Tag Archives: loss

Time Does Not Heal All Wounds

Eighteen years ago today I was at work.  I called to check on my best friend/sister-in-law who was ready to give birth to her first child any day.  She was doing great but was experiencing an uncontrollable urge to, well, to put it as delicately as possible, have a bowel movement.  “DON’T PUSH, and get to the hospital!!” I told her.  Not long after that Richard arrived.  WHAT a cutie.  He was named in honor of his two grandfathers, Richard and Daniel.  A first grandchild and grandson for the both of them.  I was a very excited and proud first-time auntie.

Four years ago today I was working my last, and for the most part, rather uneventful shift in the ER.  I had turned in my resignation and was planning my move from Los Angeles to Colorado which was to take place in just a month.  I was excited about the new life which awaited me and all the adventures I was to have.  And I was thinking of my oldest nephew, Richard, who was on vacation with friends but was turning 14.

Just a couple of hours before my last shift was to end I got the phone call that didn’t change any of that, but changed absolutely everything.

Instead of long and tearful good-byes with my co-workers, I started the longest and most tearful good-bye of my life.  One that, as of today, has lasted four years.

I no longer count the time Connie has been gone in minutes, or hours, or days, or weeks, or even in months, but in years.  It’s still surreal to me.  I miss her every minute.

Congratulations on your 18th birthday Dicky Dan.  Your mother would have loved to see you and the man you have become.

I love you both, to the ends of the earth and to the highest heaven.

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Dear Connie,

Hey Can Can,

It’s been almost seven months since I last saw you.  I have been thinking of you more and more as the days go by.  I miss you so much.  You know, I started this blog for you.  I have so many things to tell you, to share with you, and blogging seemed the best way to do it.  I always loved swapping stories with you.  Even if yours were better.  I feel like it’s not fair that now mine are better, by default.  I’m going to dig up some of your stories and post them here for you.  I’m thinking “Bees” will be the first one.

Phil seems to be doing okay.  He is doing an amazing job with your kids.  I cannot believe that he has bitten off homeschooling all of them.  You know, he went back to work.  I think that it’s good for him.  Perhaps the distraction offers him some relief from thinking of you constantly, I don’t know.  But he laughs.  And sometimes the sparkle is back in his eyes.  And you have great friends.  They have enveloped him, and amazingly, he has let them. 

Richard is getting so big.  He’s turning into a man right before our eyes.  His hair is so long now.  He reminds me of all the boys we were in junior high school with.  And Alaska.  Geez, Connie, she’s so pretty.  She has this glow about her.  I called the other night and talked to everyone.  Alaska was in the kitchen, cleaning, because it needed it.  And Jon Jon.  He is looking and acting and moving and walking more like Craig every day.  He is so Christen.  My friend Darren is going to be taking him Geocaching with his family.  He really misses that.  And Avie.  She’s your clone.  I look at pictures of you when you were her age and I cannot believe that two people can look so much alike.  Do you hear her when she says “Goodnight Mama”?

I am loving living in Colorado.  I really miss our family, though.  I wonder why it is that God’s timing was that I would be here so soon after losing you.  I have to tell you how proud you’d be of me.  I wish you could see all the home improvement things I’m tackling.  I even own a miter saw, if you can believe it.

You once told Phil that you didn’t think I needed you.  I did.  I didn’t need you to fix my car, or hang my Christmas lights, or put a new latch on my screen door.  But even though I would have paid someone to do them, you did all those things for me anyway.  I would come home, and you’d have been there, and my screen door would latch when it hadn’t when I left in the morning.  I didn’t need you in the sense that I needed you to do things for me.  But I did need you, Connie.  You will always be my best friend.  Those nights when you would drop by my house and we’d sit on the porch or on my couch and just talk and laugh were my refreshment.  You were my cold drink of water on a hot day.  I needed you on my porch.  I didn’t want our time together to be spent doing projects.  I wanted my time with you to be spent just being Connie and Linda.  I know we didn’t have lots of time to spend with each other, but just knowing that you were only five blocks away from me was like money in the bank.  And now you are eternity away from me.  I don’t think I’ll ever really get used to that. 

I love you forever, and I’ll miss you til heaven,

Lou

 

 


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