- the look on Uncle Terry's face, when I came to the door yesterday morning and said "It's time." I have never seen a man move so fast. Funny that I remember him, and not Geoff or Eric.
- how the sound of your breathing was laboured, but almost soothing because is was regular and still there. And how things sounded and felt when that stopped. I will remember that always.
- How you squeezed my hand, when I talked to you. I never really had alone time with you, not these last 2 weeks. And that's ok. So I told you what I wanted to tell you, with others in the room. It felt weird at first, but pretty soon, I didn't care. I still didn't say everything I wanted to say, I don't think anyone did. But I said enough. And you squeezed my hand.
- How I kept expecting everyone to ask why I was so sad. My daddy is still alive. My brother is still alive. My husband is still alive. But no one did. No one left me out. Everyone expected me to be in the Kathy, Holly, Dawn and Geoff. I tried to give them their own time, as often as they needed it. But I was so proud and grateful every time one of the aunts sent me in, because I belonged there too.
- how I staggered and almost fell in the parking lot, when Aunt Lana and Bree told me the final diagnosis.
- how you had this weird thing on the middle finger of your left hand. I kept looking at it. Don't know what it was.
- how you called me "darlin' ". No g.
- how quiet it was at the end. So quiet. I know Dawn is angry and Holly and Kathy are so incredibly sad. Geoff is quietly angry and sad together. But in my heart and gut and soul, I felt peace. It came from you, I know it did.
- how, when all was done, the only place I wanted to be was with Geoff, my babies and my mom and dad. We went straight there, and woke everyone up at 330 in the morning. My dad answered the door. All of a sudden, it was too much, and too hard. I just hugged my daddy and cried. I found my daughter, asleep in her bed, in my old bedroom. My mom, awake and already knowing, hugged me and I cried and cried. I just wanted to sleep with my babies. Dad brought Sebastian in my room, and he laid with Geoff, and I hugged Sawyer. Geoff and I cried and talked and even the dog laid on the floor and whimpered with us. I couldn't move, but Geoff was restless. He went and talked to my mom and dad. I hope that was ok with you.
Right now, what I am remembering is what has just happened. But I know that will change eventually. I will begin to remember again all of the other times. You have been in my life for 20 years. I know I never really called you Dad, I called you Kit. But you were. You were. You are.
I am so sad. I miss you. I hate how everyone is hurting. I want to help, and I don't know how.
I think I might keep talking to you. Hope that's ok...
I have to go. xoxo