bee stings, fish hooks and another goodbye

it was one of those days.

one of those days when i got up after thankfully, a great night sleep, and put on my running clothes only to find that 2 hours later i was still in them but hadn't gone running and wasn't going to get the chance.  it was one of those days when my friend called me to ask if i could take her two youngest because she needed to accompany her dad to chemo and her husband was vomiting.  (which i was happy to do!)   one of those days when the kids (all 5 of them) needed to be ok with just bagels for lunch and no goggles at the pond because i couldn't remember everything.  one of those days when of course one of them got stung by a bee and another one stepped on a fish hook while the baby was heading off in to the water.  one of those days when i managed to get sunblock on everyone - except zoe, when i managed to feed everyone lunch- except me, when i managed to have some child talking to me or hanging on me for the past 15 hours.  yes- even now- bryn just tried to come upstairs and sleep in my bed with me.

but despite all this- it was a good day.  oezay idday eallyray ellway odaytay.  erethay ereway inimalmay ickystay oughtsthay andway eshay asway engagedway. ('zoe did really well today.  there were minimal sticky thoughts and she was engaged.' -  i thought if i said it in pig latin i wouldn't jinks us).  but it is amazing that despite a hot, child-ful day with 5 instead of 3, a bee sting and a fish hook, it was still good because zoe did well. it gives me pause.

but. 

while at the pond, with the kids, feeling like i needed to grow another eyeball, i got a phone message saying that mr. b died today.  and i just wanted to get up, abandon the kids,  find those running shoes i'd had on early in the morning and take off.  i just wanted to be alone- fully alone- because i loved mr. b and i love his wife. because i knew he'd go before i left for africa- i just knew it- but wasn't ready.  because even though i feel so far way from work- i don't feel far away from them- because i remember the last time i saw him while he was hospitalized, and i said 'good bye' and i wondered..... is this the last.... but i knew he had an appointment in a few weeks...so i told myself no....but in my heart i think i knew. 

i've spoken with his wife every week since- every week except the last two- because i'm here and i lose track of the days and have children hanging off me like vines and now i feel terrible.  for my 2 week absence and my 6 week silence.  i kept meaning to speak to him- directly- to ask his wife to pass him the phone- to hear his voice and to let him know how much he's meant to me, the example that he's been- what he's taught me- that i miss him- and to muster up my courage to say 'goodbye'.  but i didn't.  instead i said things like 'tell him i miss him' or 'give him a hug for me'.  so i'm left with this.  sitting in my room with the fan blowing and finally a moment of pure quiet, crying- because he's gone and i'm bad at goodbye. crying because i'm tired of goodbye's and there are lots of them coming.  because i knew he was dying 6 weeks ago and i didn't call and say it- i didn't speak it- those words that people need to hear directly- 'i care for you'- 'i'm here for you'- because i was scared of having to say that word that might not even matter that much.

goodbye.  

tomorrow i'll call her, again.  i'll step out of my life here for a minute, untangle the vines and tell her i'm sorry for the loss of her husband and her best friend.  i'll thank her for being his advocate, his champion, his dedicated driver and cook and pill dispenser and comedian and hand holder and so often, his voice.  i'll tell her how much i value them, that i'm thankful for my years knowing them, that i'm sorry i wasn't there the past two weeks- that i wish i could have said a real 'goodbye'. 

i know he knew that i cared- that they were special.  i know she knew it too. i don't have any doubt.  and while i'm sitting here questioning why i didn't respond to the nudgings to speak directly to him,  questioning what was holding me back and what i was so afraid of.  he's probably smiling and shaking his head. 


mr. b was a man of few, but wise words.  i know he'd say, ' dr. reid, you know what's goin' on. thank you for letting my wife continue her role- to be my filter and to be my voice.'

that is what she was.  that is what he wanted her to be.  those were their roles.  who am i to change that so i can feel good about my 'goodbye'?

thank you mr. b for continuing to teach me even in your passing.  you will be so dearly missed but not forgotten.
ever.