It's very hard to go to bed, knowing this will be the last night at home for three months...knowing that tomorrow morning I say good bye to my kids for what will seem an interminable amount of time to them, and to me. Parker is bad enough, but she'll be mostly the same when I come back to see her in three months. My little son, though, is only 17 months. And he'll be very different...maybe starting to speak in full sentences. I've set up videoconferencing so I can see them each night...but arms can't reach through a monitor for a hug. My heart breaks with all the things I'm going to miss because of this bullshit disease.
The bags are packed...Ray is with the car in Amarillo tonight and will make it out the rest of the way tomorrow, getting to Little Rock just after we've arrived, checked into the apartment, and gotten the lay of the land. My hair is cut shorter than it's ever been. Parker even said "you don't look anything like daddy."
Wow.
I know I won't sleep a wink. But still I have to try.
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Sending all the good luck and good riddance I can your way! I'm sorry you have to be away from your family; sounds like that's rougher than your treatment.
ReplyDeleteBon Voyage!
ReplyDeletePS: The ice chips work. Be diligent.
You leave your children now for a little while in order to be with them for all the big things in their future - they will love you for your fight! Betsy
ReplyDeleteMy daughter told me before my first transplant almost 4 years ago "you can get through anything for a few months Dad, when you think of how small that time is compared to all the years ahead of you." That wisdom from an 18 year old has carried me through much. The anxiety is greater in anticipation than the reality. Soon enough it will be over and you will be back to your home. Best of luck.
ReplyDeleteDan
Brother - we're all with you, and if heading into the warm embrace of Planet Huckabee will get you well, then Huckado your Huckabest to get Huckabetter. Keep us Huckaposted.
ReplyDelete