Living with Asthma.... or is it?

Is it really? Living? When you are constantly overwhelmed with asthmatic suck-the-life-right-out-of-you lack of breath. Oh. Wait. I don't actually have asthma. I live with someone who has asthma. and it is a full time job when my asthmatic is in the throes of.... well, any kind of respiratory-distressing villain.  And I have to say, I do it too. The whole down-playing of the severity of the disease. Apparently, it really is a disease. I hate that word. Because I hate the thought that this will plague "us" forever. The Punky-girl (aka.... the Punk, Punk, Punky, Punkinseed, Punky-brewster), got the roving respiratory crud about 3 weeks ago. Trip number one to Urgent Care.... negative for Covid; negative for Strep; negative for Influenza. "Just a virus," "get plenty of rest, drink water, take breathing treatments. It will run it's course." Uh-huh. So.... cough suppressant, breathing treatments, sleep, rescue inhaler.... here we go. And go. And go. Trip number two to urgent care... Covid test: negative; Influenza: negative. It's "just" a virus. Really? Because her breathing is getting worse. Ummm.... well, let's do a steroid. Okay. and.... two days later my kiddo cant catch her breath, wheezing like crazy. Mom, well Mom, is trying not to panic. Make it to her PCP appointment. the wheezing is audible. The horror is real. so we enjoy an ambulance ride (well, you know.... she does) to the ER while receiving a breathing treatment. I meet them there. At which time, the breathing treatment magically worked. X-Rays come back clear. Testing for.... RSV, Covid-19, Strep, Influenza, and 17 other viruses: negative. This is almost 2 weeks in. A little better... a whole lot worse. two steps forward, twelve steps back. Here is sit, selfishly wishing, waiting, for Punky to feel better. To get better. To breathe freely. She is my baby. I admit, she is spoiled rotten. But when your baby starts battling for breath as a child, well, I just do whatever it takes. *sigh*

We are still being antagonized by a mystery, the elusive breathe. Chasing the "dream." The dream of breathing freely like most people take for granted. Wouldn't that be something. breathing freely. Seems reasonable. Please dear Universe, grant us this freedom. Please dear Lord.

Missing You....

 The sting is fading a little. I miss you everyday. But it no longer makes me draw in a sharp breathe and experience acute physical pain on a daily basis. I know that there will still be days and moments and gaps in time when I will only feel the intense loss so deeply that I cannot breathe. Cannot function as a human being. 

These days though, I'm able to smile and chuckle and generally enjoy that every day there are multiple times that I think about a connection to the day that brings me to you. "Dad would be so proud..." "My dad would have torn through that field and chased that coyote...." "The bucks my dad got were bigger....." "My dad was a problem solver. He knew how to create and fix and build things." 

I wonder about your artistic side. Those metal sculptures you used to make. The barbwire windmills. And so many other ways you were artistic. The rough cedar walls in our family room. The fact that you converted a garage into a family room and put in the fireplace rock that you wanted in there and made it the room you dreamed of.  I always think about MY artistry. But I see now that you, too, were an artist. And recently I've seen some of Mom's artistic side as well. It's always been there, but I just now was able to look past the end of my own nose and see what was given to me, what was laid out by my dna. 

I know that I will never be the same Dad. The day you left, the world got grayer, less loving, less colorful. But now, a year and a half later, I don't feel the sharp spasms of grief every time you cross my mind and my heart. Once again, I am able to feel that love, the tenderness, the warmth of your memory. 

Pop (or Pop-O as you would say), I miss you dreadful awful. But it's more bearable now. And it brings a smile to my face as I think about you and how much you taught me; how much you gave me; who you really were.

Pop, your Lynner-skinner loves you. Miss you.... 

Save my life

 Sinking

Drowning

Going Down.

My life has a way 

of pulling me down.

into the depths.

Depths of despair...

dark, cold, swirling

desperate.

But does the world know 

that I am drowning?

There is a certain calm

in the chaos of drowning. 

I'm told that

it doesn't look like drowning. 

Which makes it hard to realize

that a life needs to be saved. 

I need to be saved.

Save my life,

I'm sinking.

O Lord,

Let this not be the end.

Give me the knowledge

to recognize the disaster. 

Let this story not be tragic,

not a story of weakness and loss.

But of rebirth,

of growth,

of slow and steady endurance. 

Save me

and then empower me.

Teach me to swim.

Show me the signs.

Let me not go down for the last time.