On a scale from 1-10

 

 

Somebody said the right thing today.  It made me feel good.  It made me feel okay to be where I am.  I know a lot of people care.  They love me.  They want me to feel better.  They say loving things.  They have no reference point for how I feel.  That's a good thing.  I don't want anyone to know  first-hand how I feel.  I wish I didn't know how I felt.

But today, after pretending to be fine at a wedding celebration, (thinking about how my son won't ever have one) I went to visit someone in the hospital.  That's a hard thing.  That’s a psych myself up thing.  Standing in the room, one of the other visitors asked how I was doing--quietly and discreetly so nobody else would hear the question or my answer.  "I'm doing."  That's my general answer if I'm actually paying attention, otherwise I cough out a good or a fine.  It was obvious she’d spent a lot  of time in hospitals lately because she next said,  "on a pain scale from 1-10 you're not even on the scale, right?"  I nodded and thought that's the best way it's been put by anybody in the past 3 months.

I wanted to add a photo of my Ian with my thoughts and all I can think is this isn’t the perfect picture.  It’s not exactly what I want, but I can’t be picky because I can’t ever take another picture of him.  I have to use and love all the ones we have even if they are not super because there won’t be any more.  We took so few photos this summer because Ian gained and lost so much weight and felt so lousy.  I remember calling him “Angelina Jolie Lips” when  he was puffy and telling him he could try out for America’s Next Top Model when he was gaunt.  I  called him “Linebacker Neck” on the day he left me.  I hope none of those words hurt.  I love him, but I didn’t know what to say.  I was trying to make him laugh.  I hope he wasn’t waiting for somebody to say the right thing to make him feel better.  I wonder where he was on the pain scale.