So, after a year and a half, I figured I'd stop by and let y'all know that I'm still looking for my life.
I just read through the 4 posts I managed before I abandoned all hope of being able to keep up with this regularly. That first one is a real downer, isn't it? It was odd to read through a description of those final days. I'm kind of glad I put it here. It's not that I've forgotten, nope, not forgotten. Truth is, not a single day goes by that I don't think about that last day. It took me a year to go into a Wal Mart again, a full year. I am glad I put it here because it is honest.
Sad to say, much of my life isn't very honest. Oh, I wish it could be and, in a perfect world, it would be but, in case I need to remind you, we do not live in a perfect world. I manage to regularly put on a good show of resourcefulness, independence, and happiness. Sometimes I even manage witty Facebook status updates. But, for the most part, it is a show. I'm really still trying to figure this widow thing out.
In that first blog post, I mentioned that I screamed when the call came, letting me know that Ryan had died. The truth of today is that though I managed to convince my vocal chords to stop vibrating, though I convinced my diaphragm to stop forcing air out and to return to a somewhat normal breathing pattern, though I often convince my mouth to remain shut, I can still hear the screaming on the inside. Every moment of every day I hear that scream inside me. Every moment of every day I can feel the pain of loss which is not an "emotional" pain at all, but a real, physical pain. And I don't know how to make it stop. I can't make it go away.
I remembered the other day a verse from the book of Isaiah: you will remember the sorrow of your widowhood no more... (paraphrased). I know that verse wasn't written directly to me, but I asked God if he could make it mine. And then I asked him how long this would take. How long until I no longer remember?
And how does one forget? How does this happen?
I don't want to mislead you. There are moments of real joy and they always involve my children. They are the 4 most amazing people I have ever met. Incredible, really, and I take absolutely no credit for them. I promise you that none of my parenting techniques have warranted children like these. I am most simply blessed beyond measure. They make me smile, they make me laugh. There's no one in the world that I would rather be with than them.
Sarah turned 12 this month. She is my youngest. In 6 years, my children will all be gone. What will become of me? All my dreams for a future without children involved Ryan. I've not been able to make any others. I don't want any others, that's the problem. Acceptance is obviously a real issue here.
I realize that I must do something, have some sort of epiphany about life, or I'm not going to make it. I must find joy outside of my children, but how? How does one manufacture epiphany?
So frustrating.
So this is what it looks like, a year and a half out. It ain't pretty.
I mentioned in another blog post having my "5 minutes of normal" one day when I was leaving work. I do still occasionally have those, brief moments in time when I feel like a regular person. I wish they were more frequent. How do I get them to be more frequent? How do I get from here to there? I'm tired of grieving. I want to be done. I want to have reached full acceptance. I want to be happy. I want to have dreams and hopes. I want to live. I want to stop tiptoeing around this great hole in my life all day, and falling into it at night. I want to remember no more the sorrow of my widowhood. I want all these things, but I can't seem to get them.
But we keep trucking on.
The kids are amazing, as I might have mentioned. Joel's graduated high school and works in the deli with me. He's got a girlfriend. Nate's in high school, plays on the football team, and is a hurdler on the track team. He's got a girlfriend too. Jeremiah does kick boxing and is looking forward to joining Nate in football next year. Sarah is still my princess, even if her brothers roll their eyes everytime I say that. They seem to be doing just fine and for that I am extremely grateful.
One day I hope to have figured this all out. One day I hope to come back and announce that there's been an epiphany. Until then, keep me in your prayers. And if you ever meet someone who is a widow(er), remember what you've read here. Remember that this pain is a real pain. Remember that even if they're smiling on the outside, there's no guarantee they're not screaming on the inside.
One of these days, I'm going to find my life. I know it's around here somewhere...
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Birthday
Today would have been Ryan's 40th birthday. Would have been: 3 verbs that change the world.
I remember being in Mrs. Johnson's english class and being quizzed on the "being verbs" and "the other list of verbs" that one would not normally think of as verbs. Verbs are supposed to be action words. For those not in the know, every sentence must have a subject and a verb or it's just not a complete thought. Problem is, not everything in life action, therefore not every complete thought is going to be one describing activity. Enter "the other verbs." I've always thought these words were verbs just because someone really liked the rule about needing a subject and a verb and couldn't come up with any other way to resolve the issue of inactive words.
Mrs. Johnson was a strict teacher and so, even today, I remember these lists: am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been, have, has, had, do, does, did, shall, will, should, would, may, might, must, can, could. Ta da; Mrs. Johnson would be proud.
Those words in that list above are supposed to be words without power. Writers are discouraged from writing sentences using only "verbs" from these lists. The idea is that those sentences aren't powerful enough, they don't contain enough action, they just lay there. But then we come to this sentence: Today would have been Ryan's 40th birthday. The only verbs in this sentence are from that list. It should be powerless and yet it is a sentence that changes the world. It changes my world. It changes my children's world. It changes my in-law's world.
Today I was in a car crash. I'm tired of rehashing the details. I say it wasn't my fault; the ticket says otherwise. When I was finally out of the car, I wanted just one person: Ryan.
This is how it always is. Parenting crisis arises; I want Ryan. I don't feel good; I want Ryan. The bills are overwhelming; I want Ryan. The car breaks down and needs expensive repairs; I want Ryan. The kids do well; I want Ryan. The kids hurt; I want Ryan. I do well; I want Ryan. I hurt; I want Ryan. We get in an accident... yep, I want Ryan.
How long does this last? Will I ever stop wanting Ryan here? Will I ever stop wishing he could come driving up and rescue me, my knight in shining ball cap, riding his white minivan, (yes, he drove a minivan, he was man enough for it). Does it ever go away? Why, when things are the worst, do they have to be made even harsher by the pain of missing him?
Sarah said that in the accident she felt like God's arms and her dad's arms were around us, protecting us from being hurt. Strange how in the same moment that I most keenly felt his absence, she most keenly felt his presence.
It all comes down to 2 things: 1. Mrs. Johnson was wrong, those are powerful words and 2. I miss Ryan. Today would have been his 40th birthday. I was supposed to throw him a surprise party today. What I wouldn't give to have my life back...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvhrPMJe8LE
I remember being in Mrs. Johnson's english class and being quizzed on the "being verbs" and "the other list of verbs" that one would not normally think of as verbs. Verbs are supposed to be action words. For those not in the know, every sentence must have a subject and a verb or it's just not a complete thought. Problem is, not everything in life action, therefore not every complete thought is going to be one describing activity. Enter "the other verbs." I've always thought these words were verbs just because someone really liked the rule about needing a subject and a verb and couldn't come up with any other way to resolve the issue of inactive words.
