I should probably write something.
It should be profound.
It should be interesting and maybe even slightly sensational.
After all, aren't we all somehow oddly drawn to reading about other people's pain?
It should be somehow inspirational.
After all, everything Michael wrote inspired everybody and his writings are greatly missed!
It should be spiritual.
Somehow that would give the blog worth and value and lend it an air of credibility...or something.
But I can't do it.
Not on this memory-laden, emotion-packed, panic-laced, depression-inducing day.
It was on this day two years ago that Michael left this very place where I am sitting for the very last time. It was on this day that my children huddled on the couch as we watched him being carefully eased onto a stretcher and strapped on in a way that brought him much pain. It was on this day that he saw this living room for the last time. It was on this day that I felt like the cancer had won. I had cried so much....I was so afraid. They told us it was a temporary visit to the hospice house. Just to get him some pain management tools that he could bring back home. They didn't know. I don't blame anyone. It just was what it was....nearly time for Michael's earthly journey to come to an end.
I've fought panic and intense emotion all day today. And now it's quiet and I sit...and memories swirl over and around me. I think about what he might have felt that night....and what my children must have felt. I know what I felt.
And I have nothing else to say other than....
It. Still. Hurts.