Waiting On Death

I’m the only one in the building who knows the bulk of the reality. It’s a heavy load. Not the fact that I’m the keeper of such important and private news, but that I’m stuck here, helpless to do anything to help a family I’ve grown to love. I tell myself that being on the other end of the nightly updates is solace enough. It’s better than nothing. Tears flow down my cheeks as I read the words that hurt and I can only guess how it must feel to be on the other side. I’m crushed with a sense of all the missed opportunities to collect more memories for the family. If only I didn’t require so much more quite time so my brain could rest. There were photo opportunities missed, I’m sure. But the real loss was missed conversation.

Starting soon, and starting with me, we will collect the stories of everyone in our house. Talk about a legacy memory. I live here, eat here, see all the little things that make up our collective personalities. To miss another opportintity at writing down stories about childhoods and marriages, and family traditions is too painful.

I pray for extra strength and endurance for my adopted family during these very difficult times. I pray that I will have the necessary and appropriate words to help my house-mates as we gather to cope, remember, laugh, and keep each other from falling down.

There is little more important than taking care of family business. I’m behind in my #Blogging101 and #Blogging201 work, but I’m keeping the pieces together for my house.

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