Last One Standing

It isn't a good day. I started rotten and hasn't got much better. When the alarm went off at 6:30 I didn't even get out of bed. I simply rolled over and called in sick. I hurt everywhere more than anywhere else, as my Mama would have said. I did not get on the floor until after 10:00 a.m. And then, I still didn't feel well. I was so tired and achy that I couldn't face a day at work. I found it was raining. . . again.

Now, as bedtime nears, I am still tired. I despise this disease. It saps every ounce of strength. I think it is because you are so busy struggling to deal with the pain and function that you just wear yourself out.

I cleaned up the living room and did laundry between reading and doing my bank statement. The writer's group will be meeting here Thursday night.

I had a prayer meeting sometime in the middle of the day. Don't know that it helped the pain but couldn't hurt. I'm a bit depressed as well so I guess it is all just part and parcel of the same thing. Saturday night when I asked Sarah whose photo was on the shelf, she said, "That's Pawpaw. He's gone to heaven. I wish he would come back to me." I do, too.

It would be bearable if you could stop missing them. If you could just flip a switch and stop wanting desperately to see them. But then you think how disloyal that thought is. You must not love them if you want to stop missing them. You must be cold indeed if you want to forget. And the pain in your chest is just this huge bomb waiting to go off when you realize you don't want to forget or to stop missing them, or even stop hurting. If it doesn't hurt I must be insensitive. If I forget I must not have cared at all. If ... if... if

It is the power of death that you feel. The unassailable power you can't stop or deter. That can come in and sweep away an existence as if it never existed and leave not even a footprint in the sand. It can't be stopped by any one of us. There is no weapon that can halt his actions. You begin to look at every person around you and think, "They could be next!" or "I could be next!" You look at children differently, your own and others.

You realize how very important continuity is to humans, the desire to live on, not necessarily forever, but in your children, your grandchildren, and their children. You look at the last survivor of your line and you have this sense that you will truly be dead when that last one is gone.

For those of you who've done family trees, you know what I mean. You trace that tree for one purpose. To anchor you to something, to make a connection to the past and carry it through to the future is some how comforting and gives us a sense of security and belonging. It is a sense of continuity, that you will survive somewhere. That in the future, someone will be born with your eyes, your hair, your nose or your flat feet. It doesn't matter as long as your DNA goes on.

I've seen children who do not know who a one of their parents is and the sense of being an outcast or reject is so powerful to them. They can't trace one half of themselves and their children can't as well. They struggle for an identity. It is torment for them because they can't ever know. They suffer from a sense of incompleteness.

I never realized how powerful that connection to family could be until mine began to die off. With my husband's death, the sand began to race with an incomprehensible speed. Now, I see my small Sarah alone and with no connection to her past left when I am no longer here. My oldest son has no children. My youngest in all likelihood will have no more. Only if God is gracious to us, will Sarah have children of her own. And I know how she will feel at that point. She will wish we could all come back to her.

I wish they could all come back to me. Tonight, I am the last one standing. It is a terrible feeling.