Jim, David, and I drive to New Jersey for my dad’s funeral. I plan to stay on with my siblings to start emptying the house my parents lived in for 29 years. After Jim and David leave, I realize that all of my belongings are still in the trunk of the car: my laptop, my clothes, my wallet, even my psych meds. Lucky for me Maggie’s husband John is a doctor. We go to Walgreens and he writes me a prescription to tide me over till I get back home. I spend the week wearing my dad’s purple shirt, cargo pants, and a belt.
The packing up is bittersweet. We fill box after box of Mom's books. When we think we've packed up the last of them I open a cupboard in the attic and call down, "More books!" Murder mysteries I'm sure she hadn't read for fifty years.
On December 10th, David’s WBC count is the lowest of the past two months: 3.84. The hydroxyurea, that old workhorse of a drug, brought the count down from 95 to under 4 in just 7 days.
David wants us to have our traditional Advent suppers. Since 1998, we've invited old friends each of the four Sundays before Christmas. David becomes a little girl magnet. Two sweet five-year-olds snuggle close to him as we gather in the family room to read Christmas scriptures and sing carols.
Advent 2016
I struggle to prepare for Advent each week this year. My friend Cami comes over after she puts her one-year-old down for her afternoon nap and we set the tables together.
The Compassionate Friends, a support group for bereaved parents, grandparents, and siblings, holds its annual candle-lighting on Sunday, December 11th. I invite my family, far and near, to light a candle for an hour at 7 p.m. local time. In New York, our sweet little granddaughter immediately blows it out.
 |
| Maple Butter candle for David |
Jim lights ours: a two-wick scented candle in a jar. I sit in a wooden chair next to the couch where David sat last year with those adoring little girls. I can’t sing the first few carols: my throat constricts. But I'm prepared: I have a dish towel to catch the tears.
(If you lit a candle for David, leave me a comment, please.)
Posts
I lit a candle tonight, in honor and memory of your loss. I didn't know about that candle lighting or that group before as I hadn't checked your blog in a while, likely also because I am a bereaved spouse, and both of Marc's parents were already deceased. His father died in 1991, his mother in 1996. This may strike you as odd thing, but I envy you your tears. I haven't cried when awake at all for any of my dead; sometimes I wake up wet with tears from dreams I do not remember. So I don't think it is the Sjogren's Syndrome, though it is real enough as a part of my life to have that. Many {{{hugs}}}.
ReplyDelete