Never again

Last winter was a pretty stinky time. I remember when Robin was in the hospital in early January 2007 I had the realization that the distance she could travel and the experiences she could have were diminishing with time.

As the week's progressed there were continued losses which just became harder and harder to accept, e.g.:

as she left the hospital - she would never again be "without cancer"
as people arrived to help - it would never again be life with just us two
as she slowed down physically - there would never again be the carefree Robin
as she lost the ability to think clearly - there would never again would be the 'rational' Robin

The absolute hardest time was the last week when she began speaking less and less frequently - and sleeping constantly. I remember being upset (even angry inside) if I learned that she'd spoken when I wasn't in the room. Back then I began to wonder when would be the last time I'd get to hear her voice.

Even when Robin no longer spoke to me, my sister Kim said she could see Robin respond when I spoke to her. A raised eyebrow, a slight turning of the head, a relaxation of her body. The last few days I persisted in talking to her, in keeping her lips moist with a glycerin swab, in massaging her arms and legs. I had to keep it up for both her and for me, we never knew when those pleasures would be 'never again'.