Monday, February 17, 2014


The first thing that happened when Asa became bedridden? I stopped giving two shits about recycling.

When they first lined us up for home hospice care, and it came home to us just how finite his time with me would be, I was terrified I would wake up next to his dead body. I got over that after a few days, but just for those few days, I couldn't even admit to myself how afraid I was.

Most of the time I'm too busy to think about tomorrow; always cooking or cleaning or taking care of Asa - but once in a great now-and-again I have the luxury of self-pity and boy howdy do I indulge. Yesterday I had a serious case of the weepies.

I wish I'd never known what muscle wasting is.

This morning Asa was hungry - for the first time in three days. He ate a good breakfast, he sat up with his feet over the side of the bed, and we had tea together. We talked for quite some time and it was wonderful. He was my Asa again. Then his case nurse came and we talked about adjusting his pain meds and getting his oxygen converter fixed. His nursing assistant came and gave him a good beard wash. The longer Asa stayed engaged with everyone, the less coherent he became. After they all left, we had another round of Cosmic Improv - this one involving me wadding up aluminum foil into a large ball. The medical equipment tech came and swapped out converters. Asa suggested I go down to a sign shop in the University area and make some signs to sell all the medical equipment here in the apartment. He held his glasses in his hand and said he couldn't find them. The tech got the oxygen flowing and went on his way. Asa is now breathing pure oxygen and is sleeping. I can take just about anything dealing with his care. Anything but extended editions of this incomprehensible game. When he goes there I feel like he's all alone in a tiny rowboat in the middle of a storming ocean trying to signal to me and I just don't understand a fucking thing. And it's killing me. Just killing me. I look in his eyes and I know he's in there somewhere - Jeebuz whiskey, he was just here. And I know he'll be back at some point and not remember any of the gibbering. What I don't know is how many more rounds of this game I've got in me.

I have whole days where I feel like all of this is some giant endurance test, and I'm close to failing.

I have whole days where I feel like I could strap him to my back and carry him from here to Denver if I had to.

I have the rest of my life to figure out what all this means, but I only have the rest of his life to let him know how much I love him.

Oh baby.