his company, and those hugs.
Sigh. You know how it is if you hurt yourself, and you have a big bruise, and anything that even bumps into it a little really hurts a lot? I think every little goodbye that I have to say just reopens the wound of having to say goodbye to Bob.
And just to put the cherry on top of that particular sundae, a friend posted his "music of the day" on FaceBook. He was listening to the musical based on the story "War of the Worlds." Which doesn't sound like it would touch any sore spots, except that I'm familiar with it, and it has the beautiful song "Forever Autumn" on it, with the lines:
Like the sun through the trees you came to love me
Like a leaf in a breeze you blew away
And that just about finished me off.
But it's another day. I have cats to love, a weaving project to work on, yarn to dye for the next one, books to read. Raining today, so I'm saved from feeling guilty about not doing yardwork. Just keep moving.
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