Mrs. Johnson was a strict teacher and so, even today, I remember these lists: am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been, have, has, had, do, does, did, shall, will, should, would, may, might, must, can, could. Ta da; Mrs. Johnson would be proud.
Those words in that list above are supposed to be words without power. Writers are discouraged from writing sentences using only "verbs" from these lists. The idea is that those sentences aren't powerful enough, they don't contain enough action, they just lay there. But then we come to this sentence: Today would have been Ryan's 40th birthday. The only verbs in this sentence are from that list. It should be powerless and yet it is a sentence that changes the world. It changes my world. It changes my children's world. It changes my in-law's world.
Today I was in a car crash. I'm tired of rehashing the details. I say it wasn't my fault; the ticket says otherwise. When I was finally out of the car, I wanted just one person: Ryan.
This is how it always is. Parenting crisis arises; I want Ryan. I don't feel good; I want Ryan. The bills are overwhelming; I want Ryan. The car breaks down and needs expensive repairs; I want Ryan. The kids do well; I want Ryan. The kids hurt; I want Ryan. I do well; I want Ryan. I hurt; I want Ryan. We get in an accident... yep, I want Ryan.
How long does this last? Will I ever stop wanting Ryan here? Will I ever stop wishing he could come driving up and rescue me, my knight in shining ball cap, riding his white minivan, (yes, he drove a minivan, he was man enough for it). Does it ever go away? Why, when things are the worst, do they have to be made even harsher by the pain of missing him?
Sarah said that in the accident she felt like God's arms and her dad's arms were around us, protecting us from being hurt. Strange how in the same moment that I most keenly felt his absence, she most keenly felt his presence.
It all comes down to 2 things: 1. Mrs. Johnson was wrong, those are powerful words and 2. I miss Ryan. Today would have been his 40th birthday. I was supposed to throw him a surprise party today. What I wouldn't give to have my life back...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvhrPMJe8LE
Monday, September 28, 2009
18 Days
Day 18:
Dropped all 5 of my college classes.
Discovered that I'm weak, (again).
Realized that I'm doing better than I thought I was.
Realized it's only because of Jesus.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvCd_ANIKys&feature=player_embedded
It's our confession, Lord, that we are weak, so very weak, and you are strong...
Dropped all 5 of my college classes.
Discovered that I'm weak, (again).
Realized that I'm doing better than I thought I was.
Realized it's only because of Jesus.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvCd_ANIKys&feature=player_embedded
It's our confession, Lord, that we are weak, so very weak, and you are strong...
Friday, September 25, 2009
2 weeks and 1 day
2 weeks after Ryan died...
J.D. won the role of Harvey Johnson in the Oasis High School production of Bye, Bye Birdie, (he's in 7th grade, he beat out high schoolers for this spot!). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKhR8QtQ4do
And on the same day, Sarah was voted by her Thunder cheer team into the homecoming court. She's 10. It feels a little strange to be shopping for a homecoming dress for your 10 year old. We're highlighting her hair tonight.
2 weeks after Ryan died and life is moving forward. The children still live. They amaze me.
I feel like the guy that fell asleep one day and woke up 100 years later. I feel as if so much of my life has been spent with one foot in 5 years ago, the Ryan and life I used to know, and one foot trying to touch the present... and now both feet are in the present, or at least trying to be. I'm amazed that people have lived at all for the past 5 years. They've been living, really living. They've done things, accomplished things. People have changed in 5 years. 5 years is a really long time. And yet, not near long enough. It's a Friday. I'd love to be driving to the nursing home to visit Ryan today.
Ryan's body is in an urn in the dining room. It's hard to fathom that his whole body fit in there. I remember how strong his arms were. I'd love to touch his arm again.
I went to lunch with Ryan's parents today, after work. They're hurting pretty bad. They're going to go to the local cemetary and see what it would cost to have Ryan interred there. I've pretty much decided that would be the best, better than the dining room anyways. I'm terrified one of the kids is going to knock that urn over one day. That would be a disaster.
I talked to social security and I'm a bit disturbed. Now that Ryan's gone, our family max benefit has gone up by $500/mo. This bothers me. The lady, who was very nice, by the way, told me that survivor benefits are higher than disability benefits. That's stupid. I don't like this $500. I'm going to put it in savings every month. I don't know what else to do about it. I told Joel that when he goes off to college next year, I'll give him $500 a month. Ryan always wanted to help the kids get through college. Now he'll be able to do that.
I realized something today, 2 weeks and 1 day after Ryan died. It's stupid really, but I'm going to put it here anyways. I realized I really like my job. I like it because it's ordinary. I like it because it makes me feel like a regular, average person, just someone that works in the Publix Deli. In the deli, I'm not the wife of the guy that was sick for 5 years, or of former LCSO Sgt Ryan Willin, or of the guy that just died of that weird disease. I'm not the lady that can write. I'm not the "strong one." In the deli, I'm just the lady that cuts your meat and cheese, maybe makes you a sub. For 5 minutes today I felt something I've not felt in years. I felt normal.
As I was walking out of work those 5 minutes hit me. I wondered if this was how Ryan felt when he left work each day.
When I first arrived in Sarasota the day before Ryan died, I asked the hospice nurse, Kathy, "Are we really doing this?", "this" being the death thing. She said yes, we were really doing this. It was surreal, a place I never fully grasped that we'd make it to, although I'd had years to prepare for it. Today as I walked out of work and held tight to my 5 minutes of normal, I realized that I'm really doing this, "this" being the living thing. I'm really working. I'm really raising 4 kids on my own. I'm really making it. I'm really alive.
It's 2 weeks and 1 day since Ryan died. Yesterday I know the kids made him proud. Today I think that maybe, just maybe, I did.
J.D. won the role of Harvey Johnson in the Oasis High School production of Bye, Bye Birdie, (he's in 7th grade, he beat out high schoolers for this spot!). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKhR8QtQ4do
And on the same day, Sarah was voted by her Thunder cheer team into the homecoming court. She's 10. It feels a little strange to be shopping for a homecoming dress for your 10 year old. We're highlighting her hair tonight.
