Yesterday was the seventh. Exactly twenty-three months since Ryan’s barbaric attack. Like every month on the seventh, I was sad. It’s the type of despair that weighs heavy. Like a cold, wet blanket. The type of feeling where I become acutely conscious of my breathing. Every breath is noticed and occasionally I must remind myself to exhale. My mind and body were practically begging for a break from the despair, but life was to have none of that. It was awful.
So, just like every other eighth of the month, I’m pissed. A powder keg of pure and raw emotion. I’ll surely go through my “it’s just not fair” phase today. Eventually conceding to the fact that, yes, it isn’t fair and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it. Oh yes, I accept that life isn’t fair, but why must it be so effin’ cruel? Why! Today, I’ll need to slow my respiration down. It is awful.
I don’t even want to think about next month — the second anniversary — but, I must. If I allow myself to get to that date without mental preparation I’ll certainly crumble all at once. It’s best slowly erode over this time, I suppose. Maybe this is the right approach, maybe not. I’ll get back to you on that in 29 days. It will be awful.
Perhaps I’m more negative than normal. Probably so, but not without cause. My mind is occupied by a recent development with Ryan’s blood pressure. Without warning, it will drop to concerning levels. Two evenings ago it went to as low 76/48. We are able to bring it back up by lowering his head, putting him at a real risk of aspiration. It’s one of those times when we fall back the belief that it is best to treat the present condition in lieu of a potentially worse condition (that we might, in fact, cause). Did I mention life isn’t fair… and cruel?
It’s hard to acknowledge (and accept) his brain stem is still trying to figure things out, sometimes overcompensating. It’s a reminder that Ryan is never truly out of mortal danger.
- Pity Party: Table for One, Please. (ryansrally.org)