My wonderful, special friend Tess came out from Brisbane to be with us for 10 days.  She had come to support me in August and had only seen Tom in hospital since his accident.  I’m sure for her, seeing Tom at home was hard, his new body, his new way of doing things.  We have done so much as couples, together, for so many years.  We spent the last few days of her visit in Joburg, together with my wonderful, special Al.  The three of us laughed hard and cried harder.  On our first evening we discovered the geyser in the shower had packed up, so we were forced to boil a kettle and “bird bath” in the sink, and then jump in the freezing cold spray of the shower.  Various sounds of pain were heard from the bathroom from us all.  But as I stood under that ice cold sensation I thought HOW MUCH TOM WOULD KILL TO EXPERIENCE THIS UNCOMFORTABLE FEELING.  I stood there, still, for some minutes.  For the next three days each one of us appreciated that icey cold water we take for granted.

I got home today and Tom was in clean up mode.  He had decided it was time to purge.  So I emptied his entire wardrobe and held up each and every piece of clothing.  There was an Out Pile, a Maybe Pile and a Keep Pile.  Our criteria for throwing or keeping was simply size.  Tom’s belly is growing into what is called a “Quad Belly”.  Because he has no muscle control, and no ability to burn fat by exercising,  his belly is expanding.  It’s not like Tom at all, as he was always a fit man.  Anyway as the Out Pile got higher and higher and the Keep Pile became defined as more and more practical gear, I got more and more reminiscent.  ”Remember this t-shirt….. Oh I love you in that shirt…… you wore that tie at …………. No point in keeping that we can’t get your head into it…………  We  got to the end and then attacked the Maybe Pile.  Tom’s words were “I have no need for possessions”.  The entire pile was binned.  It shot me threw the heart.

On our way home, Al and I bumped into Clint who now lives in Sydney.  I don’t know him well but without words he gave me the tightest hug, saying everything.

What a beautiful lesson.

2 more days to go.  2 more days when everything I say about “last year’ will boil up some memory of this new life that erupted after the words, “Is that Sal?”

I’ve been lying in bed late most nights replaying that phone-call and reliving those vile hours that followed.  I’m eaten up with panic and fear and nausea.  I’m dreading the 5th of May.  I question why all the time.  Why will the 5th be any different to today, I will still feel that panic and fear and nausea.  Then I think it’ll just be another day, I’ll busy myself and then it will be over.  I’ll wake up on the 6th and it’ll be over.

Everyday I write a message on this website, in my mind.  Everyday I spill my guts out.   Everyday I feel these intense emotions well up in my stomach and erupt out my eyes flowing down my cheeks until I can’t breathe through my nose anymore.  And everyday I never write anything because I realise whether those feelings are written down or not, they are still felt.  I realise its unfair to put my feelings into words for all to consume.  It probably also amounts to the fact that I don’t think I want you to know that I see couples holding hands and swaying to a song and how much I miss that and that I wonder if you even know you are holding hands or if it’s just habit.  It’s so cruel that I can hold hands with Tom and if he has his eyes closed he doesn’t even know I’m attached to him.

How can tomorrow coming make me feel any better?  It’s incredibly tiring constantly being asked how is Tom.  Am I ever actually going to be able to say, “He’s great, just dandy thanks.  How can I not want you to ask how he is?  Then you don’t care.  And you’ve got to care.  I couldn’t do this without your caring.  I remember the outpouring of love, care, concern, disbelief, shock, revolt, all those feelings felt from all over the world pushed me up those hills ( remember those hills?…) and rode the bumpy ride with me down those mountains…..

I’m tired of all things, and within a split second, grateful for each and every one of them. I’m tired of carving the chicken.  I’m tired of turning on the generator, I’m tired of tucking in the girls, I’m tired of picking up the pizza, I’m tired of that buzzing mosquito that I’ve swatted every night, I’m tired of answering the phone, I’m tired of making a plan.  Oh there are so many things.  Oh how lucky I am………

Tom has just rushed past (in his wheelchair. Obviously! ) with Erin balanced on the back wheels and I was consumed with happiness. I smiled and laughed.  It’s all about adapting, isn’t it?  They have the same need for speed and how special they still get to do it together – even if it’s in this warped new way.

The 5th will come and go but Tom gets to spend it with those people who stopped their lives on that night, that whole vile night, for him and for me.  It will come every year and every year I suspect the panic and fear and nausea will lessen.

Open house at our place this Saturday the 8th May from 12 o’clock onwards,  bring drinks and something to braai.  Bring smiles. Come for a minute, come for the day. Come for a laugh, come for a cry.  But most of all please come so we can, at last, thank you for all those breaths you took.  If you can, let me know you’ll be coming. RSVP on the website, or my cell or Tom’s cell, or email tomandsal@zol.co.zw.

I’ve just taken a deep breath.  It helps.