The beginning of it all

Link to post from last year’s events.

—

May 11, 2010
One year ago

Today is the day.
The day I knew that something was happening.
The day I realized that the path we had been stumbling upon was going to be a bit trickier to navigate.
The day that my daughters witnessed our superhero seize in the road for over half an hour before paramedics were able to cease it.
The day we last spent the night at the hospital, missing our family and hoping for good news.
The day our lives began to change forever, irrepressible.
The day I finally learned that I, that we, are in control of nothing.

At the time, even though I knew there was something awry with the seizure and the state of IT, I never would have imagined the steep decline in Chad’s health in the following months.
Almost to the day, six months later, he left us.

I remember all the confusion about IT’s growth at the time; we were told initially there was no change.
And then, the following month, we were given a terminal diagnosis.

I don’t want to remember today.
I don’t want to forever remember the look of sheer panic and absolute fear in Carys’ voice and face.
I don’t want to remember what he looked like, lying in the road, with my hands under his head, tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat.
I don’t want to remember having to make hurried phone calls to family members, explaining the situation as concisely as possible through a rapid, trembling voice that was not my own.
I don’t want to remember that black overnight bag I had packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice, and I don’t want to remember how often I actually had to reach for it.
I don’t want to remember all the hospital visits or medication changes or physical changes or mental deficiencies.

As much as I try to push it from my memory, it is there.
Every second of every day.
It stings a little less lately, but it’s ever present.

Oh, no.
I just don’t want to remember any of that.

I want to remember this…

And this…

And all of this, too…

—

For more than three years, we have been incredibly and extraordinarily supported by family members, friends and perfect strangers.

Thank you.
Thank you for caring for my family, for reaching out to us emotionally and financially.
Thank you for realizing you could make a difference in the life of another. Because you did. Greatly.

Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.