2 weeks after Ryan died and life is moving forward. The children still live. They amaze me.
I feel like the guy that fell asleep one day and woke up 100 years later. I feel as if so much of my life has been spent with one foot in 5 years ago, the Ryan and life I used to know, and one foot trying to touch the present... and now both feet are in the present, or at least trying to be. I'm amazed that people have lived at all for the past 5 years. They've been living, really living. They've done things, accomplished things. People have changed in 5 years. 5 years is a really long time. And yet, not near long enough. It's a Friday. I'd love to be driving to the nursing home to visit Ryan today.
Ryan's body is in an urn in the dining room. It's hard to fathom that his whole body fit in there. I remember how strong his arms were. I'd love to touch his arm again.
I went to lunch with Ryan's parents today, after work. They're hurting pretty bad. They're going to go to the local cemetary and see what it would cost to have Ryan interred there. I've pretty much decided that would be the best, better than the dining room anyways. I'm terrified one of the kids is going to knock that urn over one day. That would be a disaster.
I talked to social security and I'm a bit disturbed. Now that Ryan's gone, our family max benefit has gone up by $500/mo. This bothers me. The lady, who was very nice, by the way, told me that survivor benefits are higher than disability benefits. That's stupid. I don't like this $500. I'm going to put it in savings every month. I don't know what else to do about it. I told Joel that when he goes off to college next year, I'll give him $500 a month. Ryan always wanted to help the kids get through college. Now he'll be able to do that.
I realized something today, 2 weeks and 1 day after Ryan died. It's stupid really, but I'm going to put it here anyways. I realized I really like my job. I like it because it's ordinary. I like it because it makes me feel like a regular, average person, just someone that works in the Publix Deli. In the deli, I'm not the wife of the guy that was sick for 5 years, or of former LCSO Sgt Ryan Willin, or of the guy that just died of that weird disease. I'm not the lady that can write. I'm not the "strong one." In the deli, I'm just the lady that cuts your meat and cheese, maybe makes you a sub. For 5 minutes today I felt something I've not felt in years. I felt normal.
As I was walking out of work those 5 minutes hit me. I wondered if this was how Ryan felt when he left work each day.
When I first arrived in Sarasota the day before Ryan died, I asked the hospice nurse, Kathy, "Are we really doing this?", "this" being the death thing. She said yes, we were really doing this. It was surreal, a place I never fully grasped that we'd make it to, although I'd had years to prepare for it. Today as I walked out of work and held tight to my 5 minutes of normal, I realized that I'm really doing this, "this" being the living thing. I'm really working. I'm really raising 4 kids on my own. I'm really making it. I'm really alive.
It's 2 weeks and 1 day since Ryan died. Yesterday I know the kids made him proud. Today I think that maybe, just maybe, I did.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
And So IT Begins
Sometimes I wonder if I have PTSD, (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). In part I wonder this because I'm a hypochondriac, in part because these past several years have been, well, traumatic.
Remember the merry-go-round thing at the playground when you were a kid? I remember the playground near my Uncle Dave and Aunt Carolyn's house having one. I remember sitting on this ride while my cousins spun it, faster and faster. I would hold on tight, while all those forces of physics that I'll never understand attempted to throw me off. I remember losing to those forces a time or 2 and being thrown from the ride. For a long time afterwards, I still felt as if I was spinning, eventhough my ride had come to an end. That is how I feel today. I can't seem to find my footing. The world is still spinning.
I looked at my work schedule yesterday and realized that I work Friday. Immediately my mind began working out an alternative day to go and visit Ryan. It took a minute to remember that I don't have to do that anymore. There is no visiting Ryan.
I've said before that I process best through writing. I guess now is the time to write about the end. "The end" is the land I find myself stuck in. I know I'm supposed to be "beginning" something new, but I can't get past the end.
On Saturday, Septemeber 5th, Nate was playing a football game against N. Fort Myers, (No Fo Mars, if you speak red neck). NFM plays dirty. Nate is an incredible nose tackle. He repeatedly sacked their quarterback, in spite of their double teaming him. NFM had already sent one of our boys to the hospital in an ambulance with their dirty playing. After that last quarterback sack, one of the NFM players said to Nate, "You're going down." Nate took his spot on the line. He said the NFM's players were smiling at him. He knew he was in trouble. Just before the defense had been called back out, while Nate was on the sidelines watching the 'Canes offensive line play, Nate said to his fellow defensive team, "We really need to watch it out there, or one of us is going to get really hurt." Truer words were never spoken. There was a minute and a half left in the game when the play began. One of the NFM's players grabbed Nate's face mask and yanked hard, pulling him down to the ground, twisting his neck. Then 3 or 4 of their players tackled him from behind, after he was already down. When the dog pile cleared, Nate crawled 2 paces and collapsed on the field. Nate went to the hospital in an ambulance.
On Tuesday, September 8th, I got a call from Madelyn from hospice, telling me that Ryan was being discharged from hospice. It looked like our journey was going to continue forever. My facebook status that day? "New chapter title: How Low Can You Go: Livin' La Vida Limbo." I felt we had hit an all time low. I told God that he either needed to heal him or take him home, that we absolutely couldn't keep doing this. Madelyn said that Bob, the hospice volunteer that visited Ryan, wanted to keep seeing Ryan. I gave her permission to give him my phone number. He would have to visit as a family friend. I expected to hear from him. I worked 3-11 at the deli. On my lunch break I went out to my car and checked my phone for missed calls. I'm not allowed to have my phone on me at work. I had missed a call from the 941 area code, the area code for Sarasota, but I didn't recognize the number as hospice or the nursing home. I called it back anyways and left a voicemail. I didn't think much of it, thought maybe it was Bob calling to confirm that his continued visits were indeed welcome, and went back to work. I did carry my phone with me, and turned it to silent.
It had been Bob, the hospice volunteer.
On Tuesday night, Ryan got up and went to dinner. He ate 100% of his dinner, and then vomited 3 times. He had a temp of 101. They assumed the flu and put him to bed. Since he hadn't yet been released from hospice, the hospice on-call nurse was called in. He was sleeping when she arrived. She made a report that she had been in to see Ryan and what his symptoms were.
