"Because Light Strikes A Deal With Each Coming Night"

I'm pretty careful about what I listen to these days because I'm a great jumble of unchecked emotions and just about anything can (and will) set off waterworks. And when I say "anything" I mean that in the most literal sense. Like yesterday I cried watching a dad tow his kids behind his bike down the street. And then I laughed because that is 100% insane.

Anyway, Pandora Radio sometimes thinks it's a fun time to casually throw a tune into my queue that will completely destroy me. This is my attempt at paying it forward. Enjoy the cathartic cry!

Each Coming Night by Iron & Wine

 Will you say when I'm gone away:

"My lover came to me and we'd lay
In rooms unfamiliar but until now"

Will you say to them when I'm gone away:
"I loved your son for his sturdy arms
We both learned to cradle then live without"

Will you say when I'm gone away:
"Your father's body was judgement day
We both dove and rose to the riverside"

Will you say to me when I'm gone:
"Your face has faded but lingers on
Because light strikes a deal with each coming night"

I'll Follow You Into The Dark

"Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go.  

Acceptance is a small, quiet room." 

- Cheryl Strayed, Author of Wild

At this point, most of you have probably seen the latest update on Paul circulating through your Facebook news feeds. For everyone else, here's the scoop:

In my last post, I mentioned that we were spending Easter with Paul's family in Wisconsin. But as our two-week visit approached its end, it became more and more evident that Paul wouldn't be making our return flight back to Buffalo.

So the three of us are staying in Paul�s parents' home in Oshkosh, Wisconsin where he has entered Hospice care.

We had always considered making Paul�s childhood home in Oshkosh his final resting place on this Earth. After witnessing his almost immediate "release" when the decision was final, I can say with a fair degree of certainty that we chose correctly.

At various points in the last month, every one of Paul�s seven siblings was able to travel home to spend some precious time with their brother and each other. In true Coleman form, we enjoyed boisterous meals rounded out with a minimum of three to four protein choices. Ingrid bonded with her cousins. My sisters-in-law made sure there was never a shortage of Paul�s favorite cookies (oatmeal raisin, for some reason).

There were things back in Buffalo, though, that needed tending to. So I boarded my return flight solo, the empty seats on either side of me serving as stinging reminders of the rotten week ahead of me. 

Originally, we had planned on heading to Orlando after our Wisconsin trip. But instead of scoring autographs from Elsa and Anna in Disney World, I would be spending that week selecting tasteful memorial cards and scouting out prime burial plots. 

Which: have you ever done that? Shopped for burial plots, I mean. I�m sure some of you have. It�s weird, right?! I�d compare it to house-hunting with your real estate agent, only slightly less cheery. 

�Well, The Good Shepherd Hill has the most scenic treeline, which will be lovely in the summer months. But then you can purchase a package deal if you go with the plots around Ascension Bell. Depends what you�re looking for.�

So. WEIRD.

I fully expected to be wiped out after my cemetery tour. I had anticipated feeling a little drained after drumming up an obituary draft with our funeral director.

What I was less prepared to hit me so hard was the realization that the three of us would never be together in our little home again. Relics from Paul�s last few months in our house were like little knives to my heart every time I discovered them. Things like pill bottles tucked behind picture frames and vials of holy water resting on his bedside table.

It was gutting to see the recliner he�ll never sit in again, the bed he�ll never sleep in again, the flannels he�ll never wear again. This may sound dramatic, but as someone who weeps while putting baby clothes in storage, well, you can see how problematic this is for me.

But I survived. I accomplished what I needed to accomplish. Now I'm back in Wisconsin, and we are exactly where we�re supposed to be.

Paul�s days oscillate from �semi-tolerable� to �well, this is the pits.� Some days he can stomach a 20-minute jaunt around the neighborhood in his wheelchair. Some days he can�t get out of bed.

Tearful moments are often followed by welcome stretches of peace. I can only attribute these tranquil periods to the daily prayers being offered up from so many faithful friends. That or my meds are triggering some majorly choppy mood swings. Hard to say. We�ll go with prayers.

Thank you for being with our family in our sorrow. Your continued prayers and kindnesses mean more than I can adequately express here. 

Stumbling, But Still Kickin�

A few weeks ago, Paul wiped out on our front walkway.

We had just gotten home after spending 8+ hours in the hospital. I was holding Ingrid who was asleep in my arms, and I didn�t react fast enough to grab him before he fell. Which is weird because every time I replay this scene in my head, Paul is falling in excruciating slow motion.

He didn�t even slip on ice or uneven pavement or one of the three small steps that lead up to our house. He is just that weak. Weak to the point where he can hardly walk without assistance anymore.

He just fell backwards, like a thin broomstick unable to hold itself upright without a prop.

When I heard his head thwack the sidewalk, I winced and (gently) tossed a now-awake Ingrid onto the lawn to rush to his side.

Thankfully, there was a gentleman walking past our house at that exact moment. He secured his dog to a nearby lamppost and helped me hoist Paul to his feet.

Angels among us.

By now, the scrapes on his scalp have healed, but my nerves have not yet recovered. I�ve taken to shadowing Paul around the house like a neurotic mother hen, clucking about handrails and muttering in an endless loop, �Be careful, be careful, please dear God be careful. Use your cane, don�t fall, here let me help you.�

�Liz, this is the bathroom.�

�And?�

�And...privacy?�

�Sheesh. Ok. Fine. BUT BE CAREFUL.�

Last Thursday, we flew to Wisconsin to stay with Paul�s family for two weeks. It�s a good place for us to be right now, but it�s also a hard place to be because it�s terrible watching his family confront the reality that their sweet brother and son is slipping further and further away from them.

I�m pretty depleted emotionally these days, so you�ll forgive me if I can�t bring myself to write more regularly. Also, my laptop bit the dust so I�m typing this on an iPad, which I very much do not enjoy. Once I replace my computer and achieve some semblance of emotional stability (ha. ha. ha.) I�ll be back at it.