I look at him and see the suffering. I see the pain in his eyes, of not being able to be up and running around, chasing kids...of not being at school with his friends and the kids he loves...of not being able to go do things together as a family, or go out to dinner with me. He worries that he'll be like this for the next 20 years. We all know better than that, now that hospice is involved. Again, I'll never stop believing that God will intervene and heal his body, and keep him here with us to enjoy life, and that prayer is in my heart every moment of every day.
I feel selfish sometimes. I see his pain, yet want him to stay here with me. I sometimes think in my mind that I'm not ready yet, but I will be someday...and I don't think I'll really ever be ready. I worry so much about the kids' birthdays...Tye on Feb. 2, Rachel on Feb. 4 and Amberlea on Feb. 16. I find myself thinking how this can't possibly happen right in the middle of their birthdays. Would it be better for it to be sooner? My heart can't go there, so I find myself just hoping for more time, to get through the birthdays, as if him being here for the birthdays in 2008 will really make me feel any better if he isn't here in 2009.
I want so much to be able to let him go. I don't think I can ever. I sit and watch him sleeping, and just want one more of everything...one more kiss, one more "sweetie", one more squeeze of my hand. And I think that I'll always want one more, that each one will still not be enough. I love him so much, and I want him here with me, with our family. He tells me he'll always be with me, and in my heart I know that. Each day I think can be just one more memory, but what kind of memory? It is starting to be that the memories are only of his suffering.
Time seems to just be ticking away. It feels like the life I know is on a time frame, slowly slipping away with each dawn. It has been 15 days since we learned that our last ditch attempts to foil the beast had failed, and Brian's health has declined significantly since then. It is all going too fast, although I think Brian would say it is taking too long. He is tired. He says he wants to go home, to be able to run again. His biggest fear is that he will be stuck here, suffering forever.
So as for time, hospice and Dr. Anderson are looking at 4-6 weeks. Brian's heart and lungs are so strong, that may not be the case at all. I so hoped he would find some peace and have some good days to enjoy, and I am still praying for that. Each day, I know is another for him to endure and suffer through; yet, it is also a day that I can still feel his breath on me as I rest my head on his chest, a day he can squeeze my hand and kiss my lips, a day he can smooch the kids and tell them he loves them.
This may sound just crazy, but sometimes I figure that if I pray for just one more day, God won't really be listening to me anyway. That it surely won't be me who prolongs Brian's suffering. Because it feels right now like anything I have prayed for has fallen on deaf ears, that God has not heard my pleas for Brian's life, and I wonder if He is even listening at all. I know He is there, and that He has a divine plan. But how cruel to know that this loving husband and father is being ripped from our lives? And I have told God a million times how much we need Brian, how much we love him...and he just continues to get sicker. So each day becomes a little gift from God. It is like getting a hanging air freshener for your 16th birthday, when you know you'll never get a car. It is enjoyable for the moment, but never enough. Dumb analogy, sorry.
Here's to one more day...none of us ever knows if this might be the last, for us or for someone we love. It is my hope and prayer (maybe this will at least come true) that you will change the way you live, that you will live each moment as if it were the last kiss, the last I love you.
One More Day
Love,
Jenni
2 comments:
We love you both so much. We wish there could be more days, more time but after looking at Brian and seeing him suffer so much, we pray that he doesn't have to suffer much longer. It is hard to say that because we hate to think about the last time we will see him, talk to him, hug him, and hear him say I love you. It is also hard to think that Brian may not see Trace turn two. Our prayers remain strong. Love always to Uncle Bri-Bri, Aunt JouJou, dachael, burle, and Tye (according to Trace pronunciation)
Todd, Jamie and Trace Halley
The hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life is tell my little girl that it was ok for her to stop fighting and go to Heaven. When that time comes for Brian, you will know it and be able to tell him too...even though you won't want to at all either. Cherish each moment you have left together. I think that every day I had with Abby was a blessing from God and you've been blessed the same ~ even though we don't understand the plan. We are praying for you and you family.
Brenda Neff
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