Before I went to bed, I looked at my phone again and realized I probably should hook it up to the charger. But I still had 3 bars, that I knew would be 2 bars by morning. I was tired. I didn't want to get up to go to the charger. I decided that I could charge it some in the morning and be okay. I never did put it on the charger.
On Wednesday morning, Nate stayed home from school. We had to hurry and get to his dr. appt. I swung by my parents house to print out some forms that the dr.s office wanted filled out prior to the visit and Nate and I filled them out on the way. I didn't realize that my phone was still on silent. I dropped Nate at the dr.s and went to the hospital next door to get his xrays. Then I joined Nate in the waiting room at the orthopedists. The sign in the waiting room says to turn all cell phones to silent. I checked and, good news, mine already was on silent.
After about an hour of waiting, Nate and I were bored out of our minds. I decided to check if I had any missed calls. I saw that I missed 2 from hospice, one from Kathy, our hospice nurse, one from Madelyn. I thought they were calling about Ryan's discharge from hospice and decided to call them back and let them know that I'd be available to talk after Nate's appointment. I clicked on Madelyn's number, since it was the most recent missed call, and pushed talk. She answered the phone with, "Isn't this ironic?" I had no idea what she meant.
On Wednesday morning, after hearing Ryan had become sick the night before, Kathy went to see him. She said she could hear him breathing from out in the hall. He sounded like a percolator. She went in his room and, in spite of the fact that Ryan had a bed from hospice that could be adjusted, she found him laying flat on his back, unconscious. Ryan was already in a coma. No one at the home was aware. One CNA would eventually try to convince me that Ryan had been up for breakfast that morning and eaten oatmeal. We know that was impossible.
Kathy had to suction some of the fluid from Ryan's lungs because she could not hear his heartbeat through it. Madelyn asked if I wanted him transported to the hospital and hooked up to I.V.s. I declined. I also declined antibiotics. This wasn't the flu. This was the end.
Nate's leg ended up being broken on the growth plate. He needed a cast. I don't know all the details. I was standing in the doorway of the exam room, leaning into the hallway, making phone calls and sending text msgs, frantically trying to figure out how to get to Sarasota. I wasn't prepared. Quickly, my phone dropped to its last battery bar. Nate's phone was at home.
When we left the dr.s office, I called Greta and asked her to locate a Sprint store that had a battery or emergency charger for my phone. I had first stopped by a CVS to get one of those energizer battery cell phone chargers. In spite of having a newer model phone, they did not have a charger for it. Everything went in slow motion. Schools were called. Sprint stores visited. I picked up Sarah. Patricia called and agreed to drive us. My mom picked up Joel and Jeremiah. They rode up with my mom and dad.
We stopped by the house for just a minute. I didn't grab any clothes. I didn't grab my wall charger. Sarah grabbed the trophy that Ryan won on our cruise we took years ago. She had loved that trophy. She carried it with her the whole way up to Sarasota.
We didn't get to the nursing home until 2:45. I spent some time alone with Ryan, who was by now on oxygen. I talked to him. His breathing was awful. I sent a text to Greta at 2:54. Greta lives in Texas. It said simply, "Come." Greta was on the 5:00 flight to Fort Myers.
The kids were each able to spend time alone with Ryan. This whole span is a blur and marks the moment that I lost all sense of time. I've yet to regain it. Rebekah came. My dad drove the kids home and picked up Greta from the airport and drove her back. I don't know the exact order of all of this. Ryan continued to breathe. My mom and dad went home. CNA's and nurses took turns coming in to say their goodbyes, some crying. I asked my friends to stay. They did.
We counted respirations all night.
At 7am, we were delirious. We found a hotel that would give us a special rate for the day and that night. Patricia stayed to wait for someone from hospice to come sit with Ryan. We slept until 11 and then got up and started getting ready to go back to the home. We took quick showers. I don't know where the time went. We didn't get back to the home until 2. By then, my parents and Jeremiah had returned. We sat and talked for awhile, still watching Ryan. Ryan's brother, his brother's wife and his parents arrived. My parents, friends, Jeremiah and I went out for lunch. Ryan's family was able to spend some good alone time with Ryan. They were able to say goodbye.
The day passed in a blur. Ryan remained steady. We steeled ourselves for the possibility that this would continue for days. Early Thursday morning, Patricia went and asked a nurse if she would take Ryan's temp, he seemed very warm. The part of his brain that controls temp wasn't working anymore. His temp went as high as 106. The nurse had told her, "You know we're not doing anything for him, right?"
Later that day, my parents went to ask for tylenol for his fever, a comfort measure, that's all. Her response, (same nurse), was some snide remark about my refusing to allow him antibiotics and, again, that we weren't doing anything for him.
That woman is on my list of people I need to forgive.
We were doing things for Ryan. Ryan was on oxygen. Ryan received loads of liquid morphine for any pain and to ease his breathing. Ryan was given tylenol, even though it appeared to be ineffective, in an attempt to keep his fever at bay. Fevering is not a comfortable experience. Ryan never looked uncomfortable. Kathy, our hospice nurse, was fabulous about making sure that Ryan was in no discomfort.
I would have done anything to save my husband. I would have given anything to make him well again. I would have traded places with him in a heartbeat, taken Pick's Disease for myself and let him live, if I could have. I didn't get to make that choice. Antibiotics do not repair the brain. He did not have the flu, and even if he did, the flu is viral, not bacterial. I have spent countless hours scouring the internet, medical journals, blogs, anything for a cure for Pick's Disease. There was no way to save my husband, but that doesn't mean we did nothing for him.
Today I possess only 3 pieces of marital advice: 1. Don't do it. Don't get married unless you absolutely have to. If you feel you cannot live if you don't marry a certain person, then at least you know you've found the right one. Only get married if you absolutely have to. 2. Don't dream, do. Don't talk about the things you'll do once the kids are grown, or after this promotion, or once you pay off that car. Don't dream about taking trips. Take the trips. Don't dream, do. 3. Die first. Don't be the one left behind. This sucks. Die first.
