Naked Bird on a Naked Branch

As Tony Bennett might sing, I left my heart in [Denver] high on a hill it calls to me...

The day I left ended late with a late night touchdown at Dulles after tipping and towing the turbulent jet streams of the night sky. A friend picked me up despite the hour and kindly distracted me with gentle chatter. But, the silence when I entered that empty apartment--the home still lined with boxes with no pictures or paintings to show who lives there--was deafening. There were no beeping TPN machines, no sounds of rushed footsteps towards Mom to be found. Life seemed as inert as the stale air that filled the apartment.

I tried to find a few activities to busy my mind, but ever efficient, I had already cleaned before leaving. For the first time in several weeks, there was nothing for me to do, nothing to keep quiet my busy mind, nothing to stop the flood of fatigue, sadness, and shock that were kept at bay during that time. It feels somewhat like a bird alone on a branch with no leaves for company, just the whipping wind.  

As hard as it is to take care of Mom and Craig, at least you're taking care of them and can SEE what is happening, feel them as they are instead of depend on phone calls. There's some forward movement, a jostling between points that leaves all other "junk" stuffed into cracks. When you leave the frontlines, the cracks are there waiting to trip you, and soon enough you fall in as well. It's a constricting, suffocating, poorly lit place, cluttered with all that has been forgotten, ignored, or pushed away. It's a place too easy to get stuck and too difficult crawl out from without a little help. 

...I wandered into work sometime Thursday morning, admittedly looking rode hard and put away wet. I didn't sleep but for a few stolen hours when my weary body somehow convinced my mind to stop yapping. With so much happening, it's impossible to dull the running dialogue. 

One by one, my colleagues checked in on the family and me, and the support I received was both timely and needed. At around noon, they threw me a surprise welcome home party. They sang "welcome back", bought a cake, and had on stock my favorite drink--Diet Mountain Dew. They clung to details that truly pulled on my heartstrings. Pretty unbelievable.

Friends too--they've taken me out to lend support and help distract me. But, admittedly, it's hard. I either feel: 1) enormously guilty knowing that back home leisure time is a thing of the past, 2) or completely blank, void of all thought. Perhaps this is the big swing from having been 100% committed to another's life, paying attention to every last detail. The pendulum will find equilibrium soon enough.

Being honest, it's an uncomfortable peace here; my heart still calls to me from Denver. Not being there with my family hurts, but I'll figure out what it is I like to do again and will somehow convince myself that it's OK to be here and not actively caregiving. 

(This likely sounds like I'm in the pits of despair. I'm not, just speaking candidly. It's the awkward--yet natural and normal--limbo between ground zero and something else. Takes a bit of adjusting).

~E