What’s the phrase? I’m so proud I could bust a gut?
My heartfelt thanks to my daughter Suzanna for writing the last post. When she expressed an interest in contributing to the blog, I assured her that she could write about anything she wanted to. There would be no editing on my part, with one exception. I would only review content to catch any details that she might have inadvertently shared that we’ve mutually agreed are not (or not yet) for public consumption. As I expected, there was nothing at all in her words that needed revision. I’m sure I’ll have to give in to her sharing the occasional embarrassing tale, I do seem to have a knack for providing fodder!
The notes of support have flooded in, giving Suzanna confidence in visiting here again sometime soon. Thank you for the kindness and encouragement sent her way, I’ve shared with her all the comments that came to the email address I offer for private blog comments (sessa1@live.ca)
She’s away for a night visiting a friend from university, I’m pleased and grateful that we’ve been able to make it work. Things were quite rough here for the last few days with my health, thankfully I’d rallied a bit this morning – enough for her to feel less nervous about being an hour’s drive away.
What preparation is required for her to be away for more than a couple of hours?
Lots of water bedside. Suzanna had the excellent idea to bring the full Brita pitcher to the bedroom as a back-up for the three tall glasses she’d already filled for me. And as an extra precaution a bottled water with the cap already unscrewed. I hope she’s not disappointed if I don’t finish it all!
Food at hand. I’ll sheepishly admit that part of the supply includes Kernels SuperKid flavoured popcorn (thanks to K. She’ll know I must really be off my game for it to have lasted this long!) I may be forty eight, but sometimes I have the cravings of a seven year old. Luckily I have friends who indulge me instead of making fun. Okay, they make fun too but that’s alright. The forty eight year old in me can take it.
The side of the bed that Suzanna usually occupies is strewn with my laptop, iPad, land line and cell phones, chargers,TV remote, lip balm, hand lotion (I’ve jumped up another level in the oxygen airflow, it’s desiccating me from the inside out), notebook/pen, tissues and a cat. You’d think that the cat would be a transient visitor, but somehow Scrabble knows when I’m on my own and rarely leaves my side.
The litterbox is clean, cat food and water bowls amply filled. The door is locked, Suzanna will arrive home in time to let the PSW in the door tomorrow at noon.
Laundry is all caught up, garbage has been taken out, and lights other than in the bedroom and bathroom have been turned off. The bedroom window is opened wide (who would have guessed that this apartment would get so hot? I haven’t managed to get it to a comfortable temperature since I moved in). If only we could turn off the volume from outside, visitors who park out back likely have no idea that we’re subjected to every word they speak when the factory noise from just beyond the wall doesn’t drown them out. Today? “Grandpa smells so old, why did you hafta promise that we’d come back next week Mom?”
There’s a long checklist to go through every time Suzanna steps out, she shared with me a few nights ago that it’s now all become second nature after four weeks of trying to settle into a routine.
She taking care of all these chores is the reason that I’m not in a nursing home now. Whether leaving school was the right thing to do I can’t answer, but if she tells me it was the right thing for her I will trust her. And I’ll continue to be very, very grateful.
Something she always makes sure to do before she leaves? A hug, a kiss on the cheek or forehead, and telling me that she loves me. And with that, even if I should pass while she’s physically away from the apartment, I’ll not feel that I died alone. We’re in each other’s hearts always.
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Beautiful beautiful post
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