It Won't Be Long Now.

I talked to SP, briefly, yesterday afternoon.  Through the grogginess, the punch-drunk lushy talk that I hear now on the rare occasion that I get to talk to him, he told me that he's on a morphine drip, with a Darvocet-like drug administered every 6 hours as well.  We talked for about 5 minutes, and I'm sure that it was completely gone from his memory 3 minutes later.

My dad and the Internet (my 2 most trusted sources of cancer information) tell me that it won't be long now.  They also tell me that SP wouldn't remember from one conscious moment to the next if I were there or not at this point, which actually gives me some comfort.

In the meantime, I'm moving 150 miles away to start a new job.  I have to pack up everything I own, find a place to live, come up with a new parenting plan with my ex, and badda bing, badda boom, it's all going to happen within the next 2 weeks.

It won't be long now.

I look at my stack of firefighter books that I need to get through.  I see all the firehouses and events that I HAVEN'T visited, all the people I HAVEN'T written about for you, my dearest reader.  I don't regret, and never will regret, my decision to walk through this with SP.  The road didn't take the expected turns, but when does it ever?  However, I need to find my life and my joy again.

Yesterday I had a nice conversation with an attractive, intelligent, clever gentleman who has expressed a definite interest seeing me once I'm settled in my new home town.  And you know what, he's not the only one lately.  How am I supposed to react to that?? Part of me, a BIG part of me, loves the attention. Part of me feels like a complete jerk for even SPEAKING to another man while SP still hangs on. I feel a huge case of Survivor's Guilt for moving on with my life while the man who gave me his heart slips away.

It won't be long now.

I've talked to a few of my friends about this, about the whole "long-distance relationship with a terminally ill man, oh and did I mention that he never got around to getting divorced, oh and I'm pretty sure I'll never see him again because he doesn't want me there, but he really really loves me and doesn't want to die alone" thing.  My more protective, hot-headed friends are furious with SP and see him as a coward who has done nothing more than jerk me around, get my hopes up, and crush my spirit just to make his last days a little more tolerable.  My more rational, level-headed friends see me as someone who didn't want one of my oldest friends to die alone and unloved, and in giving him a few months of happiness while he could still enjoy it with no strings attached, I've done right by him and by the Universe.  But both groups are telling me to move on and LIVE.

It hits me at odd moments. Packing up my stuff.  Listening to music.  Driving down the highway.  The tears come and I have to stop packing; turn off the radio; pull over to the side of the road and allow myself to lose it for a minute or two.  I cry for him, and the fact that he's not even 50 yet; I cry for the time that we won't have together; I cry for all the stories we'll never write together.  But I don't cry for what we shared, even though it was so very, very brief.  I'll never cry over that.

It won't be long now.

You told me months ago that your love for me was unconditional, required nothing in return, and was perfect just as it was.  I'm holding you to that, my dearest.  It was perfect, and I am still here for as long as you need me.  Not so very long ago, I asked you what you needed me to do for you.  You said you needed me to live a nice long life, to be extraordinarily happy, and to find love.   Thank you, darling.  I will.

So yes, I 'm still here on the other end of the phone. Yes, I'll still keep on trying to reach you 3, 4, 5 times a day without luck. I'll cry when the call comes in telling me that you've decided it's time to go. But darling SP, I'm choosing to live again now.  Just as you wanted me to.  Just as you still want me to.

It won't be long now.

I'm sure that my decision to move on like this will raise some eyebrows.  Shocker there, my behavior usually does.  But before you judge me too harshly, please know that what SP and I have wasn't like what you and Mr. or Mrs. Dear Reader have.  It was tragic and ill-fated from its birth; it was destined to end with imminent death; it was roller-coaster high and low on a daily basis.  In other words, it was perfect.