Rocky Mountain High

It’s 8ish in the morning, and I’m sitting outside trying to fight the glare on this computer screen as D, E, and C sleep.  On occasion, Dad and Emily will pop out to share the sun with me.  After a long, long, long week of intense conversations and debate, we’ve finally made it to Vail (just outside it actually).  And it couldn’t be more perfect.  Nestled at the base of a large hill, the four bedroom condo is absolutely gorgeous, and the view postcard perfect.  (Thanks to Leigh Flanagan and John and Donna Lichtenegger for opening your beautiful home to us!  We're overwhelmed.)

We left Denver around 4:30 yesterday, after spending the morning visiting with a few of Craig’s friends, and running errands (i.e. dumping the gatos off at the sitters (the vet)).  By 6ish, we were in Avon, which is just a few minutes outside Vail.  After spending a few minutes exploring our new surroundings, we helped a tired Craig to bed.  He was exhausted from the travels, though he managed the ride without incident.  I played guitar for E and Emily while he slept.  Once he awoke -- and after he described in elaborate detail his dream, which, as he said, was a comedy of manners -- I serenaded him with a few guitar songs I used to play for him back in the day.  We always had guitar in common, and enjoyed feeding off each other’s styles.  And we were a good team; Craig would typically call out a chord, and I’d play around it.  Good memories.

Playing for him last night held special significance.  I had a hard time holding back the tears as I finger-picked some of his favorites.  I’ll always remember looking over at him last night only to see his eyes staring intently at the guitar.  He was enjoying the music and it showed.  That’s a memory to cherish.  Eventually, Craig played us his rendition of “Freight Train.”  Though his voice was faint and he had a difficult time holding the chords, the music was still there.  And so was the love.  He beamed as he played, and joked about how the guitar was muting his sound.  Always the perfectionist, he lamented his off-key rendition of a Nick Drake song I was playing just minutes before.  He told us he can’t sing in key anymore, as if we had noticed (pssst, we're tone deaf, as evidenced by our own singing).  (Reminds me of a time when D, E, and I were singing some song (can’t remember) and Craig told us we were off key.  Ouch.  We shrugged and said “sucks for you, then.” A-har-har. We live to tease one another.) 

We played guitar/sang until midnight or so, and then tucked C into bed for good.  We took our perch just a few feet away.  Breathing is difficult with the altitude and pneumonia so we’ve taken to sleeping on the floor, just to be near.  It’s times like these when I’m thankful for snorers.  I never thought I’d yearn for Craig to be one, but a freight train sound a-la Mom would sure be easier to hear.  I woke up a handful of times last night just to make sure he was breathing.  Breathing aside, it's good that we're near.  At one point, he called out for us to help him adjust his pillows to take pressure off his tailbone.  In less than a second, we were there with an extra pillow.

This morning has been perfect, after a somewhat restless night.  After spending seven mornings waking up to the same four walls, and obnoxious beeping of the hospital monitor, Craig awoke to a mountain sunrise.  Erin and I administered his morning drugs from his bed-side as he took in the view.   I haven’t seen him this comfortable in a while.  Craig usually sleeps until 10 or so, but this morning, he awoke around 8:30, all bright eyed and bushy tailed.  A few minutes ago, I went inside to check on my coffee, and there he was, sitting upright in his bed.  He had already swiveled his legs to the side, and was rocking himself up by the time I reached his side.  Once there, he asked if he could join Emily and me out on the deck.  Erin, Emily, Craig and I sat on the balcony, enjoying the fresh moutain air as birds chirped above. It’s clear he’s eager to make the most of his days here, starting with a little morning sunshine. 

Craig spent a half hour basking in the sun with us and taking in the golden view.  We showed him videos and pictures a few of his friends mailed in.  He was clearly touched, and took considerable pleasure in relaying the back-story for each.  One picture showed Craig dressed up as a confused sheriff with angel wings.  Man, to see him smile then; I’m so thankful for these windows into Craig’s past life, a life we’ve grown to know through his stories.  What a gift.

He’s now resting on a leather recliner.  We hope to visit the Betty Ford Alpine Gardens later this morning.  Craig is eager to make the day of it, and we’re eager to make it happen for him.  He’s still off his TPN, and with each day, he grows more tired.  We’re not naïve about what this means.  Though he’s awake and alert, he’s still sick.  We’re focusing on our present, with the knowledge that whatever happens, we made the most of it.  Craig’s happy; that’s all that matters. 

More to come…. -- J