Letters to Tuvia #3: #sol15

Dear T,

Morning.  Loving these last mornings in August with a fresh breeze welcoming a new season.  It reminds me of the breeze that blew through the house last Friday, when you enjoyed it with me.

Where are you now?  So many tubes and machines seem to be keeping you alive and the staff that monitors you refuses to allow us the pleasure of hope.  Strange, isn’t it?

I remember sitting with Tara sipping coffee, playing with the ends of my cold waffle and Ami’s call interrupted us with news that your eyes were opened and he was sure you were watching him.  I raced out leaving Tara happy to take care of the check.

A short ride to the hospital, I had to observe traffic lights, speed limits.  I couldn’t get to you fast enough.  I stood next to your bed and with your soft gray/blue eyes open you were back with us.  Those eyes that I first loved when you were once a stranger to me.  It was enough to just see them even if I wasn’t sure you saw me, you were looking. Enough for me for that moment.

But the staff wanted more and you weren’t giving them more.  Couldn’t they feel our pleasure and not need more at the moment? For them you were in  a vegetative state, still unable to squeeze a hand or respond to commands..

Understood.  We understood.  But hey why could’t they just relish the fact that your eyes opened and you were coming back to us, maybe?

I’m so curious.  What would you be thinking, Dr. Rosenberg about this procedure if you were the doctor, not the patient?

What do you think?

They didn’t keep you awake long.  You were starting to feel discomfort. Maybe you were waking up too soon, so they put you back under with a mild sedative and I immediately  missed those eyes I’ve loved for 20 years.

I took a break and met up with Sharon and took a walk in Ridgewood, walking where we walked so often.  You were missed as we stopped at the Daily Treat for lunch. I devoured a hamburger.  Not the usual fare for me, I know.  But I’m setting my usual discipline on the side, for tastebud  comforts, just for now.

It was good to be with Sharon, who courageously joined me in the unit to see you and hear what the staff had to say.  She was listening with an extra set of ears  as we finally met the neurologist who did offer a bit of optimism, reminding me that for her this was a first visit, that it was DAY ONE!  I liked her.  She was engaged, not just going through the motions.  She was called in to deal with abnormal brain waves observed on your EEG and ordered medication that began working immediately, making it easier for you to continue the road ahead.

Family joined me at the end of the day.  It was just another occasion that you would have loved to participate in. We ate together at our Charley Brown, one of our first dining haunts, remember?  The place felt old, tired with the meat attractions now not the modern attraction of the day.  Healthy fish dished pushed their way to the top of the menu and I, in healthy mode opted for salmon.  Remember what great steaks we shared there?

Okay so, day one ended with a thud.   It’s 5:30.  Time for light, time for DAY 2.

Are you still with us T?


Bonnie S.

23 thoughts

  1. I jumped right to your post today on TWT wanting so badly to see those eyes open. I’m holding onto that little thread of hope for you. Blessings.

  2. Spend as much time with Tuvia as you can. Talk to him and hare your love. I know from personal experience that he will know. Also play the Goldberg Variations for him. It is very restorative to the brain.

  3. You words carry so much love. It’s so sad and beautiful to read your letters. The words tug the heart. Keeping you in my thoughts.

  4. Oh Bonnie. I’m so sorry Tuvia is no longer with us. (I just read your status update on Facebook and shed tears knowing he has passed away.) I’m sorry he won’t get to hear you read this letter to him by your side. But I am a believer in heaven and I’m confident that if you read it aloud he will hear you up there.

    I’m so terribly sorry for your loss, Bonnie.

    May Tuvia’s memory be a blessing.

  5. Dear Bonnie,
    I am so sorry to hear that Tuvia passed away. Your letters made me feel like I knew him. I loved the pictures of him reading! I always wish I had comforting words to say when terrible things happen but I fear they will sound trite. I will share a poem instead, as the person described here sounds much like your Tuvia:
    Tribute On The Passing Of A Very Real Person (Author Unknown)
    People are of two kinds, and he
    Was the kind I’d like to be.
    Some preach their virtues, and a few
    Express their lives by what they do;
    That sort was he. No flowery phrase
    Or glibly spoken word of praise
    Won friends for him. He wasn’t cheap
    Or shallow, but his course ran deep,
    And it was pure. You know the kind.
    Not many in life you find
    Whose deeds outrun their words so far
    That more than what they seem, they are.

    Prayers and hugs.

  6. Bonnie,

    I am so sorry for your loss. Your letters to Truvia are beautiful. May you cherish his memory and find comfort in your family and friends. We are all thinking of you.


  7. Bonnie,

    I am so sorry for your loss. Your letters to Truvia are beautiful. May you cherish his memory and find comfort in your family and friends. We are all thinking of you.


  8. Pingback: Words Matter | Reflections on the Teche

  9. Bonnie, Margaret just let me know about your loss. She posted your video to your dear husband that recognized all that he was and all that he will continue to be in your heart. May your family be filled with his memory and live in the bonds of family unity.

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