“When you like a flower, you pluck it. When you love a flower, you water it.”
The past (many) weeks have been hard for me.
My teacher looked peaked the last time we met. A week or so later, I learned she had stage IV cancer which was spreading aggressively. She didn’t make it to work the following Monday, or since, due to having a baseball sized tumor removed from her brain and aggressive rad/chemo a few weeks later.
A patient died on my unit. Some of the nurses had been treating him for decades, on and off, and I want you to picture for a minute what a nurse does: a nurse takes care of a patient the way a mother cares for a child. Are you warm? Fed? Clothed for the weather? Hydrated? Insightfully amused yet aware of reality and its threats? A little more able to do for yourself what yesterday you demanded of others? Transfer, feeding, ambulation, bathing, and all the parts of daily living.
The beloved, adored, best-friend of a husband of what is actually my oldest friend has died. For nearly two weeks, there has been a coordinated S&R team and oodles of volunteers. I have no idea what the cause of death might have been; only that the person who shared my suffering in seventh grade found a man who adored her and became her best friend and took care of her and suddenly was gone. For days I’ve been glued for news, but not this time.
My best friend (one of a small constellation of superlatives, absolutes and fully unique or sui generis) had an oldest child go off to college. How can this be?
The Log Lady died.
I mean, there is a lot.