TS Eliot, my favorite poet, once said that "April is the cruelest month, breeding/Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing/Memory and desire, stirring/Dull roots with spring rain." He talks about the mysterious teasing of life from death that happens in April - the slow, creaking growth that comes after the dormancy of winter, painful and so very slow.
February is the cruelest month. My regrets, compounded by another year of experience and growth, come creaking to life on the first of the month. They lumber around like trolls, smashing and destroying for the sake of destruction, until about the end of the month. Then, troll-like, they go underground, hiding from the rising sun, until once again in August I hit a patch of regularly scheduled self-reflection.
Four years ago, February was a cold month. As I drove my wife to our midwife, I passed a car turned on its roof in the median on 270. I don't remember much about that day...fragments form a patchwork in my mind when I try.
Joy being unresponsive in the bathroom....a red sedan, on its roof, as I desperately try to head north, without flipping my own...the cold, professional nurse..Joy not responding again...being shoved into the waiting room...watching something about true crime, not knowing what's going on...hearing medical terminology that I understand, knowing that it applies to my wife and child...being told to get someone, cold nurse turned somber...
I hear that they're both alive, and it takes my breath away. I hear the mortality rate of what happened, and I lose my breath again. I'm wandering the halls of the hospital late at night, unable to call anyone. I'm hearing that my wife might still die. I saw her, and she scared me. The Who's Tommy is not the thing to watch in the ICU.
Finally seeing a coherent wife. Getting to see my daughter for the first time. Having faith for her future. Praying against fear. Stubbornly refusing to believe what the Groucho Marx-esque Pakistani doctor says. Believing, and seeing the fruit of that belief blossom.
One year, nine days.
Getting The Call. Driving to the wrong hospital. Getting to the right one. Believing for a miracle. Releasing her.
Calling my folks to let them know she's passed. Hearing my sobs mingle with my wife's in a cold operating room, as though they came from some other people.
February is the cruelest month.
It sucks. Most definitely sucks. I remember the parts after that, of course. Hearing Abby, listening to the nurses doing chest percussion for her, seeing *their* serious faces when they had to run over and do something for her. Of course, I was there with Abe, but I remember when Abby moved onto our "row".
ReplyDeleteThen I remember the guy who jumped out and "scared" Livvy (who loved it!) while walking along the hallway.
Didn't realize that this goofy guy (and his very smiley wife!) were the proud parents of Abby.
You know what I remember very clearly? How un-NICU-like you were. You were (outwardly, at any rate) optimistic, smiley and positive.
It sucks sucks sucks (repeat indefinitely) when February rolls around. I know that fir sure. But I am constantly surprised at how - I don't know - nice? Well rounded? (Heh - maybe Joy - not sure 'bout you!) you both are.
And you gave me some lovely bread when you left the NICU and we were still there. Bread! And a lovely note! It made me smile, and I still remember talking to your parents about some of their experiences with loss and also talking to you by Abe's bed after he extabated. Again.
Oh - and taking pictures of Abby when Joy was learning to bathe her - still have those.
What's my point? Eh, I have no bloody clue. But I liked your family. You too - heh! I found out about Abby a few weeks after she passed and I cried, a lot. I knew how much you must have been hurting, and I hate that pain for you.
But I think of Abby everytime I think of Heath - there is a triangle of three - Abby, Heath and Timothy. Seeing as I think of Heath daily, I think of Abby and Timothy daily too.
Typing on a phone - have mire to say but for now, I want the Most Dedicated Responder For Typing On A Phone Award.
>:op
Not necessarily a "happy" post, no, but perhaps therapeutic? We don't expect "happy" in February anyway. Thanks for letting us in. And thanks, too, to Emma, for sharing the other side. What a beautiful picture. You are strength and inspiration even when you don't feel like it, Ryan. Hang in there. The month's half over. Love you.
ReplyDelete...more than words can even say...
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