Since we believed that we were going to be there for awhile, our thoughts turned to more practical things. My parents left with Jeremiah, Greta went to use the restroom, Patricia, Rebekah and I took a break in the courtyard just down the hall from Ryan's room. I talked to the nurse about some thing that could be done for Ryan's dry mouth. She had to search, but eventually she found some swabs. Patricia, Rebekah and I had just decided that, when Greta returned, we would go to Wal Mart, pick up some clothes, get something to eat and return to the hotel room for awhile just to relax a bit, have some downtime. We needed to gear up for the long haul. Then Greta came out and told us that when she was on her way back from the restroom she had noticed one of the other residents coming out of Ryan's room. She poked her head in, just to be sure that all was well, but it wasn't. Ryan was covered in red fruit punch. None of us had had fruit punch. One of our cups from McDonalds was stuck in the crook of his arm, and Rebekah's sunglasses were perched lopsided on his face.
From a medical perspective, this is very bad. From a wife perspective, it was touching. This other resident, also suffering from dementia, had been pacing outside Ryan's door all day. She seized her opportunity. She gave him something to drink, made sure he had a drink handy, and apparently decided the light in the room was bothering his closed eyes. She perched the glasses on his face. Ryan was cared about by the other residents.
Of course, like I said, from a medical perspective, this is very bad. Greta had alerted the nursing staff and they were cleaning him up when she came out to tell us. Wonder nurse came and found us. We got a very good scolding. Pretty much, wonder nurse decided we had done that to Ryan. Wonder nurse obviously underestimates her patients' ability to care and understand what is going on. She had just finished scolding us when a CNA came running. She thought it was time. I ran into Ryan's room, my parents, who were just minutes away, came rushing back. I went in the room and Ryan had his eyes open. His breathing was awful. Everytime they would move him, Ryan would open his eyes a bit. A few times, his breathing had gone ragged and I had been there, stroking his arm, telling him I was right there with him, he wasn't alone. This time was no different. My parents returned with Jeremiah and we all prayed for Ryan to pass peacefully. Ryan stabilized.
Wonder nurse did not believe that Ryan was going to die that day anyways.
It was during this last close call that I realized Ryan stabilized whenever I was with him. The thought flew through my mind that he might be waiting for me to leave in order to go. The on call hospice nurse came back and spoke with wonder nurse about her behavior. Wonder nurse apologized through the hospice nurse. I told Ryan, in my head, that if he wanted to go without me there, he'd have to do it while I was at Wal Mart buying clean underwear. After that, I wasn't leaving again. I could think of only one reason he'd want to do that to me, only if he was angry with me. I got him the best nursing home I could, but that still wasn't much. It's nowhere I'd like to be. I visited as much as I could, but he was far away, and I have 4 kids to raise, and feed. I should have gone more. I should have done more. I know it. I had always prayed that he didn't know it. My dad took Jeremiah home, my mom stayed.
We left piles in Wal Mart aisles. The call came while we were there that we needed to hurry back. I should have gone to Walgreens, it was closer. I should have not gone at all. I should never have gone to Wal Mart. I never intend to go again.
I was not with Ryan when he died. My mom was. I cannot tell you the shame and horror that accompanies that statement in mere words. We were in Patricia's car when the call came that Ryan had gone. I already knew it. We were playing the song I posted a link to on the last Caring Bridge entry, "Take My Life." I was hiding in Jesus, hiding from the reality of what was going on, hiding from my incredible failings as Ryan's wife. He deserved better. He deserved someone who wouldn't run off to Wal Mart. Ryan pinched me on the way out. I always wondered if I'd know the instant he died, like if I was home, asleep in my bed and he suddenly went, would I wake up and know, or if I was going through a normal day, would I somehow feel his absence in this world. The answer is yes. I felt a pop in my chest. I knew what it meant, but sang anyways, still hiding. Minutes later, Greta's phone rang. Ryan was gone.
I know I screamed. I know I considered jumping out of the car and running. I know I couldn't get there quick enough to say goodbye one last time.
We're studying Othello in my Great Human Questions class. The question under consideration is "Can True Love Endure All Things?" I went to class this past Monday. The question was asked, "Did Othello truly love Desdemona?" For those that don't know, Othello killed Desdomona out of unfounded jealousy. Everyone in class answered yes, he did. Everyone except me. I was the lone voice of opposition on this one. How do I know Othello did not love Desdemona? Because, through the act of killing her, he begged for one less day with her. He begged for his life to be absent of her. I can't stop begging for just one more, one more day, one more chance to say goodbye. One more chance to not go to Wal Mart. One less regret to live with. I really hate Wal Mart.
So there it is. That was the end. Some have said to me that I finished the race well. No I didn't. I finished the race at Wal Mart. Some have commented that I was a good wife to Ryan. Really, I could have done better.
And so here I am, supposedly at the beginning of my new life, wishing like anything that I could go back to the old one. You can tell me all you want that Ryan didn't die without me because he was angry at me but it won't work. I like to believe that Ryan will greet me with a smile, but the secret fear is that he won't greet me at all. If heaven has a Wal Mart, I think he might go there.
I tell my kids, "Don't 'try;' succeed." I tell them that if you want something bad enough, you will find a way to accomplish it. Then I say that I wanted to be with Ryan when he died, that I tried to be with Ryan when he died, and my own words ring in my ears.
Today it hurts to know that I failed him in the end.
I had to write this here, as long as it is, because you can't go on this journey with me if you don't understand the point from which this journey starts. I had to be honest. I cannot spend my new life masquerading as something I'm not. "To thine own self be true." Truth is, I failed.
Failure is my starting point.
Othello didn't love Desdemona because he begged for less. I loved Ryan because I beg for more. Perhaps the greater human question is, "Did I love him enough?" Maybe I just didn't love him well enough.
So what can I do with this? How can I move on beyond this? I have just one thing I can do. I give it to God, just like all my other failures and shortcomings. I know he forgives. I only hope that Ryan does too.
I have said that he and I will be having words about the fact that he died without me when I get to heaven. I present this as if I'm the one that will be having words with him. I really think it's the other way around. I call it "Ryan's Revenge."
I kicked a dying man out of his home. Not everyone knows that. Pick's patients are dangerous, especially around children. I didn't know he was sick, I just knew he was dangerous. I'll never forget the day he sat on our couch and begged, with tears in his eyes, to be able to come home. I'll never forget that I told him no. Understanding dementing illnesses like I do now, I realize that those tears came from fear. He just wanted to be back in the only place he felt safe. I refused him that. When people tell me I was a good wife, all my mind's eye sees is his face and his tears. All my ears can hear is his voice, his words, his begging to come home. Truth is, I'd be mad at me if I were him. Truth is, I am.
