It’s Never The Right Time

The world looks different at times. It looks different when you’re about to lose the person you love most. The one truly good person you have ever known. It’s never the right time.

It’s like living in a parallel universe.

Time moves too fast because you want more of it with them. You don’t want them to go.  Pain seems to slow time down, drag it out, make it creep along. I see her hurting so much that it is painful to watch in the sense that every ounce of me wants to hurt for her, take the pain so they don’t have to feel it. But I can’t. 

It’s crazy how much has happened this week that was happening a year ago. A year ago doctor’s said she had two months to live.

She is SO strong.

Even on her most painful days, she is still making jokes, trying to make everyone smile. I get my sense of humor from her, she is hilarious.

I look at her as the knots build in my throat to the point that it hurts to breathe and she says “what’s wrong baby”. We both know. Instead of talking about it I just lay down beside her in her hospital bed and watch trashy cable tv.

My children love her so beautifully.

My daughter comes in the door, goes straight to her for a kiss and a “hey Felicia“. Nanny always gets so tickled and responds with a “hey Felicia” and giggles every time. My son always asks to stop and pick a flower on the way to her house. He walks in after Felicia and gives Nanny the flower he picked, hugging her and telling her how pretty she looks that day.

The knots fill my throat like it’s the first time all over again.

This is something he wants to do to show his love for her, his own idea. At eight years old he has seen the way the chemo has stolen the physical identity that was his grandmother. So he reminds her that she is still that same beautiful woman we all love so dearly. She smiles every time.

As soon as they turn around to sit by her bed to watch tv with her you can see the worry in her eyes again. She has never shown fear in front of any of us. Between her kids and grandchildren there’s almost 90 of us, maybe more. Who knows what some of us have done.

In a parallel universe she would leave differently.  Probably while she was sleeping, slipping away in the middle of the night, painlessly.

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