Saturday morning at eleven o’clock a van from Key West will be here to pick me up and take me back to the city where an apartment without steps is available for me for the next month. I will be in the city where if I need help my friends will be answering 911. I have been discussing all eventualities with my therapists and feel reasonably confident I can cope with showering and dressing and strengthening my legs by walking.
I have my tools to get dressed, I have my tools to go to the toilet and I have my tools for propulsion. I know how to use them. All that is left is to get stronger then I cast them off. It’s time to go.
I am healthy and ready and I know the good things to come, being with Layne and hopefully being able to help not hinder. To have Rusty alongside daily. To be in the world and yet I have a heavy heart. These people gave me back my life. They never gave up on me. They took me when I couldn’t sit up in bed and made me whole. Along the way I have cracked jokes and devoted myself to completing the exercises. I am sorry to be going. I know it sounds odd but going home fills me with fear.
Loren is away on vacation and we struggled to hold back tears as we said goodbye. Eddy is off tomorrow so he and I won’t work together again. He got my legs working against the odds and against my natural absence of coordination. He too will be gone forever as soon as I write this.
Natalie and her Bucci will be no more, perfectly sweet strong Cuban coffee to start each afternoon session. Soon I will be among the able bodied stumping to keep up. Going home? They say. Lucky you! I suppose so I say. It must be good because I am getting better. That doesn’t ease the heartbreak.