Yesterday

First of all, thank you SO much for praying for me and for your amazing support. I am so grateful for that and have seen the power of it in my life many times over.

Yesterday went...well. I was smart enought to get to the hospital about 45 minutes early (I wanted to have plenty of time to wander around and cry so that I wouldn't burst into tears and freak out the poor volunteer coordinator). I pulled into the parking gargage, and started crying as soon as I pulled my ticket. It reminded me of when we first started treatment. Paul was young enough (barely 2) that we didn't have to tell him where we were going when we got in the car. About 10 miles into I35 he would fall asleep. He would wake up right as I was pulling into the garage to get the parking ticket, and he would know where where we were and start crying. Fortunately, that didn't last long. He eventually settled in and accepted the hospital as part of his life. And it was definitely part... a BIG part.

Which, of course, is why it was so tough to go back. Alone. The elevators, the cafeteria, the gift shop, the vending machines, the atrium, the waiting rooms, the stairwells, the SMELL... they are all so much of who he was.

So, for close to an hour, I wandered around and cried. I went to the gift shop and stared at the car section. Paul LOVED going there and picking out a car. Because he owned every last one of them already, I always tried to get him to pick something else. I'd show him the squishy light-up frogs and the multi-colored high bouncing balls, the sticker books and the notepad with disappearing ink. He'd take the time to look at everything, and then he'd pick out a car.... just like 3 others he had at home from the very same place.

I went to the cafeteria and looked at all the vending machines. Paul could ALWAYS find a penny, a dime or sometimes even a quarter in these things. (You people have no idea how much change you leave behind at these things - or how much joy a nickle can bring to a 6-year-old). No matter how much pain he was in, he could somehow manage to get down on all fours and look under the machines. Yesterday, I seriously considered doing that myself, but since I was alreay puffy-eyed and crying, I didn't want someone to call security on me!

I went to the 2nd floor surgery waiting area to visit a friend who works there. She lost a son 5 years ago, and has always been such a sweet source of support. The very first time I met her was when Whit was having his second surgery. She's been with me through the many biopsies, port removals and replacements, radiation, etc. I got to hug her neck and cry. That was good.

Oh, yeah... and then there was the interview. It went well. The volunteer coordinator seems like a very wise and patient person. She asked some great questions, I held it together and was able to answer most of them, and then she suggested a few options for me. I will have to go through orientation first (which will be sometime in February), get a TB test, and then I'll be ready to start! Sounds so easy, doesn't it?

The unexpected blessing of the day was running into all THREE of Paul's doctors at once. I couldn't believe it... they just walked around the corner as I was waiting on the elevator. It is truly a miracle because I have never seen all three of them together at once. Anyway, we stopped and talked for a long time. They were very encouraging of my volunteer endeavors, had some wonderful memories to share of Paul, and howled at a Terrill story I told (long story, but Terrill always had quite a reputation for telling the doctors what to do. Recently, he did the same thing when Whit ended up seeing a new doctor for an ear infection which didn't get diagnosed the way Terrill wanted it to. After he got involved, we had a prescription for antibiotics by the end of the day!) I hadn't expected to see any of Paul's doctors, and I got to see all of them. That was good.

After the interview, I had lunch with "Miss Audra." It was great to spend time with her, talk about Paul, and hear how her kids are doing. Paul loved her so much, and she could get him to sit up in bed and play games even when he was feeling crummy. I can remember many times as soon as we were registered and in a room, he would bug me to call Miss Audra. She always came... even when she was working in a different part of the hospital. That was good.

It is a difficult thing... leaving all "that" behind. Paul grew up there. There is familiarity and comfort in the things that remind me of him. The doctors, nurses and child life workers supported us and comforted us when Paul was sick, and rejoiced with us when he was feeling great. They loved him, too. They miss him, too. And that's good.

And I'm fine. Yes, I cried a lot. Yes, I was sad. Yes, I missed Paul in a way I haven't in a long time. But I don't mind. I don't mind crying. I don't mind hurting and being sad. That's what memories do, and I desperately want to keep those memories.

On the way home, I was still sad. Sad that Paul wasn't in the backseat deciding where we were going to eat dinner when we got home.

But, God is good. He is faithful and in control. He collects all my tears in a bottle, and has my name inscribed on the palm of his hand. And that's good.