I find myself writing . . .

in my head, but I have no pen, no paper, no laptop, and when I do, I am often too tired, wishing there was a recorder attached to my brain to record the words that come through. I should be sleeping. I said goodnight to my friends, to my family, finished the movie, but find myself here. The one night I can be in bed early. Multiple visions bombard me as each turn of events happen; it is like life projected through a movie camera. Some of you will find this statement odd, bizarre, scary, creepy, while saying, she is nuts: the spirit world will not leave me alone, and I'm not talking dreams alone. I only get peace at night by making sure I say a prayer not only for Vince and the family, but for myself, then fall asleep praying (I must--this is the only relief). For those of you who do not believe, there is no light I can share on this; if you have not experienced it, you will not understand. Many years ago I closed this door. The door is no longer shut. I do not believe I am to shut it, now, or ever again. I ask for continual prayers as I learn to adjust to this life, both dealing with what the family is dealing with and what has returned to me.

Most of my time is now spent in the hospital. If I am not on campus, I am here, with the exception of being home on occasion. Vincent is dictating some my decisions right now. I have managed four nights away since the beginning of this ordeal, only because Vincent has said he felt comfortable with me leaving or because necessity said I had to. If any of you want to help in another way, other than prayers, send up some home cooked meals, plus a gas card or two--if possible (I do not fear begging right now).

As soon as I can, I have a sketch to put up: the hospital hallway I spent most of my nights in. I have many more sketches planned out. Time mostly consists of listening to information, learning the therapies Vincent must do, understanding treatments, grading students' work and planning for classes, making phone calls and texts--texts keeping attached to the outside world, dealing with home issues from the hospital, and working on getting Vincent's paperwork down (with the help of my daughter, who is handling most of that end). If you say you can't imagine this, you are right, you can't. I still can't, but I am doing it. While I am becoming more accustomed to the new lifestyle, it is still surreal (the word that sums it up best). Out of all I have watched done, there is still one aspect I cannot take--the secretions that Vincent must clear from his chest everyday via the trachea. I guess that's my biggest weakest.

If you wish to follow what is happening more closely, my oldest daughter does well keeping Vinny's Journey page posted on FaceBook. If you don't find it with those two words, add PNET, the short term for the type of cancer he has.

I will attempt more journeys here. I need to.