Today was not a good day. Colin is not OK, and I only left to come home because they make us leave at 8pm. I am going to go see him tomorrow morning again.
He is starting to find the reality almost impossible to begin to navigate, and is frustrated that his body works against him with pain, spasms, itches, and infection, and it is too much when people talk around and over and about him instead of listening to him and hearing what his opinion is, and what he wants.
He still has sepsis and the chest infection, and I need to speak to the Doc again tomorrow to bring to her attention his swollen testicle, but now also a new swelling that seems more dangerous to me.
I would give anything to undo everything that has happened to him, and I am no longer holding on by a thread, I am free-falling into a black abyss.
Today was my Dad’s 80th birthday, and we weren’t able to do anything for him as I was not here. I didn’t even make him a card, or get him a little sweet or chockie, or anything. I am just not coping at the moment, and it seems that everyone around me has to pay the price. Peter and Sujaya (my Dad’s brother and his wife) arranged the most wonderful video with photos and birthday messages and remembrances, and many many other lovely things that he received this morning. It made me cry. I have the most wonderful family – they are supportive and loving and caring and just everything to each other. In contrast, Colin is struggling with the lack of support he feels he has received, and it is adding to his pain and suffering.
He is broken – physically from the accident, mentally because he feels like people treat him like a child and don’t ask him what HE wants, and emotionally – trying to navigate this devastating loss. He is suffering, and aching, and heart-broken. He is in physical and mental anguish and there is nothing I can do to help him except be there which doesn’t seem to be helping at the moment. I have nothing left to try, no new ideas, no tricks, no remedies, and no idea how to proceed from here. I just have to believe that tomorrow (or the one after that, or after that, etc) will bring some slight relief to Colin.
Tonight I am grateful for being able to pour out my emotions here, and to be able to keep a record of our progress. I have to believe there will be some, and this may help when we look back.
Colin – I wish you a deep and restoring sleep. I miss you so much, but I will see you tomorrow morning. XxX