Lessons from Lou

This blog is about my journey through the brain tumor world with my dear husband, Lou. While not a journey I would wish on even my worst enemy, it is a journey that has enlightened and awakened me to what lies within us, and around us, each and every moment of each and every day. There are lessons here....lessons in this journey.....lessons from Lou....that I would like to share with you.

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Location: Chicago, Illinois

Picture of Lou (sick) and I at a party, circa 2005, long ago and faraway. I'm now a middle aged widow, trying to get my life back together. Mother of two young adult sons, living with two adult cats.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Long (lonely) weekends

Long weekends can be lonely weekends now. Even though we are here, together. It can be lonely. Damon is off with friends until tomorrow. Drew has a friend visiting so he's busy. Many of our friends are busy. So, here we are....just Lou and I....hangin out. Lou is a little slow today, but that always seems to happen on the weekends. The weekdays are more active around here, not for Lou , but just in general. There's more of a routine, etc. All that helps. I have a movie for us to watch later and am making a nice dinner. These are the kinds of times I so wish we had more of when Lou was WELL....instead of the busy weekends we always had, not alot of alone time. Now too much alone time. Sigh. Why? When the kids were little, we used to drive downstate for most holiday weekends like this to see Lou's mom. The boys loved her house, playing in the yard, in the basement, and with all of her old toys. It was a great change of pace for them from the big city life. Drew would always hang her flag outside, he got a big kick out of that. I miss those days. But I would miss them anyway, whether Lou was sick or not. I loved hearing Drew calling to his Yia Yia from the yard, Damon laughing at whatever it was Drew was doing. They would run down the hill in her yard which seemed so big at the time, and land in her garden. Lou, always so proud of his boys, sitting on the screened in porch, smoking a cigar as he did some office work. Good times. Simple times. Sigh. Why? We'll never know why. We'll never know why this happened. Sigh. Cry. Why.

4 Comments:

Anonymous cheri said...

Cathy ... I promise you that it does get better. Remember, I keep telling you, these are the worst days of your life. I've been able to move on to places that were completely unthinkable not that long ago ... I know that someday you too will be here. In the mean time know that for whatever reason ... this is God's plan ... and He trusts you to handle it the best way you know how.

Love to you dear friend ...

10:36 PM  
Blogger Sue said...

Cathy . . I am so sorry these days are so lonley. I am sure that you would not want to be anywhere else though except along side the love of your life. I hope you find strength in the fact that so many of us are with you in prayer and thought.

12:46 PM  
Anonymous Kathie said...

Cathy I am glad I found your postings not sure why I couldn't before. I enjoy your writting you really give me alot to think about. Hope your day is a good day, hope the sun is out.
I am very worried for Michelle today. Waiting to hear on Zach's surgery. Hope to be able to get myself back here to keep in touch.

3:32 PM  
Blogger Shelley said...

I have written this and deleted it a thousand times. Every person is different, every journey is different. I hear how hard this is for you, every day, seeing Lou's decline, seeing the tumor rob from him. I do know how unthinkably horrific that is. I do. I remember. You have lost so much already, and it's so unfair.

I also hear how Lou, and you, treasure what there is that is still good. How you are holding onto love, staying connected to one another, how you recognize there is nothing more important than that. This tumor can strip everything away, but love, that remains.

Maybe I'm not as healthy as Cheri, because for me, it has not gotten better. And I rail against God's plan. When my son has a crappy day at the baseball park, I cannot come to peace with why Dave is not here to say the words that only a Dad can say. I cannot believe his work here was done. My feeble human understanding doesn't go that far.

And as awful as the decline was, for me, it has been nothing compared to the emptiness, the gaping hole in my life, in my heart and my soul since Dave died.

Crap, here I go again. I'm ready to delete this. I know I'm not helpful or encouraging in any way. But I am honest. For whatever that's worth. And I do love you, and I pray that your experience parallels Cheri's, that things do get better, easier and you'll have peace and healing. For me, it's still a distant hope.

Love, Chelle

5:31 PM  

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