Nothing But Old Knees
I had an MRI this afternoon, on my right knee. Seems I may have torn a cartilage or "miniscus." Great timing. Holidays, busy, hardly any time off (about 2 weeks) should I have to have surgery.
Teri had knee surgery last summer and Tara and I have emailed each other today about Teri and her short incapacity. Well, she had retired, so two weeks wasn't that hard to come by. Tara said she would get me a basket for my walker. I told her I wanted a horn, also.
The leaves swirl around in this rain, then plaster to the pavement. The season seems like November because of the wetness. Hopefully we'll have a few more days of warm and bright fall days. This rain reminds me of Thanksgiving, though. Last year we were talking about going to Branson, meeting Teri and Richard there for the weekend, December 3 and 4. Thinking of her birthday gift ("Froggy Wine"), which we shared at their house after eating at Colby's on the day - November 9. I was regretful about messing up our vacation by being sick all late summer and not being able to go to Gatlinburg, a departure from our usual coastal trips. Looking back now, there are so many things she took care of - early? In preparation of catastrophe? Richard told me recently that any birthday he needed to find was on the calendar she had prepared last year for 2006! In her and my talks, did I miss things she wanted to talk about but couldn't form into words, or was afraid to speak for fear of letting horror out in the open, for herself, her family, her friends?
I look at the swirling leaves and think of the beautiful fall days in early December we shared in Branson - we did get to make that last trip together. She was like a little child and once when we were there at the condo, expressed as well as she could how she couldn't form the words, speak the words that she was thinking, didn't want to upset Richard. She wouldn't talk about it in front of him or Paul. And it was hard for her - emotionally, and functionally. And I was numb with disbelief I suppose. Holding up. Nothing can be that wrong, I thought. I've often thought why didn't I just hug her and say, "Teri..." Teri, what? She knew. I knew. We tried to be brave. We did hug. We did say we love each other. The last embrace was unforgettable because she put everything she had into it - and I was truly embraced. We held each other, and didn't sob or cry, but tried to be "normal." My Lord, what is normal about lying next to your best friend on her death bed. How can we carry on normally without panic, without terror, without screaming? Because we do love each other. We know it isn't "normal," but to panic would be too human at that point. We have to be brave for each other. I've tried to understand. She said once at her dining table, giving me a cemetery payment she had received to carry to Paul, "Okay, that's all about that." And would not, could not, discuss anything out of the ordinary. And that was hard enough to do. Charades.
Before I got into the MRI machine, I thought, this is nothing. This is nothing compared to what I had to do last year - all the tests. This is nothing compared to what Teri had to do. This is nothing.
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