2 years ago today, from his hospital room, Jimmy devised a plan to get his family together for one last birthday surprise for me. I will never forget the feeling of him wanting to get out of the room (little did I know the reasoning); I was just so elated that he wanted to walk to the cafeteria. We sat down there for a little while (him on his pillow because he was so frail) and me right beside him- I had enough cushion, probably for both if us- I didn't need a pillow.
When he knew that his family was up in his rom awaiting our arrival, he said that he was ready to go back and we began our trek up to the 8th floor. when we arrived on the floor- he made me walk ahead of him because he 'didn't like people looking at him'. Well, of course I will run interference- I will kick their asses o=if they even THINK about eyeballing my boy!! We get to the room and he makes sure that I am there to open the door first..... "SUUUURRRRPRRRIIIISSSE!!!!!!!" they all scream.... "HOLY SHIT- are you guys trying to kill me?!?!" I asked. I will NEVER forget our last 'mom's' birthday together. These memories will always be cherished.
Though, I sometimes can't believe that this all ever happened- did I really have a son that passed . . . . yes, and it was just yesterday. . . or was it so many years ago that I can't remember. The feelings that one goes through in their life when death touches it is crazy. I am so afraid that one day I will TOTALLY crack and go off of the deep end to never return. I truly fear this.
The past few days I have been contemplating the meaning of life- what are we all doing here? There has to be a higher purpose than getting up in the morning, going to work, working all day, and then coming home to rest to do it all over again. I try to keep Jimmy alive in daily events. We talk openly about him and what he has done- and through us, what he will continue to do.
Today on my day off, I walk slowly through my empty silent house and have a very sad feeling as I look at his pictures.... I miss you so very damn much James Duane. . . . . . . . . . . . .
