Today is the anniversary of Katrina. New Orleans is thriving again, but the scars will always remain. The same is true for me. I've gotten on with my life, but it will never be the same. It always comes back to that, doesn't it--the loss, the what if's, the last precious days.
On August 29, 2005 Ralph was still alive. He'd had a relapse of leukemia so we knew time was running out. His mother and sisters came to visit. We sat around his hospital room and I listened to him reminisce. He and his sister Karen, the closest in age, laughed (well, Karen didn't laugh as much as he did) about the time he connected the phone to a loudspeaker and broadcast her conversation with her boyfriend through the whole house. They remembered one summer when they were sure they'd found an Indian burial ground in the back yard and dug it up...and how mad their dad was when he came home. Susan, the middle sister talked about how tough Ralph had been one summer she spent with him.
Carol, his youngest sister, who had been his stem cell donor, went downstairs and donated blood to the blood bank. Ralph's mother sat with tears in her eyes. This was the last time she'd see her son...except at his funeral.
We all watched in horror as New Orleans was devastated by Karina. It wasn't long before evacuees were headed to Houston's Astrodome. Several transplant patients arrived on Ralph's floor.
Five years ago. I can hardly believe all this time has passed. I'm still working, still loving being a speech pathologist. I'm busy with new activities--book clubs, the Transition Network. This week I shared the angst of my granddaughter's big leap to middle school and yesterday saw my daughter, who looks 35, turn 50. I travel with my sister, cuddle with my cats, chuckle at the remarks my preschool students make, panic when something goes wrong in the house or the car, miss Ralph and wish he were still here to share my life. I'm not a wife any more, but I'm still a friend, a sister, a grandmother, a mother, a writer, a speech pathologist. I think Ralph would be happy to know how far I've come. Somehow I think he does know.
6 comments:
Thelma,
I have just found your blog and read "Katrina Plus Five".
I am so empathetic.I am so sorry.
The nightmare lives on.
Our place of parking was the Texas Heart institute, for several years.
Your Katrina story mirrors my Rita story, including my husband's death and life forever changing. Like you,so many things that bring sadness, some silly, some profound. The continued losses, these 4 years later. I had my husband 10 more months. I chose better over bitter, as have you.
I find your story very humbling and brave. What choice do we have, but to be brave?
Thank you for sharing. I have been encouraged by my Dr. an family and friends to past my Rita story. I might.
Ypu are an inspiration.
Dorothy
Dorothy, thanks for your kind words and for understanding (unfortunately). I'm glad to know you also chose better. Bitter doesn't help, does it? Hope you'll come back and visit again. Thanks
Lovely, reflective words - no bitterness or resentment, which remain my burden... Your words convey a great deal of strength in choosing to go on to live fully in the present.
It's been easier for me because my kids are grown. I figure I'm their responsibility (not really, just kidding). My therapist has suggested that one reason I've managed is that I had a serious injury when I was younger and had to learn to get through it. I caught fire from a stove when I was in college and had get over that. TZ
It's been easier for me because my kids are grown. I figure I'm their responsibility (not really, just kidding). My therapist has suggested that one reason I've managed is that I had a serious injury when I was younger and had to learn to get through it. I caught fire from a stove when I was in college and had get over that. TZ
I like this one - I never heard some of these stories about Ralph when he was young.
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