Another Kind of Loss List, Part Two.

Yesterday was a tougher sort of day. The RANA delivery person came to pick up Joel's O2 equipment. His feeding pump was also picked up. When I awoke to this thought first thing in the morning, I cried. ``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Which took me by surprise. Back sometime in the fall, I think, I wrote a blog that was a "Loss List" and wrote about how I was feeling about the very thing that happened yesterday, many months later. So I guess I shouldn't have been too taken aback. But in the last two weeks, thinking about the equipment pick up didn't really seem to faze me. ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Joel wasn't in the equipment. The equipment helped him live longer, but the equipment WASN'T HIM. I was grateful for it, and saddened by the need of it. I wouldn't term it a love/hate relationship, the emotions connected to this machines wasn't anything so strong or easy to define. And I thought whether they disturbed me by their presence in the absence of my son, or if the blank spot that their departure left was a sad reminder... well, it didn't seem like much of a difference. ``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` So when I woke up with the heavy sadness and tears, it was oddly unexpected. When the RANA gentleman, the same one who has made deliveries for us for about 8 months, phoned to say he was a few minutes away, it was all I could do to keep my voice level on the phone. And to somehow compose myself for his arrival, which I somehow managed to do. It was hard for him too. His eyes were a bit red and teary as he shook my hand for the last time. `````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` And then the oxygen equipment was all gone. And after all the tears and pain, a strange feeling of liberation also washed over me. I was so sad there was no longer a reason for the equipment. And I was so... released? that there was no longer a reason for the equipment. There was a tiny flutter of joy in amidst the other feelings, a flutter of joy because Joel no longer needed any assistance in breathing. ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` I guess it's funny. I wrote about that day, FOUR MONTHS before it happened. And I wrote about how I was going to feel. And yet how I felt was astonishing to me. And when I go back to that blog post, I think I pretty well nailed it. Yeah. ````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` By the way, for the record, the day Joel died I did throw out all his meds. I forgot to pour them down the sink first, or maybe I was just too exhausted. I just tossed them into the garbage. A tiny little baby step in the lost list. The easiest one for me. I didn't love the meds, though they made Joel's life better. I didn't mind the work of giving the meds. I just didn't like the need for them, or the side effects they might have. So yes, I really did throw them away the day he died. And of course, I did that with tears too.