Nearing COO-COO status yesterday when I got the word that someone was coming to spring me.
Man, I had to get out of there for a minute. I always regret feeling that way. I worry about feeling that way because Ashton CAN’T leave.
Looking at him, you would think he could. He’s not on fluids except over night. He runs around like a little tornado and sasses the nurses. You would think he could just do this part at home but it’s that old friend, ANC, that holds him back. This time, when he starts to get a jump on that, we won’t come home. He’s getting blasted again before those bad cells have a second to even think about coming back.
In order to kill the blasts. Stubborn blasts.
I have met parents who have been in there, inpatient, for a ridiculously long time. You see them on the elevator. We are distinguished with the lanyard. Supposedly, the doctors and nurses want only the parents to have a lanyard. I see haggard people with lanyards. When I leave, I hang my lanyard on my rearview mirror. It’s my identity so I can’t stray from it too far.
I left an antsy boy with his aunt Joy to come back home (is this home?) Fresh faces are so good for him. Fresh entertainment. Fresh Go Fish Partner when I could just light those cards on fire so I don’t have to play again. God, did I just type that?
It’s just that he starts at like 6am! I’m like, can I just pee first?
Anyway, coming back to Poplar Street is always good. When I arrived I saw my ailing flowers and did CPR on them. When that didn’t work, I watered them. Then I raced to the back yard to see my babies. Big ol’ tomatoes on the vine needing to be tied up, peppers peeking out, beans in the pods, all reaching for life.
Then, an evening with the jukebox and some greasy food and a tall drink of water before retiring to the porch like old people with a guitar and a cool breeze on the lightening bug, blue night.
Only thing missing: the three. Only time everything feels right. When we are all together.