I was out for a walk tonight on this glorious late summer evening: the early sunset light on the leafy green trees reminded me that fall is sneaking in quickly and it won't be long until winter is upon us. In Minnesota, the cold can set in as early as Halloween, and nearly always does by Thanksgiving. It hit me that we have a maximum of eight more weeks of good weather before it's parkas and boots.
Eight weeks. But winter seems to far away - the leaves haven't even begun to change.
Eight weeks. But just eight weeks ago, summer was in full bloom.
Eight weeks ago, my former fiance was still alive. I took his presence on this earth for granted because only now I know the emptiness of a world without Scott. The grief, the guilt, the sorrow that I've felt every.single.day since he died is unrelenting. Some days, I rejoice in our memories. Other days, I cry.
Six weeks ago, my brother was living life like he always does: working, playing guitar, spending time with his partner. And then all of a sudden he wasn't: an infection entered his heart, devoured his pulmonary valve, and filled his lungs.
Three weeks ago, emergency open heart surgery saved his life.
Two weeks ago, I was in San Francisco with my family while my brother was recovering in the hospital. Hours turned into days of holding his hand as he lied in the intensive care unit largely unconscious. I was in a staring contest with the machines and monitors, willing them to blink with good news. After eight full days, they finally did. My brother is a hell of a fighter.
Just eight weeks.
These are terrible things to have to go through - the images in my mind of Scott's death, his memorial service, his children's grief are seared in my memory. The sound of the ventilator keeping my brother's breath going echos in my eardrums. The scent of the magnolias, honeysuckle, and jasmine flowers that line the sidewalks of San Francisco will forever trigger me to remember the miles I walked to and from the hospital.
But I will also be reminded of the extraordinary amount of love I witnessed and felt. The outpouring of kind messages from people I had never met but who found me via social media after Scott died was deeply touching. The grace of my coworkers who gathered to support me through the last eight weeks is a kindness that I will never be able to repay. My gratitude for my boss and my team is larger than words can possibly encompass. My whole family was out in San Francisco with my brother for six days, and I've never felt closer to them in all of my 37 years; this terrible illness tried to take us down, but instead it brought us together.
Most of all, though, I saw the love between my brother and his partner. They've shared twelve years together but because they live in California, I didn't know much about their relationship. For the entire eight days after surgery when he was heavily sedated and medicated, she was there. I mean, our whole family was *there* - but she was there in a way that only a partner can be. When she would take his hand, kiss his forehead, murmur in his ear, I could actually see his heart rate slow down on the monitor--often it would drop below 100, which was a big deal for someone as sick as he was. He knew she was there, he could feel her, and it gave him great comfort while his body was in so much pain. That is the power of love.
When I got home from California, I was exhausted - and yet life had to keep going. I had my kids, they had sports, and I had to get back to work. There was nothing in my fridge to eat since I'd been gone for two weeks. There was even less in my emotional tank to keep me going, especially since my boyfriend and I had just broken up as well.
I was dragging ass, deflated and tired as I trudged up the stairs to my apartment two days after I'd been back in Minnie. I opened my door and was completely surprised to find my two closest girlfriends had let themselves in, brought me flowers, and were making me dinner! If I had had any tears left to cry, I surely would've spilled them all over T's gnocchi dish. Champagne, homemade ice cream, and leftovers all filled my fridge...and their love and support filled my heart. That is the power of friendship.
Eight weeks. Of loss. Of sorrow. Of sadness. Of family. Of friendship. Of love.
