DEAR FRIEND

WRITE ME A LETTER

Dear Friend

Dear friend …. Dear friend ….. Dear friend ….

Zoe, my dearest friend,

Where do I begin? Life can, at times, be so devastatng.

When I was about ten years old, I had the fantasy of becoming a nun and devoting my life to God.

My whacky personality changed my mind in such a hurry when, walking to school one day, I saw Steven.

Steven (no one ever called him Steve) was around my age but a bit taller than I was. He had the bluest of blue eyes, and coal black hair. To say I was smitten is a clear understatement.

No, Steven and I never dated but it cured my illusion of becoming a nun.

Through the years, I dated and eventually as a young adult married. That union produced two wonderful sons.

Yes, both have given me my share of heartaches but none of which could be blamed on them. I’ll elaborate briefly, if you don’t mind listening.

You remember my older son, Brian?

Bri was attacked on his way home from work a few months ago. I apologize for not telling you sooner but, well, I really hate being the bearer of bad news.

His outcome is that, while he is alive, he has incurable brain damage. He’s stable but will never work again. Thank God for Medicare and social security!

Next, is my younger son. Jake. He had taken ill with a severe bout of the virus shingles. He was in the hospital for just over one month. The virus left him with permanent nerve damage which is the cause of his deafness in one ear and constant dizziness. His doctor says he’ll never work again since even the smallest task seems to make his world spin. Not good when you’re trying to hold down a job.

I’m heartsick about all of this. Both sons haven’t reached their sixtieth birthdays yet.

On a lighter note, that is if you can call this a lighter note: my husband’s aneurysm hasn’t grown and is still considered inoperable. It has to be a 5mm for the surgery. I’m still trying to decide if it’s a good or bad thing since even at a 4mm, it can still rupture. At least with a 5mm, surgery can band it off.

More on his health has shown that he has developed too much plaque in his arteries. Today, he had the echocardiogram to check the amount of plaque in his aorta.

I swear, Zoe, there are times when I want nothing more to do than yank my hair out due to the frustration I feel.

The slowing flow of arterial blood makes him weak, and he tires easily.

I’ve taken on the task of learning how to do minor home repairs. Marty always took care of those pesky little items while I concentrated on homemaker stuff (you know what I’m talking about: cooking, cleaning, laundry, as well as taking time for my writing). Now, while he takes his two-hour afternoon nap, I “fix” stuff. So far, I’ve:

Repaired a crack in our outdoor resin table,

Unstuck the stuck garage door,

Fixed the leak in the dishwasher,

Found the reason and fixed the ever-running toilet,

Straightened the extension handle for the vacuum,

Stabilized the screen bracket (what we, here in Florida, call the pool cage) on the back lanai,

Washed the porch windows and screens.

Before you ask, no, I didn’t do all this in one day. It took me about two months by the time I researched how to do what needed to be done, and made sure I had the necessary tools to do it all.

Maybe in a way, life is preparing me for the inevitable. Who knows?

And on a weirder thought:

Maybe I should have become a nun!

Enough of my pity-party. I guess I just needed a leaning post and you were always good to lend me an ear. Yet, I’d prefer kudos and one of your girlfriend hugs for figuring out how to repair things and then getting the jobs done.

I miss seeing you and wish there weren’t so many miles between us. When you get the opportunity, please write me a letter. How about, since I wrote you a long one, we'll call this a WRITE ME A LETTER CHALLENGE? You know how much I enjoy hearing from you.

Love you, my friend.

My best to Luke and the kids.

Sherry

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