Sometimes I still wake up and think all of this was a strange dream.

Mother's Day is not my favorite day, because my father died on Mother's Day in 2001, about 10 days before Bruce finally came home from Harborview Medical Center--all broken and frail and ill, with no promise that he would ever be himself again.

I had to leave my girls alone that weekend with the kind people who had come to help us get the house ready for a wheelchair. I had to fly alone to upper Michigan for the funeral. It was like a 36 hour trip, total--my father in a coffin, my exhausted mom, my strange siblings . . . and then back on the plane and it was time for the home "practice run" the very next day. Another nightmare, in which we spent the small hours of the night struggling to get his spasming legs to calm down so we could sleep.

Ah, God, I'm so glad that is all behind us. I remember reading a post from Wise one time where he said that a T injury steals a couple of years, and a C injury steals 5. We are 5 years out now, and I'm beginning to know in a gut-level way what he meant. We have jobs again, and income, and a measure of health and independence. Our girls are no longer looking as if they think the ground might swallow them at any moment. They are, as a matter of fact, kind of wonderful and very strong.

I worry about him aging with sci. I worry about falls, and broken bones, and what if I get sick myself. I worry about an earthquake, since we live right on top of a fault line. I do all this worrying, lol, on some kind of just below the surface level, but it's definitely there.

Jesus, I want the cure so much. I want to see him run again, and all the rest of it, before we are both so old that it doesn't matter.


Cheese, darlin', did you find out which school you were at yet? Wouldn't it be strange, people, if she and I actually both went to Lowell Elementary in the mid-sixties together? She would have been the first-grader, me the big kid, passing each other in the halls. I hope it's true, sista!