OK...does the pain ever get tolerable? I know for sure it won't end. Darn Sunday was grueling with floods of tears and internal pain. I kept doing what I know best...keep doing things through it all. We have a plant on the patio that I may have shared about eariler but to me it is a miracle plant. It is a bouginvilla that froze over and hadn't bloomed in two years. It was a gift to Doug from me. He loved Bouginvilla plants and always promised we would one day we'd have a yard and house with them and a rose garden and more. The plant looked "dead" for a long time but I never gave up fertilizing it and caring for it with the others. I had hope. It always used to bloom the most outrageous hot pink flowers. Doug loved to put a pink flower in my hair whenever we went in the pool. We would swim in the pool and blow bubbles. He would always watch how high they would go and out of sight without popping. That was the kids in us. Even when Doug drifted into a coma I blew bubbles for him in the room. The miracle is, since Doug died, the miracle plant has not just bloomed, it has totally flourished with beauty and I believe it is Doug sprinkling down pink flowers from Heaven to let me know he is at peace and watching over me forever. Friends think I have lost it. Hey, bouginvillas generally bloom in the spring...hello. Maybe my tears and his tears from heaven helped. God I am missing Doug. Last night I stood on the patio for hours blowing bubbles up above the bouginvilla plant and watching them fade into the darkness as they drifted higher and higher. I talked with Doug all the while. My upstairs neighbor was on her patio and whispered down, is that you Ellen blowing these beauty bubbles. I responded I was blowing them to Doug in heaven. I know he was smiling. Wish I could of smiled. Come home Doug...

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Comment by Ellen Brant on November 22, 2010 at 11:58pm
Thanks Susan, for the special note. I bet your cat is still searching for Steve too as is our bird. Yellow Bird is so lost without her "DAD." Anytime a male is around that she hears whistling outside she perks up and goes flying about the apt. with her screeching. Poor thing, I sing to her and try to whistle the best I can. Just not the same. Darn if we could all wake up to our loved ones being home. I can dream.
Comment by Susan Mayer on November 22, 2010 at 9:40pm
What a wonderful image - the pink flowers and you blowing bubbles. Surely Doug was smiling down at you. And even if you were crying, I sense the tiniest bit of joy there, amid the tears and memories. Maybe kind of like how I feel when I brought in things from the garden - here in Chicago, the growing season is over - and thought how nice they looked on the kitchen counter in the basket? I was sad - Steve loved the garden - but there was just a little bit of pleasure there, too. I cling to that sense of pleasure, however faint. It's something to carry me through and to build on.

I wish Doug and Steve could come home, too. Our cat still seems to look for Steve every time a tall male comes in the door. It breaks my heart.

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