This week has been exceptionally difficult.
Jay’s Dad took a turn for the worst. We thought death would take him, consumed by cancer.
Jay flew up to be by his bedside on Monday morning. After missing the day’s only flight to Hervey Bay he managed to catch one to Maroochydore, hire a car and drive the rest of the way. He arrived late afternoon tired, with man-flu and in time to start planning his father’s funeral with his sister; things were looking very grim and the doctors were not optimistic.
After five days of hour by hour highs (gaining consciousness, sitting up, talking) and lows (crashing, failing vital organs, unconsciousness) his kidneys are gaining functionality and his infections are clearing up and best of all he’s out of bed. Today he got discharged from hospital (huzzah!). The doctor’s have said he’ll be with us for another 3-6 months.That’s 262,974 more minutes. Not enough time to see us fall pregnant or have a baby or buy a house or congratulate Jay when he graduates from uni or see Jay turn 40, watch his 6 grandkids grow up or celebrate his own 74th birthday.
Everyone knows death is inevitable. A natural part of the cycle of life. But that knowledge never makes it any easier. Someone you love is there. And then they’re not.
I think I have stayed strong for Jay on the end of the phone; listening, soothing, missing, giving him tidbits of my & Harley’s day to breakup the hurt. I am sad also. My heart feels weighed down and heavy with worry and sorrowful expectation of what is to come. The man I love most in the world is going to lose the man he loves most in the world.
How can that be anything but the shittiest thing life spews at you?
I posted that earlier in the week on my Instagram.
Yesterday, my brother, my only sibling, checked into rehab. Mum & Col drove him there after looking after him for the past week; basically drinking himself to death and almost achieving it after a fall from 11 stories resulting in broken ribs, internal bleeding, fractured spine & skull. Mum said he barely weighed 60kgs when she picked him up from the airport, my 6.2ft baby brother.
After 10 years of substance abuse & chronic alcoholism he will finally be getting the help he needs. I can’t even fully articulate the levity of my heartbreak and grief for him. I am optimistic and hopeful, yet not totally convinced that this will be the cure. I have no doubt that rehab works but I don’t know if he really truly wants to get sober or if he thinks that this is the only solution to current situation. No job, no home, no relationship with terrible injuries. Rehab puts him in a place where he doesn’t have to deal with any real world fallout, and I don’t think he realises how hard it’s going to be in his own head without drugs & alcohol. More than anything, I want this next 12 months of rehab to be his sobering rapture. If I believed in a Deity I’d be praying profusely. Now we just have to wait. I get to speak to him in 6 weeks, but until then there’s no contact.
“It is not complicated unless I make it so. It is not difficult unless I allow it to be. A second is no more than a second, a minute no more than a minute, a day no more than a day. They pass. All things and all time will pass. Don’t force or fear, don’t control or lose control. Don’t fight and don’t stop fighting. Embrace and endure. If you embrace, you will endure.”
― James Frey, A Million Little Pieces
Almost always the optimist, I am looking up. Strong in the belief that things will be better tomorrow. Because after everything, I can only love them and truly hope for the best.