Buckets of Tears

All this crying is really interesting to me. I do it usually several times a day with at least one really hard cry. There are so many emotions running through me at a time quite often I don’t even know the reason I cry. 

But it seems one of the primary reasons I cry is because of the suffering of my wife. I am sad for her pain, for her pitiful body which is losing more function every day. Her efforts are stoic. She is a stoic. But she is no match for what she’s up against.

I suppose I have “earned” the right to cry for her because I see her for who she really is. I see her soul and the stoicism is just her cover. I cry for the little girl inside her who has battle scars from long ago and still some open wounds that continue. I cry for the loneliness she feels, for the sadness and the hurt.

I used to think I cried from self-pity—because I felt sorry for myself. From what I can tell, I don’t believe that’s much the case anymore. But there are times when I cry because I feel hurt.

But that’s different. The cries I have I believe are for healthy reasons. The ability to cry is a gift. I think it shows one’s heart is soft, and it’s a blessing to be able to release the pain through tears. It heals me.

Not that I try to cry. I just strive to be open for when it comes. 

I have wondered if there is joy in crying. Maybe it’s just relief. Or maybe it’s just the comfort that comes from the pressure being released from inside.

Whatever the case, I know it is a gift. It is a gift that indicates I am able to feel, that I am human, that I love, that I take risks of vulnerability knowing there will later be pain and suffering.

I used to hate pain. I would shun suffering. I also did not know how to cry in those days. I was numb to it. Though I did not like being that way, I didn’t understand then that my heart was hard. I never want to go back to those days. Give me pain and suffering and buckets of tears any day over not feeling anything.

Infinitely Worth It

It seems I am in for a rough ride. With food stuck in her esophagus, I took Eva into the ER this evening. Her breathing was fine, but she said there was some pain in her chest and some tightness from the food that would not budge. 

We spent three hours there. An x-ray of her chest was taken and came back negative. A little while later a small styrofoam cup of ice water was received and she drank it down without a hitch. $225 later and a referral to ENT and one to neurology and we were out the door. 

From the ER straight to Insomnia Cookies we went so she could enjoy life a little. Though nervous, I joyfully took her there. I suppose if she dies from choking on a chocolate chip cookie maybe there’s not a better way to go. And who am I to deny my wife one of the very few pleasures left to her?

One of our dogs excitedly jumped up on Eva shortly after we walked in the door. I used to stress about that because of her clumsiness and the danger of her being knocked over. Now it’s far more dangerous. But she still enjoys it and lets it happen, and I will too until she says enough. Another simple pleasure. For Eva, they are in short supply these days.

After several minutes of intense crying, which I allow myself to do as much as the need arises, I showered while Eva finished the rest of her dinner from earlier.

Something about the ER visit has changed me. I previously would’ve spoken out against cookie eating on the way home from the ER after getting some fruit smoothie lodged in her throat. I would’ve yelled at the dog for jumping up on my precious unstable sweetheart, and I would’ve nervously watched her finish the dinner she began hours earlier. 

But not tonight.

I did none of those things. If anything, I only encouraged what seemed like foolish behavior. Something about that ER visit changed me and I just didn’t care. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t care about her. It was that I didn’t care about whatever trauma I might face if any of those situations didn’t end well.

Maybe sometime during those three hours I realized that I cannot remain focused on loving my wife if I am instead focused on the pain that I may have to endure. For most of my life, I have run from pain, only to have it follow me. And my wife is far too precious to me to go back there again.

So let the trauma come. If it is traumatic for me to let go and trust the most amazing woman I know with what brings her the greatest joy in any given moment, let it come.

For my heart is open to receive every arrow in every moment so that I may give her all my love in every moment that she may never doubt for even a second that she is infinitely worth far more than all the love I could ever express.

The World Should Stop

Almost every other day it seems my wife exhibits either another symptom or has an increase in severity of a symptom. Whatever she has is progressing fast.

I watch her every day struggle to swallow food, or just to get it to go all the way down. Today during dinner it took her almost an hour to get a single bite all the way down to where she couldn’t feel it anymore. I sat on the edge of my seat, unmoving, for a long time, calmly, as I talked with her about whether or not I should take her to the ER. I don’t know jack, really, when it comes to what we are dealing with. But I do know that I am enraged at a Sickcare system in which I have been working feverishly to get her a swallow study from speech pathology because her life is in jeopardy every time she eats. For at least three weeks I have been working to get this done. But there is the weekend again, or a holiday, or my wife’s doc doesn’t work on Monday. Or the referral’s been sent and they will call you. And you wait. And you wonder why the hell isn’t somebody doing something.

Because I love my wife so dearly--she is my everything--I struggle to grasp why it must take so long to get her the proper care she urgently needs when it is obvious enough to me what she needs. I stop for her every need. I am addicted to serving her, to loving her, to jumping and immediately providing her every single request. Not that it has always been thus. I am no saint.

Oddly, both my wife and I are actually grateful for her illness. But perhaps it is not so odd, because we believe God is blessing us with a necessary opportunity for more improvement and growth as we draw closer to each other than we ever have before by many times over.

But every time she eats my anxiety shoots through the roof. She has choked several times the past month and she keeps reducing her choice of food, and I think I am unsure just how to process the fact that my wife could literally choke to death at any time. 

But my Eva has an indomitable spirit and faces the increasing loss of strength and energy, the constant twitching, the muscle spasms, the increased uselessness of her tongue, her speech, and every other worsening symptom with faith in God and a resiliency that inspires me. I fall in love with her more every day and for the life of me cannot fathom why the world does not stop and notice when she has another loss of function. 

She soldiers on, tired, occasionally frustrated, but with joy as I cry for every loss she either gently shares with me or I see for myself. I cry, perhaps so the world will see my tears and realize that something must be done. I weep at every unstable step that witnesses this bold confident woman is being disabled in real time right before my eyes. 

And while I weep, my beautiful amazing wonder of a wife gives me a goofy look that chases the tears and makes me laugh. And then she’ll gently wipe my eyes and tell me she’s glad that I cry because I need to let it out, and besides it shows to her how much I really love her. 

And so we are grateful for her illness for how it has already blessed our lives with a love deeper than either of us has ever known even while knowing it will test us to the center of our souls.

I just wish the world around us would stop too--just every now and then—and cry with me. For the loss, when it comes, will be great.