Alright, let’s see some flowers

(written this morning...long one)

It's early in the morning; we're all in the main living area watching Craig sleep as we eat cottage cheese pancakes that Diane made for us. The rising sun casts a yellowish glow on the hills and surrounding houses. Cool outdoor air pipes through two open windows as Jill quietly plays the guitar. She's strumming "Hey Lady" from what was once one of Craig's favorite bands (and may still be), Led Zepplin.

This is Monday morning - day three of our mountain adventure. I drove the lead car Saturday afternoon with Mr. Craig as my reliable co-pilot and Emily in the back. We pushed Craig's front seat all the way back and reclined the back so that we could open up his hip angle and prop his legs and feet, which felt taught and swollen even through his loose fitting hiking pants. His feet were dressed in the finest of hospital sticky socks since his shoes are now too small and tight; a portable oxygen unit connected to the car's cell phone outlet fed him 2 liters of oxygen through a nasal cannula. A beautiful auburn tinted beard now dusts his face after weeks of not shaving, making his eyes that much larger, that much bluer.  Yet, for the car ride, his eyes were half-awake and tired. It seemed to take a mountain of energy to track his eyes back and forth from pretty view to pretty view, but he did nonetheless. Emily and I would call out "oh that's pretty" and Craig would slowly turn to look, to participate in the car ride. He also followed along to Emily and I talking, quietly interjecting his thoughts and then finding the strength to restate them again in a clearer voice once he'd realize he was slurring inaudibly. The inaudible moments are more frequent and heartbreaking to hear.

While driving, I'd look over to see if he was still awake, and more importantly to see if he was still alive. It sounds alarming but it's the truth and a real scenario to be prepared for as the hospice representative informed us. Craig is in his dying process. As the hospice person stated, his body is very near being ready to go if not already there; it's a matter of when Craig is ready. This yields a tenuous situation of stealth monitoring, making sure that Craig is comfortable but not overly focused on "death and dying". So, Emily was on breathing duty since his breaths fall over longer intervals, too long for me to stare at and keep the car on course.  Apart from these unusual details, we carried on as we would on any road trip - laughing, teasing, talking, enjoying each others' company outside the confines of his apartment and hospital room. Dad even provided comic relief when he bought the world's brightest red sweatshirt while at a pit stop. Jill teased, "Dad, you're putting Little Red Riding Hood to shame" and Diane asked, "Are you afraid you'll be shot by deer hunters?"  Bright as it is, it still doesn't outshine his "Big Bird" sweatshirt - the world's brightest yellow sweatshirt anyone could purchase. I think Dad has a secret "sweatshirts of primary colors" fetish we aren't aware of or a profound fear we'll lose sight of him.

It was 8pm before we were settled into the condo and ordered dinner (thank you to Leigh and John for lending the condo!). Dad and I stood at the community gates as we waited for the pizza delivery person to finally arrive when a noise caught my attention. I barely had enough time to say "Dad! Sprinklers!" before a timed sprinkler system began drenching the grass. The black units rose 6 inches from the ground.  From where dad was standing, he would have surely been soaked and/or bumped by the rising sprinkler system. We cracked up. It was a sound reminiscent of the fiery gas pit in "The Princess Bride". But, it gets better. Dad and I were able to easily squeeze beyond the gates before the sprinklers started.  But with them now on, we had to cross through its spray like a water park ride, as if we were about to get hit by some prepubescent yahoo with a water gun.  We couldn't see where we were going nor could we see the friggin sprinkler system "booby traps", which meant we had to gingerly walk through the water rather than blaze through. We ended up with our legs drenched, knee caps down. Later that night, Diane came in from an excursion to the store. Her pants AND shirt were soaked from a sprinkler that sprayed her in the face when she tried to dial the gate code. Funny stuff. These moments are our buoys, helping to keep our heads above water during this "high tide" of stress and sadness.

The days and nights since have been spent savoring every moment with Craig. He seems to be in less pain since being discharged, though he's increasingly growing weaker and more tired, drifting in out of sleep while talking. Yesterday, we wheelchair walked through the Betty Ford Alpine Gardens with oxygen in tow. The activity alone seemed to give him energy and he started us off with a familiar cattle-call, "alright, let's see some flowers!"  Every now and then, he'd reach for his camera and take pictures of bright colored flowers or humming birds buzzing about.  He was always one to capture a flower we'd otherwise disregard, and they'd always turn out to be beautiful photos.  The familiar conflict of emotions flooded forward while watching him raise the camera and steady his hand. The moment was tender, beautiful, inspiring. I'm getting used to feeling the polarity of profound happiness and sadness at once, but it's never an easy feeling.  It's the kind of feeling that catches your heart in your throat - the anxiety of not wanting those moments to end, knowing they someday will. Craig seemed content in the garden as we zigzagged past waterfalls, flowers and birds and I wished that somehow we could pause time and permanently remove ourselves from the reality that awaits outside that little oasis. So goes the eternal feeling of "not being ready yet".

We returned to the condo, rested for a while, and then took our perch on one of the balconies, eating Diane's bratwurst (sp?) as the sun sank low. We talked for awhile as we sat outside, reflecting on how long it's been since we've been able to appreciate the outdoors and this peaceful way of life. Craig vomited shortly after and we retired indoors for another craptastic movie watching experience (thanks Jill), which may have led to more vomiting (could be the cancer or very poor acting). Somehow we made it through but not without seething critique from the peanut gallery immediately afterward.  As we ripped apart the plot and acting, things felt normal again as if yesterday was just another day with the family...

~E