Catching my breath. A summation.

It has been a long and devastating winter.

Beginning in September, when Suzy died. My beloved aunt who embodied all that was good about my mother's family. When she died we lost our collective center. She was our girlish charm, our incisive wit and our always gracious and pretty, charming  Suzy.
In September I also began a new job. Well the same job but in a new location and with new people. And horrendous commute. The commute has turned nine hour work days into twelve fourteen hour endurance tests and it has worn me out.
In November I got sick and I was not well again until January. I was prescribed inhalers and four different kinds of asthma meds, antibiotics and steroids and had two chest xrays to rule out pneumonia. The PA said that even tho the X-rays were negative for pneumonia, she was treating it like pneumonia and that X-rays were not always the best indicator. If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, does the X-ray always say it is a duck?
In January I grew awful hemorrhoids, caused by the constant coughing. I took a few days off to treat them. I got written up at work for absenteeism My silly pride prevented me from telling anyone. I did not go to the doctor because I was afraid. Have you ever experienced hemorrhoid excision? I had. Not something that you want to repeat. Did you know that  50% of the population experience hemorrhoids? Mine were thrombosed, which is a kind of exploded version. and it meant constant pain. A week ago I had another excision which thus far has failed to resolve the problem and I fear I may need more surgery or at least continue to be in pain. Unhappy does not begin to describe the feeling. I fear more pain, I dread more surgery. I will learn more when I visit the doctor later today.  I observe that I have given a big part of this diatribe to the problems in my heini. Well? in truth it has been a constant underlying issue for months. So in the interest of truth and explanation, I expound upon the misfortune of my southernmost port.

In February we learned that my dad had a terminal esophageal cancer and in April we lost him. He declined treatment and chose to die at home and in as much comfort as we could provide. I will be forever grateful to the Hospice organization at Bon Secour. They gave us the ability to help my father die in the midst of his loved ones and there is no better way to be escorted from this existence. 

A  month has passed and it still does not seem real that my north star has been extinguished. I am awash in sadness that pervades  my very core. I am adrift on a becalmed sea. As new life indeed unfolds in the form of my still in-utero grandson, I mourn the loss of my dad. For all of our imperfect and constantly human and inadequate articulation, we did love each other. Of that I am certain and always will be.

And now it is spring. Green shouts from every crevasse and every crack and cranny. Green drips and flies and spurts and dances and sneaks and dangles. I am grabbing onto it and hanging on for dear life. I am at a crossroads. I do not know how or why but I know it  as sure as I live and inhale green-and I am going to err on the side of optimism. wish me luck.