~read part 1~

I just want to go home.

To my own bed, my own stuff. To my own place.

A place where I’m comfortable. Where I’m safe.

Home.

I just want to go home.

But I can’t. My home was taken from me. Because my brain made the choice for me.

I had a couple of strokes, yes, but I can still take care of my responsibilities. I can still drive. I can still hunt. I can still smoke and drink.

Can’t I?

If only I wasn’t stuck in the hospital. If only I had a home. If only…

Homesick

It’s been nearly a year since his strokes.

He was getting better. Until he wasn’t.

His life caught up.

There are good days, of course. When he laughs and makes jokes. When he’s a smart-ass.

Those are the days he feels hopeful. When I feel hopeful.

But there are bad days, too. When he’s confused and agitated. When his spirit weakens.

Those are the days he feels helpless. When I feel helpless—am I doing enough, seeing him enough?

He’s lonely. Scared.

He just wants to go home.

To his own bed, with his own stuff. To his own place.

A place where he’s comfortable. Where he’s safe.

Home.

He just wants to go home.

Locked, stalked, and waiting

Is this the road to recovery?

It feels like waiting for death.

What other choice do I have?

I’m stuck here until long-term care is available. When a room frees up. When the current resident dies, more like it.

Could be weeks. Could be months. Could mean I beat them to the grave.

Like I said, it feels like waiting for death.

Die in line

I’m not sure he’s getting better. Not sure he will.

Things keep piling on. Strokes, falls, hallucinations. Fucking scabies and scabs all over his body, all over his scalp.

The consequences of a life-long addiction to alcohol and cigarettes. The consequences of well-worn living.

Poor guy. He lost everything. His wife, his home, his health. Even his dog.

And all he can do is wait.

Wait.

For what? For his next place to live, for long-term care? For his brain to degenerate?

For death.

That’s what it feels like.

Hidden in the in between

Nobody talks about this part.

The in between part.

When everything is in preparation for what’s next. The inevitable.

There are truths to accept and decisions to make—how do you downsize for death?

How do you keep going in a race you don’t want to win?

Nobody readies you for the end game. Nobody readies you for the choices. Those forced on you, those taken from you.

Do this, sell that. Cancel this, sign that. 

Can’t have this, can’t do that. Can’t drink this, can’t smoke that.

All in a rush to stand still. Hurry up and wait.

Wait for what’s next.

It’s the worst part for most of us—the in between, the waiting. But it doesn’t have to be.

Hidden within that space is what’s most precious of all, what you need above all else.

Time. 

There’s still time to be together.

There’s still a memory to be made.

There’s still life to be lived.