I got rather philosophical earlier thinking about life in general, hellos and goodbyes, and how when you come into the world as a child and things are new and different, and there is so much to discover. Your life is filled with “hellos”. You’re encountering all the people in your world, your family, friends, the people at school. You do say some “Goodbyes” but it is “Hello” that predominates in your life. Then as you age there is that indefinable point where you began to say more “Goodbyes” than you do “Hellos.” You begin to outlive friends and family, and possessions fall away, until you say that last, final “goodbye” to this world.
Of course, part of what prompted this philosophical musing is the demographics of the place I’m currently living in. (I lost my next door neighbor last week.) But part of it was learning that one of mom’s long-time friends suffered a fall while visiting relatives over Christmas. She hit her head, and never regained consciousness. It happened so quickly — a split second is all it takes. I learned today they’ve put her on hospice. It’s only a matter of time.
I’ve always had a tendency to live in the moment, and it’s things like this that only reinforce my belief. It makes me want to spend as much time as I can deriving every morsel of enjoyment from life that I can. It’s also made me think about that nebulous thing called “Quality of Life” that people talk about. My needs are all being met; my wants are few.
I’ll be moving within a month (I hope), and I’ll also very likely be starting chemotherapy again in February. I hope to goodness this round of chemo is easier than the last one. Last time, I had a heart attack pretty much the first crack out of the box and was hospitalized four times for side effects of chemotherapy including a bout of pneumonia. I’d just as soon not go through all that again. I have a cancer of the immune system — lymphoma is tumors of the lymph glands — and it could convert to leukemia — cancer of the white blood cells — at any time. The middle of a pandemic is no time to be fooling with your immune system, and the specter of COVID will be looking over my shoulder the whole time. Still, I did it before; I can do it again. Bald is beautiful.
At least mom is in a place where she is safe and well looked after, where she has medical supervision and I won’t have to worry about her. That is one comfort going into this. I still have no word on when I can move. I just hope it’s before February. I’d like to be in and settled before I start chemo again.
I have bluetooth earbuds for this computer, and one of life’s current pleasures is to be able to listen to music on YouTube, even when I’m not sitting at the computer. Think I’ll find some Chopin or Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier and sit and knit for a bit.
4 thoughts on “Hello, Goodbye”
There is so little anyone can say in a situation like this. Perhaps, the very best of luck and warmest wishes for an easy journey are about the best one can do.
I was once in your shoes and I hated it when people asked “how are you.”
Hope everything is ok in February love the picture of the cat
If I had that cat, I’d name it Squirrel. That’s how my pet squirrel used to hang out atop the doors.
What you say about those ‘split seconds’ is so true. There have been a few times in the past year when I’ve gone down on a boat: tripped on a line, or a hose, or whatever. So far, no lasting damage, but the experience always brings the same sort of philosophical thoughts. On the other hand, I sometimes think, “Well, there’s my bone scan for the year.”
I hope that 2022 will be very kind to you and to Florence. 2021 did not play fair.