I noticed an email I had sent someone about a week ago mentioning that I had trouble sitting at my desk in the morning; I got too sad. Well, it's morning and I'm sitting at my desk. It helps that the thank you notes are completed and out of sight. Bob did a bunch over the long weekend.
My mantra is still to stay busy. Saturday was spent with a friend shopping while the husbands did some consulting on comic book values. I didn't buy much, but it was good to not be home and L is a fabulous companion for anything.
On the way home we learned that the mother of one of our dearest friends passed away, funeral on Tuesday. I thought that I could make it today; I can't. Even just walking into the card section of the supermarket brought me to tears. Luckily it's a Jewish family so I can be there for shiva tomorrow, which I think will be much easier to handle. It's also the day after the funeral, so some of the raw emotions will be numbed, again, I think easier for me to handle. The last thing I want to do is to walk in and start bawling.
Sunday we had lunch with friends of Bob's and then did a little more shopping. Didn't buy much beyond milk and fish, but was out of the house.
Yesterday was more of a test. We were getting together with my brother and his wife at 3:00, which left all day with nothing to do. I kept moving, some computer work, the last of the thank you notes, walking the dog. It helps for a bit of camouflage, but other than being a bit more numb and a bit less overtly sad, well.... It's a long process.
Today it's back to NY and a client meeting. My plan is to walk the mile and a half to the train station; I can use the exercise. I should get to the cemetery to check on the flowers we have there.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Life after Death
That's my life after my son's death.
I'm still trying to process all this, no surprise. 17 days ago Robbie died.
To see the complete back story, head here. It's the beginning of a long, seven-month saga that didn't have a happy ending. The short version is that Robbie was 19 years old when he was diagnosed with leukemia, the particularly virulent version AML. After the initial battles with how sick he was and the various side effects of the treatments, things settled down and in our naivety, we really thought that at the conclusion of the five rounds of chemo he would be healing and we'd move on with the next phases of our lives.
Yes, there are more characters to this story beyond Robbie and myself. Bob is my husband and the rock of my life. Kate is our daughter, sister to Robbie, and all round brilliant person who has at age 22 managed to graduate from college with all sorts of well-deserved honors and start her career down in Maryland. (Bask in that for a moment, a 22 year old with a career, the one she studied.) Other players enter, but these are the leads, the ones in the story day in and day out.
But I digress, the plot continues with Robbie concluding his chemo in June, a party is thrown at the hospital and we get to go home to continue recovering. Ten days later, he's back in the hospital with a fever, not unexpected, and eventually some sort of pneumonia takes hold of his lungs. Two weeks after he's readmitted we're told his AML has returned. A few days later it's determined that there is a fungal infection in his lung. He has no immune system to fight the fungus. Drugs aren't touching it. Let's remove 30% of his lungs to remove the fungus and see what happens.
What happens is that he started to recover from the surgery, but roughly a month later died from the lung disease that was a complication of the AML.
And that was 17 days ago.
I'm told that life does go on and eventually one or more of the following happens:
There's more, I just can't remember right now what it all is.
Some of that is already going on. I'm trying to stay distracted, we cry and grieve every day. I drink, ok, only an ocassional drink, but a bit more often than before all this. And it doesn't help anything, for the record. Bob is tired, but trying to stay distracted in his own way. Kate is far away trying to deal with this with the help of her friends, collegues and us-by-phone.
The rest? Maybe. We'll see. All I can say right now is that Kate, Bob and I are still alive and Robbie is not with us here on earth. We'll see how the rest developes over time.
I'm still trying to process all this, no surprise. 17 days ago Robbie died.
To see the complete back story, head here. It's the beginning of a long, seven-month saga that didn't have a happy ending. The short version is that Robbie was 19 years old when he was diagnosed with leukemia, the particularly virulent version AML. After the initial battles with how sick he was and the various side effects of the treatments, things settled down and in our naivety, we really thought that at the conclusion of the five rounds of chemo he would be healing and we'd move on with the next phases of our lives.
Yes, there are more characters to this story beyond Robbie and myself. Bob is my husband and the rock of my life. Kate is our daughter, sister to Robbie, and all round brilliant person who has at age 22 managed to graduate from college with all sorts of well-deserved honors and start her career down in Maryland. (Bask in that for a moment, a 22 year old with a career, the one she studied.) Other players enter, but these are the leads, the ones in the story day in and day out.
But I digress, the plot continues with Robbie concluding his chemo in June, a party is thrown at the hospital and we get to go home to continue recovering. Ten days later, he's back in the hospital with a fever, not unexpected, and eventually some sort of pneumonia takes hold of his lungs. Two weeks after he's readmitted we're told his AML has returned. A few days later it's determined that there is a fungal infection in his lung. He has no immune system to fight the fungus. Drugs aren't touching it. Let's remove 30% of his lungs to remove the fungus and see what happens.
What happens is that he started to recover from the surgery, but roughly a month later died from the lung disease that was a complication of the AML.
And that was 17 days ago.
I'm told that life does go on and eventually one or more of the following happens:
- The pain doesn't go away, but it's less raw.
- We start to focus on the memories rather than the pain.
- We never forget him.
- We cry, shout, grieve, drink, keep busy, etc.
- I get enough courage to clean his room.
- I finish writing the thank you notes to all the wonderful people that sent flowers, food, Mass cards, etc.
- Life feels normal.
There's more, I just can't remember right now what it all is.
Some of that is already going on. I'm trying to stay distracted, we cry and grieve every day. I drink, ok, only an ocassional drink, but a bit more often than before all this. And it doesn't help anything, for the record. Bob is tired, but trying to stay distracted in his own way. Kate is far away trying to deal with this with the help of her friends, collegues and us-by-phone.
The rest? Maybe. We'll see. All I can say right now is that Kate, Bob and I are still alive and Robbie is not with us here on earth. We'll see how the rest developes over time.
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