God better have really big arms. I've had some really big screw ups that he has to hold on to.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xiSuw-lA3E
Remember the merry-go-round thing at the playground when you were a kid? I remember the playground near my Uncle Dave and Aunt Carolyn's house having one. I remember sitting on this ride while my cousins spun it, faster and faster. I would hold on tight, while all those forces of physics that I'll never understand attempted to throw me off. I remember losing to those forces a time or 2 and being thrown from the ride. For a long time afterwards, I still felt as if I was spinning, eventhough my ride had come to an end. That is how I feel today. I can't seem to find my footing. The world is still spinning.
I looked at my work schedule yesterday and realized that I work Friday. Immediately my mind began working out an alternative day to go and visit Ryan. It took a minute to remember that I don't have to do that anymore. There is no visiting Ryan.
I've said before that I process best through writing. I guess now is the time to write about the end. "The end" is the land I find myself stuck in. I know I'm supposed to be "beginning" something new, but I can't get past the end.
On Saturday, Septemeber 5th, Nate was playing a football game against N. Fort Myers, (No Fo Mars, if you speak red neck). NFM plays dirty. Nate is an incredible nose tackle. He repeatedly sacked their quarterback, in spite of their double teaming him. NFM had already sent one of our boys to the hospital in an ambulance with their dirty playing. After that last quarterback sack, one of the NFM players said to Nate, "You're going down." Nate took his spot on the line. He said the NFM's players were smiling at him. He knew he was in trouble. Just before the defense had been called back out, while Nate was on the sidelines watching the 'Canes offensive line play, Nate said to his fellow defensive team, "We really need to watch it out there, or one of us is going to get really hurt." Truer words were never spoken. There was a minute and a half left in the game when the play began. One of the NFM's players grabbed Nate's face mask and yanked hard, pulling him down to the ground, twisting his neck. Then 3 or 4 of their players tackled him from behind, after he was already down. When the dog pile cleared, Nate crawled 2 paces and collapsed on the field. Nate went to the hospital in an ambulance.
On Tuesday, September 8th, I got a call from Madelyn from hospice, telling me that Ryan was being discharged from hospice. It looked like our journey was going to continue forever. My facebook status that day? "New chapter title: How Low Can You Go: Livin' La Vida Limbo." I felt we had hit an all time low. I told God that he either needed to heal him or take him home, that we absolutely couldn't keep doing this. Madelyn said that Bob, the hospice volunteer that visited Ryan, wanted to keep seeing Ryan. I gave her permission to give him my phone number. He would have to visit as a family friend. I expected to hear from him. I worked 3-11 at the deli. On my lunch break I went out to my car and checked my phone for missed calls. I'm not allowed to have my phone on me at work. I had missed a call from the 941 area code, the area code for Sarasota, but I didn't recognize the number as hospice or the nursing home. I called it back anyways and left a voicemail. I didn't think much of it, thought maybe it was Bob calling to confirm that his continued visits were indeed welcome, and went back to work. I did carry my phone with me, and turned it to silent.
It had been Bob, the hospice volunteer.
On Tuesday night, Ryan got up and went to dinner. He ate 100% of his dinner, and then vomited 3 times. He had a temp of 101. They assumed the flu and put him to bed. Since he hadn't yet been released from hospice, the hospice on-call nurse was called in. He was sleeping when she arrived. She made a report that she had been in to see Ryan and what his symptoms were.
Before I went to bed, I looked at my phone again and realized I probably should hook it up to the charger. But I still had 3 bars, that I knew would be 2 bars by morning. I was tired. I didn't want to get up to go to the charger. I decided that I could charge it some in the morning and be okay. I never did put it on the charger.
On Wednesday morning, Nate stayed home from school. We had to hurry and get to his dr. appt. I swung by my parents house to print out some forms that the dr.s office wanted filled out prior to the visit and Nate and I filled them out on the way. I didn't realize that my phone was still on silent. I dropped Nate at the dr.s and went to the hospital next door to get his xrays. Then I joined Nate in the waiting room at the orthopedists. The sign in the waiting room says to turn all cell phones to silent. I checked and, good news, mine already was on silent.
After about an hour of waiting, Nate and I were bored out of our minds. I decided to check if I had any missed calls. I saw that I missed 2 from hospice, one from Kathy, our hospice nurse, one from Madelyn. I thought they were calling about Ryan's discharge from hospice and decided to call them back and let them know that I'd be available to talk after Nate's appointment. I clicked on Madelyn's number, since it was the most recent missed call, and pushed talk. She answered the phone with, "Isn't this ironic?" I had no idea what she meant.
On Wednesday morning, after hearing Ryan had become sick the night before, Kathy went to see him. She said she could hear him breathing from out in the hall. He sounded like a percolator. She went in his room and, in spite of the fact that Ryan had a bed from hospice that could be adjusted, she found him laying flat on his back, unconscious. Ryan was already in a coma. No one at the home was aware. One CNA would eventually try to convince me that Ryan had been up for breakfast that morning and eaten oatmeal. We know that was impossible.
Kathy had to suction some of the fluid from Ryan's lungs because she could not hear his heartbeat through it. Madelyn asked if I wanted him transported to the hospital and hooked up to I.V.s. I declined. I also declined antibiotics. This wasn't the flu. This was the end.
Nate's leg ended up being broken on the growth plate. He needed a cast. I don't know all the details. I was standing in the doorway of the exam room, leaning into the hallway, making phone calls and sending text msgs, frantically trying to figure out how to get to Sarasota. I wasn't prepared. Quickly, my phone dropped to its last battery bar. Nate's phone was at home.
When we left the dr.s office, I called Greta and asked her to locate a Sprint store that had a battery or emergency charger for my phone. I had first stopped by a CVS to get one of those energizer battery cell phone chargers. In spite of having a newer model phone, they did not have a charger for it. Everything went in slow motion. Schools were called. Sprint stores visited. I picked up Sarah. Patricia called and agreed to drive us. My mom picked up Joel and Jeremiah. They rode up with my mom and dad.
We stopped by the house for just a minute. I didn't grab any clothes. I didn't grab my wall charger. Sarah grabbed the trophy that Ryan won on our cruise we took years ago. She had loved that trophy. She carried it with her the whole way up to Sarasota.
