Leaving

I didn't leave the hospital for over two weeks. The most I did was walk outside or walk to the other tower where my unit is. I couldn't leave. I couldn't be that far away from him. I was told to go home. Get some rest. Sleep in your own bed. Shower in your own bathroom. Go home? That isn't my home anymore. They say, 'home is where your heart is.' My heart was not there, not in that building. My home is with my child, my fiance, my dogs, my cat... my home is now in this hospital. Luckily for me the hospital wasn't a foreign place to me. Yeah, it was a different unit, but the equipment is the same, the processes are the same, and I was treated like family by the staff. I was one of them, one of their own. I already got the call once to come rushing to the hospital, I didn't want to get that same phone call again. I'm more comfortable here, more relaxed... at ease. Fortunately I've learned to tune out half the alarms. Something called alarm exhaustion. Lucky for that.
         Once I could tolerate the idea of leaving I went on several errands with Brian: to the bank, to pick up food etc. I wasn't ready to get back in my car. I wasn't ready to see the dumped out bag and complete mess that I had left from rushing to the hospital. I didn't want to see his car seat. There was still sand in my car from going to visit my mother that weekend at the beach. I knew I'd get upset. But, I started going places on my own. Not far. I went to the bank on my own. I went to the store. I gradually got stronger and braver.
          I knew at some point I would have to go home. I knew it would feel empty. I knew how I'd feel when I saw his room. At first I decided I wasn't going home until he was with me. After 3 weeks... that didn't seem very plausible. At some point I needed to face it, I needed to face the feelings. I didn't know if I wanted to do it alone or if I wanted someone with me. I didn't know if I wanted to spend time there or if I just wanted to run in and run out. I was already planning to go to the bank that day and on my way out one of Todd's nurses encouraged me to go get my nails done. To do something nice for myself. There was a nail place across from the bank, I figured I could manage that. Just as I was leaving I got a burst of courage. It was time. I needed to do this and I needed to do it by myself.
          It felt emptier than before we moved in. So still. So lifeless. Todd really did bring the life into our home. My cat has still been staying there, she's very self sufficient, she probably enjoyed the vacation from the dogs. She came rushing to the door to greet me. I laid in the floor with her for a few moments. She's a very affectionate cat to begin with, but she was so loving, so comforting. I carried her with me upstairs. I went straight into his room and sat on the bed. So still. I burst into tears. I allowed myself to feel what I needed to feel. I let myself cry. I let myself reflect over the past three weeks. All that has changed. All that has happened. What was to come. I was overwhelmed with thoughts so I geared my focus on what I wanted to bring back to the hospital. There were a couple things I had asked people to get, but no one could find. I found them of course.
         I told my cat goodbye... poor thing, I only spent fifteen minutes there. As I drove away I felt somewhat liberated. I was no longer scared to go home, I was no longer avoiding it. It's not a place of comfort right now and I can accept that. It is what it is. It houses our things; ready for us to pick up where we left off.
         I've been back several times since then. Sometimes just to grab things, switch out clothes, check the mail, see my cat etc. Each time I'm able to stay longer. It still won't be home until he's back in it. He's that magic ingredient. He's the last piece to the puzzle.