Halcyon Days

We're entering into a difficult period right now as it was a year ago that we went into hospital, full of hope, to start Kay's bone marrow transplant. I remember that when we entered her hospital room for the first time, there were no leaves on the trees in the park opposite and during the six weeks that she was there, the trees went from bare to full bloom. We watched birds build nests and raise chicks with my binoculars and everything went so well that we were sure that, yet again, Kay was going to come out of a major procedure a complete winner, our winner. 

I dare not go back and read my blog from that period – in fact a dare not go back and read my blog at all – because even though we knew that the BMT was a life threatening procedure, we had no idea what was coming our way. Relatively speaking the BMT days were halcyon days.

Today, the pain that we feel from the loss of Kay knows no bounds. I'm just getting along with what I have to do, but I'm fortunate in that what I have to do is also something I find interesting and challenging. Alas, Marion is less able to deflect herself from her grief and is struggling to find some kind, any kind, of equilibrium. It will be a very long time before either of us will be able to think about being more than incidentally happy again, I suspect.

Oh how much I wish it were otherwise. How much I wish I could give Kay a cuddle right now.

I wonder if there's some parallel dimension, some alternate reality where there's a Rob sitting cuddling a Kay, remembering the trees and the birds and the BMT, remembering Kay singing her Justin Bieber song, survivors of the fight against leukemia? If so, I wish with all my heart I were him, he doesn't have a clue just how fortunate he is.