Images That Remain

My parents went away this weekend and I did the isolating thing again, but forced myself to leave the house. Thursday and Friday were the worst days; I sat, ate, watched TV, tried to read and beaded a little, but not much. My energy was just zapped completely. I was watching the dog for my parents while they were away and I realized that if they died, I would become a hermit. Bad idea! For some reason, I was again back at the hospital in my memory. I keep thinking about the doctors and nurses that watched us as Billy slowly faded away. These occasions come to me every now and then. His hospital memories are very fresh still. I often wonder if I will be 70 and still thinking about him and his illness, but I never know. Perhaps I'll move on one day, but that look on his face when he decided to die is just so stung into my brain. I can't seem to look back into the 15 years we were healthy, alive and thriving in this world. I'm still stuck on his death for some reason. This seems tragic, but I don't get panic attacks when I think about that day anymore. He was lying in bed and left in a matter of minutes. The oxygen just went out of him and that was the last I saw of his life. Everytime I pass Holcombe Fisher funeral home I also remember him because that was the last time I saw his face. I would like these images not to remain, but they do in and out of consciousness. I had two recent dreams that tell me I'm healing. One: Billy is holding my hand. And two: he is in the room and walking around my bed, I could hear his footsteps. Considering I never dream of him, it is amazing that I had such dreams as these.