Lullaby

(written Tuesday morning)

Every time a baby is born at the University of Colorado hospital, overhead speakers chime a peaceful lullaby. At first, it was a sweet reminder that ‘happy things' were occurring in the hospital. After awhile, it became another something to mock as we dealt with Craig and Mom's situation. "Yeahhh for the happy parents", pfft. Of course, I am really happy for the new parents but it's difficult to bask in their delight when trying to relay to her family and friends that mom had passed away, or tell one of Craig's best friends the prognosis. It's difficult to be reminded that, as you're going through the worst days, someone is having their best.

Last night, I lay awake watching Craig breathe. It's a nighttime activity first adopted when mom was in her "dying process". From my angle on the floor, I could see the white sheets and his hands folded atop his chest. His breaths were shallow and subtle but if I stared long and close enough, I could still see his chest rise in the dark. Whewww. I could hear my own heart pounding in the pause between. He's slowed down considerably and his breathing has changed throughout the days. Breaths are more erratic, shallow, or sometimes not at all. But that's also Craig. The dude's had strange breathing patterns all his life. Still, it's different. There have been times where his breathing changes just enough for us to fear that it's the beginning of the "last, last". Having gone through mom's process so recently, it's hard to ignore some of the indicators, though Craig's and mom's processes are very different. Still, Jill, Diane and I exchange pregnant stares as if we are all remembering how it felt to approach each day eagerly, yet gingerly and with squinted eyes hoping like hell not to see some of the more eerie indicators - hoping that it's not that time yet. It's a hauntingly familiar feeling checking in on Craig, and each day I cross my fingers with the same hope.

As I tried to fall asleep last night, I thought about the baby chimes and the similarities between preparing for life and preparing for death (excluding the obvious and stark contrast of emotions). Where there's a baby bag and important documents for the former, we have a "comfort kit" to manage some of the symptoms and Colorado Do Not Resuscitate paperwork. With the beginning of contractions indicating "new life on the horizon", we have the slowing of important processes and slurred speech. For one, it's an anticipated moment you don't want to prevent or hinder; for the other, it's a dreaded event you can do little to prevent but would change if you could.

Things are changing for Craig in ways he can't recover. Some of life's largest milestones like getting married and becoming a daddy will likely be left unmet. I think of those chimes and imagine how neat it would have been to be at the hospital to hear the chimes in tribute to Craig's new arrival instead of the incessant beeping from Craig's IV pump.