This morning I got more bad medical news on top of the bad medical news I got earlier this week about my knee and my pelvic floor surgeries. Now, my left hand's carpal tunnel is bad to the point I'm having trouble gripping things. Unfortunately, I can't find anyone to fill the prescription for the brace that is supposed to stop the pain. It took a week to get the conductivity test scheduled and when they called me back, they can't see me until November.
And where do I put all this down? How do I carry all this? I can't work and now I will be incapacitated physically for a while. Don't get me wrong. Hopefully, this will be the end of the surgeries for a while, but damn. I miss my old house. I miss my old family. I miss my sister so much.
This morning, I described Dorian's death as someone taking a trackhoe and digging up a room in my house--foundation and all. I keep going to the room, expecting something to be there, but there is nothing but memories of how the room used to look and feel when I walked into it. I have the things from the room--her things. But not her. I went to that room during my darkest times previously. The room with my sister--where I was safe with ANY secret and I was loved and accepted no matter what. It was a room I had planned to retire to and take care of for the rest of my life. Dorian always struggled. I always figured the end of my life would be spent taking care of her and the land.
Now it's just the land and saying goodbye to my parent's earthly coil. It's like there is nothing to live forward for in my family. My family. My four person unit that stood against the world for 48 yers is down to three--and two of those three are nearing their end. I want that end to be good for them. I really do.
I just don't know where I fit into all of it. And I don't know how to rebuild my house--or if I should rebuild--maybe I should remodel--with a new floor plan.