He’s been asleep for fifteen hours.
He’s still breathing, I know this because he fell asleep last night while I was putting Julianna to bed. On the couch. So I can watch him sleep while I work in the same room. He last had pain meds around six thirty last night, so I’m trying to be encouraged that he’s going for so long without waking up in pain. He was awake for the bulk of the day yesterday, and I thought we were making progress. I thought maybe today we’d go to PetCo, or Walmart together. Maybe walk the dog.
Instead he’s sleeping.
This is going to take longer than I thought. I know that. What I don’t know is why I’m so consistently surprised at how long it’s taking. At some point, it must sink in. At some point, it must start to become part of my thought process. Marc is there already, he hesitates before planning anything, I’m still surprised each time it dawns on me that the plans I thought we could make have to be adjusted. For example, the trip to Walmart, while not what I would have thought of as a highlight, is probably not going to happen. It has to – but when?? I could go this afternoon, I guess. He could come, in theory, but I know the likelihood of that happening is incredibly small. I could leave Jessica here to watch him, and wouldn’t have hesitated a few weeks ago, but now I probably won’t. Maybe I’ll go late tonight, is the pharmacy open late? Marc is working late tonight, so that he can stay home tomorrow morning. Julianna has a thing at school, a performance at the Volunteer Breakfast that I’m going to watch. Maybe I could go after that.
It’s the little things, the every day run-of-the-mill sort of errands and tasks that are just bafflingly difficult. Going to Walmart – it shouldn’t be a THING. But it is.
In other news – I’m sending my baby girl to Florida. By herself. Well, with Glennys, but it feels like she’s going by herself, because Glennys is a year older. It’s a fantastic opportunity for both girls – to go visit Glenny’s grandfather and bop around Ft. Lauderdale, hang out at the pool, shop and talk and read and rejuvenate. If there was ever a kid who deserved a break, it would be my Jessie – but I’m still slightly terrified. She’s only ever been away from me for this long (four nights) once before, and she was in Maine (within driving distance) with my mother and sister. This will be three hours away, by plane, with a beloved family friend’s dad.
My Julie – oh, my sweet, sweet Julie. She’s taken to spelling everything now – I’ve lost track of how many times she’s said I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-M-O-M to me in the past 72 hours. She’s not exhibiting any other signs of distress, she’s still eating well, sleeping easily and soundly and doing well in school. But every other sentence out of her mouth is ” I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-M-O-M.” I keep spelling it back at her, and hope that it’s enough. I try and cram in one-on-one time with her, dragging her out with me to walk the dog or down to the store to grab juice (Shaw’s is right at the end of the street, significantly less daunting than a trip to Walmart – my holy grail).
Marc and I are hanging in – literally. By a thread sometimes, but we’re hanging in. The wonder of it is that we’re still a unit, you’d think something like this, with all the stress and the worry and the fear and the pressure – I’d imagine that it would take such a toll on our relationship. And maybe it is, I’m just not seeing it. But he’s my best friend, and my first call. We’re trying hard to be gentle with each other, to remember that we’re both struggling so hard with all of this. Our son is recovering from a devastating injury, with ramifications that ripple out from that. It’s hard on everyone – but we’re still here. We’re going to get through this – our boy will be okay. We’ll be okay.