September Nostalgia

 Hello, September 2025 self.  I know that you'll be looking back to see how I'm doing this year.

I've been hit with nostalgia hard today.  Partly it's out of empathy for my friend Los.  On Sept. 13 his wife Ellen headed to Tampa to do some work for two weeks.  That night he called, and made plans for when he was going to come visit the following weekend.  On the morning of Sept. 14 he got a call from a hospital there that she had a pulmonary embolism and died.  I know he's feeling crushed today.

I've been oddly yearning for September 2019 - hard to believe that's five years ago.  By now we had gotten used to our routine.  One week 1 of the month we would go to the clinic Monday through Friday.  We might be there just an hour for his tests and shots, or maybe 4-6 hours if he needed a transfusion or platelets.  The next week we would go in Monday and Tuesday for the shots and whatever.  Then we'd go in Friday just for tests.  For the next two weeks we'd go in twice a week for tests and whatever.  When we finished, we might go get something to eat, or do some shopping, or go to Michael's to look at Halloween stuff.

It was surreal because he honestly felt fine.  Sometimes when we were taking our walks or sitting by a yard fire, he'd shake his head and go "are we sure I have leukemia?"

It's hard to explain how much I achingly miss those times.  He had those treatments on that schedule for five months.  The drive to the clinic was close to an hour.  But we'd be in our little cubical - they would bring us coffee or tea, and sometimes snacks.  We both took our tablets to read, or he would put in earbuds to watch a video, and I'd knit.  We'd chat, or make plans.

We were intensely together.  As I said, he felt fine.  Looking back, in those five months that this was our routine, I realize that not a single time did either of us think that I didn't really have to go along.  He would have been fully capable of going by himself - at least physically.  We never talked about it; it was just outside the scope of thought to do that.  

I also find myself missing Shands - the hospital in Gainesville.  That was the last place that we lived together.

It's been four and a half years.  So far (knock wood) I've handled everything that's been thrown at me.  So, physically - to do things - I haven't needed him.  But emotionally?  I need him so badly.  The pain is as strong as it was four and a half years ago - I'm just better at powering through it, and not letting it show (breaking down in front of people when it's fresh is OK - after this amount of time it would seem overly dramatic).

OK, that's it.  Just feeling alone, and lonely, and wanted to talk it out.