I wrote a poem a year ago when Love had his second heart attack called 'Rebirth' that I think is extremely appropriate now:
There is a measure of life when statistics echo mortality rates, For some few early, for others late. Each of us is different, and it's impossible to juggle the dates; We must admit that time will abate. The scale becomes unbalanced, is lopsided; it hungers, craves amd sates, And it plummets while resounding hate. Oppositedly it descends and reason and sanity communicates Quietly, attempting to relate. Reason becomes steadier, it ebbs and wanes, over reacts and negates, Seemingly calm, assured and sedate. Then discipline controls and future unfolds for those of us whose time waits. On the morrow, assent and goals mate.
Now it has to be my rebirth! I think I'll give a copy of it to Love's family. I'm also going to have copies made of my favorite picture of Love to give to his family, even though I am in it too.
I've been going through all the pictures we took and the poetry Love wrote to me, extremely calmly. I've put several lives behind me so far in this life, and now I have another one to put away too, although this one should be easier than the last one, but that doesn't mean it will be. I don't feel nearly as confused, scared and helpless as I have before. I was the 'love of his life', and he regularly told me so. I hate to think about picking up the pieces, becoming more social, etc. I'm forty years old and don't much give a damn. I've been disillusioned too many times. Life is not the bright promise that I was led to believe it would be when I was younger. It's so hard just to survive.
I have tried to call everyone that knew Love and I as a couple to tell them what happened, so I won't have to explain later. I've also had several calls from friends, who read about it in the morning paper or heard about it where Love worked, and several neighbors stopped by.
Mom's new doctor asked me previously what the family wishes would be in regard to life support for Mom. I spoke to Mom's relatives this morning about it. I called the hospital about Mom, and told her nurse that we, as a family, have discussed it, and don't want Mom kept alive by any extraordinary means. The nurse was perfectly honest with me and told me that in her opinion, Mom will probably be bedridden and dependend from now on.
My muffler blew out last night coming home from the hospitals and I must get that fixed this week,
Love was in the hospital so long, off and on, that my two dogs don't miss him anymore, although they used to wait for him in the yard every night at dusk.