We didn't get to the nursing home until 2:45. I spent some time alone with Ryan, who was by now on oxygen. I talked to him. His breathing was awful. I sent a text to Greta at 2:54. Greta lives in Texas. It said simply, "Come." Greta was on the 5:00 flight to Fort Myers.
The kids were each able to spend time alone with Ryan. This whole span is a blur and marks the moment that I lost all sense of time. I've yet to regain it. Rebekah came. My dad drove the kids home and picked up Greta from the airport and drove her back. I don't know the exact order of all of this. Ryan continued to breathe. My mom and dad went home. CNA's and nurses took turns coming in to say their goodbyes, some crying. I asked my friends to stay. They did.
We counted respirations all night.
At 7am, we were delirious. We found a hotel that would give us a special rate for the day and that night. Patricia stayed to wait for someone from hospice to come sit with Ryan. We slept until 11 and then got up and started getting ready to go back to the home. We took quick showers. I don't know where the time went. We didn't get back to the home until 2. By then, my parents and Jeremiah had returned. We sat and talked for awhile, still watching Ryan. Ryan's brother, his brother's wife and his parents arrived. My parents, friends, Jeremiah and I went out for lunch. Ryan's family was able to spend some good alone time with Ryan. They were able to say goodbye.
The day passed in a blur. Ryan remained steady. We steeled ourselves for the possibility that this would continue for days. Early Thursday morning, Patricia went and asked a nurse if she would take Ryan's temp, he seemed very warm. The part of his brain that controls temp wasn't working anymore. His temp went as high as 106. The nurse had told her, "You know we're not doing anything for him, right?"
Later that day, my parents went to ask for tylenol for his fever, a comfort measure, that's all. Her response, (same nurse), was some snide remark about my refusing to allow him antibiotics and, again, that we weren't doing anything for him.
That woman is on my list of people I need to forgive.
We were doing things for Ryan. Ryan was on oxygen. Ryan received loads of liquid morphine for any pain and to ease his breathing. Ryan was given tylenol, even though it appeared to be ineffective, in an attempt to keep his fever at bay. Fevering is not a comfortable experience. Ryan never looked uncomfortable. Kathy, our hospice nurse, was fabulous about making sure that Ryan was in no discomfort.
I would have done anything to save my husband. I would have given anything to make him well again. I would have traded places with him in a heartbeat, taken Pick's Disease for myself and let him live, if I could have. I didn't get to make that choice. Antibiotics do not repair the brain. He did not have the flu, and even if he did, the flu is viral, not bacterial. I have spent countless hours scouring the internet, medical journals, blogs, anything for a cure for Pick's Disease. There was no way to save my husband, but that doesn't mean we did nothing for him.
Today I possess only 3 pieces of marital advice: 1. Don't do it. Don't get married unless you absolutely have to. If you feel you cannot live if you don't marry a certain person, then at least you know you've found the right one. Only get married if you absolutely have to. 2. Don't dream, do. Don't talk about the things you'll do once the kids are grown, or after this promotion, or once you pay off that car. Don't dream about taking trips. Take the trips. Don't dream, do. 3. Die first. Don't be the one left behind. This sucks. Die first.
Since we believed that we were going to be there for awhile, our thoughts turned to more practical things. My parents left with Jeremiah, Greta went to use the restroom, Patricia, Rebekah and I took a break in the courtyard just down the hall from Ryan's room. I talked to the nurse about some thing that could be done for Ryan's dry mouth. She had to search, but eventually she found some swabs. Patricia, Rebekah and I had just decided that, when Greta returned, we would go to Wal Mart, pick up some clothes, get something to eat and return to the hotel room for awhile just to relax a bit, have some downtime. We needed to gear up for the long haul. Then Greta came out and told us that when she was on her way back from the restroom she had noticed one of the other residents coming out of Ryan's room. She poked her head in, just to be sure that all was well, but it wasn't. Ryan was covered in red fruit punch. None of us had had fruit punch. One of our cups from McDonalds was stuck in the crook of his arm, and Rebekah's sunglasses were perched lopsided on his face.
From a medical perspective, this is very bad. From a wife perspective, it was touching. This other resident, also suffering from dementia, had been pacing outside Ryan's door all day. She seized her opportunity. She gave him something to drink, made sure he had a drink handy, and apparently decided the light in the room was bothering his closed eyes. She perched the glasses on his face. Ryan was cared about by the other residents.
Of course, like I said, from a medical perspective, this is very bad. Greta had alerted the nursing staff and they were cleaning him up when she came out to tell us. Wonder nurse came and found us. We got a very good scolding. Pretty much, wonder nurse decided we had done that to Ryan. Wonder nurse obviously underestimates her patients' ability to care and understand what is going on. She had just finished scolding us when a CNA came running. She thought it was time. I ran into Ryan's room, my parents, who were just minutes away, came rushing back. I went in the room and Ryan had his eyes open. His breathing was awful. Everytime they would move him, Ryan would open his eyes a bit. A few times, his breathing had gone ragged and I had been there, stroking his arm, telling him I was right there with him, he wasn't alone. This time was no different. My parents returned with Jeremiah and we all prayed for Ryan to pass peacefully. Ryan stabilized.
Wonder nurse did not believe that Ryan was going to die that day anyways.
It was during this last close call that I realized Ryan stabilized whenever I was with him. The thought flew through my mind that he might be waiting for me to leave in order to go. The on call hospice nurse came back and spoke with wonder nurse about her behavior. Wonder nurse apologized through the hospice nurse. I told Ryan, in my head, that if he wanted to go without me there, he'd have to do it while I was at Wal Mart buying clean underwear. After that, I wasn't leaving again. I could think of only one reason he'd want to do that to me, only if he was angry with me. I got him the best nursing home I could, but that still wasn't much. It's nowhere I'd like to be. I visited as much as I could, but he was far away, and I have 4 kids to raise, and feed. I should have gone more. I should have done more. I know it. I had always prayed that he didn't know it. My dad took Jeremiah home, my mom stayed.
We left piles in Wal Mart aisles. The call came while we were there that we needed to hurry back. I should have gone to Walgreens, it was closer. I should have not gone at all. I should never have gone to Wal Mart. I never intend to go again.
