Rounding Third

Hunk has taken a turn for the worse, to use an old cliche. I have a visceral understanding of it now. Whereas a week ago he was still getting up and about (with help), travelling out to his living room chair to sit in peace and quiet, and look around at the home he and Bitchy built (until her "enjoyment" of daytime news, Dr. Phil, Judge Judy, or some other annoyingly loud drivel drives him back to the bedroom), today he seems nearly comatose there.

To be honest, I haven't yet seen him today. Last night was the first ever when I had a helper stay over, to monitor him and administer his meds.

That sounds cold. She kept a kind watch over him all night long, as I did the night before, tracking his behavior and responding appropriately with sips of water, adjustments of bedding, eyedroppers full of sedatives authorized by the management of Hospice.

Even that sounds cold... Maybe I'm keeping my feelings controlled with the chill of February that surrounds their home and it seeps into my writing. Feelings that are bound to thaw, when this is all over, and I'm sifting through the leftovers of his --their-- lives.

It will probably start on my birthday, which is nearing, and usually causes emotional upheaval of one sort or another.

Last year, when I turned 60, after spending the daylight hours with my usual parental caregiving, I went to the movies alone. Any movie that happened to be starting when I got there was my goal. A rainy cold night, walking to the boxoffice, I stopped to pick up a shiny flat object from the soaking sidewalk... it was a foresaken, mylar Happy Birthday balloon! Waiting there just for me. I wiped it down and folded it up and tucked it in my pocket. And took it in to the theater to see Percy Jackson demonstrate to hundreds of little kids (and me) how to win against Olympic odds. Which was also fitting, as during the previews I received a text message from a friend whose daughter had beat the odds herself, and was just being released from a two-month stay in the hospital, fighting cancer.

Nothing to it for my gig. Chin up, etc. I kept plugging and here I am, nearly a year later, watching the end of the game unfold.

Hunk has been crying out for the game to be over lately... It's clear he will get his wish soon. I think I'll get him a Bon Voyage balloon before he goes.