Meltdown

I have not been able to write because the long awaited meltdown has begun. I'll be back - soon I hope.

Thank You James

My trip to Bay Head and Maryland is almost over. Tomorrow morning Parker and I return to Austin to get his last things done so he can return to work. We will leave James behind again. And the dogs. But as I have been working on cleaning my cottage over the few days I have been here, in between the bazillion doctor appointments, I can't stop thinking about how much I appreciate James's role in all this. He, too, had his life uprooted, and was plunked down in the middle of my world. He took over care of the dogs and the cottage without question, without complaint. he changed his life to be supportive of us in the way that was the most important thing he could do.

It wasn't just taking care of the dogs and the house, it was dropping his job he loved to be in Austin when they said Parker was going to die. It was staying the month, doing his classes through emails with his professor, and bringing me food at all hours. It was sleeping in the chair in the ICU waiting room when I desperately needed to sleep in a bed at the League House. It was also not taking the amount of classes he wanted to take over the summer so I had money to pay my rent.

There was so much more, and I just don't feel like either Parker nor I have really acknowledged how much he did for us. So James, thank you for everything. You are a real hero. I love you.

The photo above is of my Dad standing in front of his beautiful garden in Bay Head.

The Things I Left Behind

It's a really odd feeling, being here in my little cottage in Maryland that I have only lived in for a total of 3 1/2 weeks. That's how long I lived here before Parker got sick. Before Austin.

Seeing all the things that made up what my life was Before Austin is surreal. I have spent hours wandering around my cottage, batting away the dust and dog hair that gathered over the last 5 months, touching the photos on my "muse wall," throwing away the tube of hair conditioner I left open on the back of the sink when I raced out the door to save my son's life, shaking off the clothes that were left behind, sitting at my desk and running my fingertips over the keyboard of the computer which helped me write my book with Peach and Scout at my feet, listening to Willie croon.

I can't quite grasp how simple my life must have been. The things I took for granted. On the floor when I came in was Critter's mate. A little blond Critter that I bought at the same time I bought gray Critter. Critter being the little stuffed hamster I carried in my pocket, and clutched in my hand, during those first few weeks when Parker's life was termed "imminently critical."

Just writing those words, that phrase, has done me in for the night. I have a long way to go before I reach Normal again.

Parker is weary. This trip has been great for him in the sense that he is building stamina which he will need before he returns to work in a few weeks. But the crowds of people, the sensory overload, has worn him out and he told me today he is ready to go home. But we can't go home. Not yet. Not until he sees the surgeon here tomorrow, and not until I have my meeting with my boss on Wednesday. Then I'll take him back to Austin for the last tests and studies and clearances from doctors so he can start work again. I will start shipping my belongings back up north, and prepare for the return to my old life, or the start of my new, whichever way it ends up, which has yet to be determined.

But tonight I am emotional, and I am weary, too.