I was not with Ryan when he died. My mom was. I cannot tell you the shame and horror that accompanies that statement in mere words. We were in Patricia's car when the call came that Ryan had gone. I already knew it. We were playing the song I posted a link to on the last Caring Bridge entry, "Take My Life." I was hiding in Jesus, hiding from the reality of what was going on, hiding from my incredible failings as Ryan's wife. He deserved better. He deserved someone who wouldn't run off to Wal Mart. Ryan pinched me on the way out. I always wondered if I'd know the instant he died, like if I was home, asleep in my bed and he suddenly went, would I wake up and know, or if I was going through a normal day, would I somehow feel his absence in this world. The answer is yes. I felt a pop in my chest. I knew what it meant, but sang anyways, still hiding. Minutes later, Greta's phone rang. Ryan was gone.
I know I screamed. I know I considered jumping out of the car and running. I know I couldn't get there quick enough to say goodbye one last time.
We're studying Othello in my Great Human Questions class. The question under consideration is "Can True Love Endure All Things?" I went to class this past Monday. The question was asked, "Did Othello truly love Desdemona?" For those that don't know, Othello killed Desdomona out of unfounded jealousy. Everyone in class answered yes, he did. Everyone except me. I was the lone voice of opposition on this one. How do I know Othello did not love Desdemona? Because, through the act of killing her, he begged for one less day with her. He begged for his life to be absent of her. I can't stop begging for just one more, one more day, one more chance to say goodbye. One more chance to not go to Wal Mart. One less regret to live with. I really hate Wal Mart.
So there it is. That was the end. Some have said to me that I finished the race well. No I didn't. I finished the race at Wal Mart. Some have commented that I was a good wife to Ryan. Really, I could have done better.
And so here I am, supposedly at the beginning of my new life, wishing like anything that I could go back to the old one. You can tell me all you want that Ryan didn't die without me because he was angry at me but it won't work. I like to believe that Ryan will greet me with a smile, but the secret fear is that he won't greet me at all. If heaven has a Wal Mart, I think he might go there.
I tell my kids, "Don't 'try;' succeed." I tell them that if you want something bad enough, you will find a way to accomplish it. Then I say that I wanted to be with Ryan when he died, that I tried to be with Ryan when he died, and my own words ring in my ears.
Today it hurts to know that I failed him in the end.
I had to write this here, as long as it is, because you can't go on this journey with me if you don't understand the point from which this journey starts. I had to be honest. I cannot spend my new life masquerading as something I'm not. "To thine own self be true." Truth is, I failed.
Failure is my starting point.
Othello didn't love Desdemona because he begged for less. I loved Ryan because I beg for more. Perhaps the greater human question is, "Did I love him enough?" Maybe I just didn't love him well enough.
So what can I do with this? How can I move on beyond this? I have just one thing I can do. I give it to God, just like all my other failures and shortcomings. I know he forgives. I only hope that Ryan does too.
I have said that he and I will be having words about the fact that he died without me when I get to heaven. I present this as if I'm the one that will be having words with him. I really think it's the other way around. I call it "Ryan's Revenge."
I kicked a dying man out of his home. Not everyone knows that. Pick's patients are dangerous, especially around children. I didn't know he was sick, I just knew he was dangerous. I'll never forget the day he sat on our couch and begged, with tears in his eyes, to be able to come home. I'll never forget that I told him no. Understanding dementing illnesses like I do now, I realize that those tears came from fear. He just wanted to be back in the only place he felt safe. I refused him that. When people tell me I was a good wife, all my mind's eye sees is his face and his tears. All my ears can hear is his voice, his words, his begging to come home. Truth is, I'd be mad at me if I were him. Truth is, I am.
God better have really big arms. I've had some really big screw ups that he has to hold on to.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xiSuw-lA3E
Friday, September 18, 2009
Welcome!
If I could have named the journal over at http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/ryanwillin, I would have named it "How to Lose Your Life, for Dummies." We've all seen the famous "for Dummies" series of books at the store. "Windows for Dummies." "Christianity, for Dummies." "Islam, for Dummies." The list could go on, couldn't it? The "for Dummies" series of books breaks things down into every day, understandable language and explains it, so that everyone can understand. I appreciate this series of books, more than I'll ever be comfortable admitting in public.
When Ryan first became ill, I searched book stores for a comprehensive guide detailing how to lose your husband, how to watch your world fall down, how to move through the valley of death, how to do this thing called dying. I never found one. Over the years we dealt with Ryan's illness, I discovered that he wasn't the only one that lost his life to Pick's disease. The children and I lost ours too. Everything that would have been if Ryan had not become sick, every hope, every dream, every plan, even our house and cars, everything was lost. My identity changed. I tell you assuredly that the person formerly known as Tia Willin in 2004 no longer exists today. She is gone.
Caring Bridge does not allow you to name your journals. This does. Now that Ryan's battle is over, the kids and I have entered the next phase. Once you lose your life, the next step is to find it again. That is what this blog is about: How to Find Your Life.
I don't know how to do that yet, but that's okay. When Ry and I started that last journey, we didn't know how to lose your life, but I wrote about it anyways. I muddled through, and learned as I went along. We're going to do it again, only this time we're finding, not losing.
I welcome all who want to come along for the ride. I only ask you to remember one thing, as you peer into the journey that is my life: The Journey is the Destination. I'm not promising that we'll arrive anywhere. I'm only promising you a window into the journey.
When Ryan first became ill, I searched book stores for a comprehensive guide detailing how to lose your husband, how to watch your world fall down, how to move through the valley of death, how to do this thing called dying. I never found one. Over the years we dealt with Ryan's illness, I discovered that he wasn't the only one that lost his life to Pick's disease. The children and I lost ours too. Everything that would have been if Ryan had not become sick, every hope, every dream, every plan, even our house and cars, everything was lost. My identity changed. I tell you assuredly that the person formerly known as Tia Willin in 2004 no longer exists today. She is gone.
Caring Bridge does not allow you to name your journals. This does. Now that Ryan's battle is over, the kids and I have entered the next phase. Once you lose your life, the next step is to find it again. That is what this blog is about: How to Find Your Life.
I don't know how to do that yet, but that's okay. When Ry and I started that last journey, we didn't know how to lose your life, but I wrote about it anyways. I muddled through, and learned as I went along. We're going to do it again, only this time we're finding, not losing.
I welcome all who want to come along for the ride. I only ask you to remember one thing, as you peer into the journey that is my life: The Journey is the Destination. I'm not promising that we'll arrive anywhere. I'm only promising you a window into the journey.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)