Every day, something

Every day, something

All I wanted was to grab a nice protein-packed snack and go about my evening. I pulled open the cheese/lunchmeat drawer and grabbed what looked like a nice hunk of cheddar. Somehow this particular package of cheese had escaped my view for some time.

I plopped it on the counter and saw on the packaging Espinoza, Chandler. December 15.

This was a special aged cheese someone had brought to the hospital for us. I had put it in the refrigerator on the SICU floor where they allowed patient families to store things. I had learned my lesson with the MIA kombucha. I was not going to let this precious block of deliciousness escape my possession. So I went to the nurse’s station and asked for a sticker…the ones they give you to identify your food in the fridge. After a specified number of days, your stash gets trashed. This Wisconsin delicacy was spared such a fate because our time at the hospital ended on January 1.

We packed up everything. Actually, I didn’t pack. I sat on the couch in the waiting room — in shock, paralyzed, heavy, dazed, exhausted, reeling, speechless. Someone among us remembered to recover our food and drink items from the patient refrigerator.

I would give anything to be back in that SICU unit with my kombucha and my Wisconsin cheese. When there was hope. Hope that my son would sit up and smile at me. Hug me. Say, “Hey, Mom” as only Chandler could say it.

I would go to that refrigerator with an energy in my step to grab a drink or a snack knowing I needed to keep up my health and strength for the long road of recovery ahead. There would be spinal rehab, brain rehab, big changes in every area of our lives — but worth it all to have our son home and well.

When I grabbed this cheese, such a storm of emotions. The memory of hope, the sting of reality, the finality of death.

Every day, something.

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New Cleats and a Moment of Connection

New Cleats and a Moment of Connection

And today's highlights...

And today's highlights...