Tuesday, June 30, 2020

Major Surgery- Hip Surgery

It's been a long time since I sat down and wrote something on this blog.  I decided to sit today and write something I thought would be informative.  Also something I wish I had available when I needed to read about this information.

For the past several years I've been in pain.  I have arthritis and have had it for years.  I was first diagnosed when I was 9 years old.  I had learned to live with pain and how to manage the daily pain.

I had gone to several Doctors and I was given all sorts of pain pills. They only put a band aid on the pain, but as soon as the medicine was used up in my body the pain would rear it's head again.

This went on for years.  I would get some kind of analgesic to take the edge off the pain and I would be able to continue.  It was a vicious circle.  After one particular day I looked in the mirror and said, "Is this what the rest of my life will be? The constant pain and never being able to have a full productive life?'  My Grandfather had Rheumatoid arthritis at a time when there was nothing that could be done to alleviate the pain...He finally couldn't take it any longer and took his own life...  That's how bad the pain of arthritis can be.  It takes all rational thought from your brain and leaves you with thoughts on how to eliminate the pain in any way you can think of...I get it..

Finally I decided to take this pain in hand and see what was going on inside of my body,  I had x-rays and Ultra sounds but they didn't really show anything definitive...

The orthopedic Doctor I've gone to for other ailments said, "Let's try some cortisone..." I was willing to do that with no questions.  I've had cortisone in the past and been very successful with it.  It's another band aid but it gets rid of the pain, for a time.  The shot was prepared and the Doc took the needle and put it into the spot that was killing me.  The pain was gone, for an hour, I left the office very discouraged,

Two weeks later I decided to go back.  I walked into the office (limped into the office) and bared my soul to the Doc ,   I couldn't stand the pain any longer and was willing to have my leg amputated if that's what was needed to do.

Another x-ray was taken and the results of the picture showed my hip was in terrible condition.  There was no longer any buffer between the femur and the hip joint.  I wasn't just bone on bone, but bone on nerves.

It was more than obvious my hip needed to be replaced...

My thought was about the "appliance" which would be put in where my own bone had been.  Would it be as good as the one I was born with? Would I walk with a limp?  Once the surgery was done there was no going back.  Once my bones were in the garbage, there was no way they could go back in place.  I had to think about this a bit.

I had some time to think about all this because we were in the middle of the Covid 19 Pandemic.  No elective surgeries were being performed.  The hospitals were filled with people trying to survive this plague.

I thought no big deal, something other than myself was making the choices for me.  I knew this had to be done since the pain was restricting my daily life.  I was not having the quality of life I thought I should have. I was also miserable.  My whole demeanor was different. The pain was making me crazy.

I lasted about three weeks in pain that was escalating by the hour.  I was nasty and very volatile at this time.  I knew it was all about the pain but I honestly couldn't take any more pain meds.  I hadn't taken opioids at this time because I knew it would be disastrous for me. I am not a good opioid med patient.  They cause me terrible side affects. They're just not worth it, however I was getting to the point of possibly taking them to get rid of this ongoing pain.

Finally after several weeks the hospitals were doing elective surgeries.  I called the Doc and said, " sign me up, I'm ready willing and able",

You know these days all these Docs have protocols for every procedure  I was not the exception.  I had to see my PCP, my Cardiologist, my Pulmonologist and have blood work and a Covid 19 test before I could have this surgery.

I spoke to everyone I knew who has this operation. I watched the YouTube procedures ( don't do that...it's like watching a mechanic cutting parts of a car off to replace with new parts that are hammered and sawed into place...no exaggeration.  It's pretty barbaric and bloody).  However, at this point I didn't care, the pain had to be gone.

The day came for the procedure.  I was driven to the hospital by my husband and my daughter, because of the Covid 19 virus they had to kick me out of the car and into the hospital.  No visitors or folks with you.  It was very different from anything I had experienced in the past.

I was wheeled up to Pre Surgery and left in a waiting room, alone.  After a time I was taken into the Surgery area to get set up for the surgery,  Now was the time for me to say goodbye to my 73 year old bones and tell them they had done a pretty good job, but they needed to go away now so I could get relief with a new, younger titanium appliance that would take their place,'

Before I knew it I was on my back in a bed with lots of nurses and anesthesiologists around me.  They were telling me what was about to happen and I wouldn't feel a thing.  The surgeon came in, he said, "ready?".  I said, "I'm as ready and I'll ever be.  Let's get this show on the road".  That's the last thing I remember before waking up in the orthopedic rooms away from the folks who are there for sickness.

I was treated with great care by a nurse Rachel and a CNA Josh.  After a couple hours I asked if I could please get up and walk.  This was really just hours from the time when I was gutted and repaired.  One hour later I was up walking the halls, not long but enough for me to realize that this appliance, I now call "Helga" was indeed going to be my new best friend for probably the rest of my life.

I was given a booklet to read about the procedure and what to expect during my recovery.   The
CNA, Josh said, " That book is old. You have no restrictions.

That was part 1....more later

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Death of a Mother’s child, death in part of the Mother

Death of a Mother’s child, death in part of the Mother

“Parents shouldn’t have to bury their children”.  It’s been said over and over again.  But we do and there’s not a thing we can do about it.  The child dies of illness, accident, overdose, suicide, whatever the case may be and we as a parent feel the tearing and shredding of our soul.  We yell and scream until our vocal cords are raw.  We look at folks who are going about their daily routines and we want to grab them by the throat and tell them, “look at me in my pain, and stop laughing and enjoying your life. Don’t you realize my life is changed forever and I’ll never have what you have or what I had before?”  We want everyone to feel the gut wrenching turmoil we face on a daily basis with no end in sight.  We lose all sense of rationality for a time.  We want everyone to understand that we are hurting beyond belief.

Then the rationality comes back ever so slowly.  You might see a new baby and think about how your baby was at that age.  You see children playing and laughing and you remember all the times your child laughed at play.   You hear about the successes of someone else’s child and you say all the right things, but realize you are playing at life and using a façade to keep from running away and crying your eyes out.  The tears don’t come as readily as they did in the beginning but they are there just waiting to flow like Niagara from your eyes. 

The loss of the child is a loss of part of yourself.  It’s a physical loss of part of you, or at least a part of you that once was.  That child relied on you to nurture and bring that child to life.  That child was yours and yours alone for the first 9 months of his/her being.  You went through pain to bring that child into the world as a living being.  The child that was part of you is now independent of you and a being on his/her own. But… is that really true?

The child you bore is now a person who needs to be honed into the shape of a productive human being.  A human being which you hope will enhance the world.  You do the best you can to teach your child about what is expected of him/her.  You guide the child by your own behaviors and beliefs.  You hope the child is an extension of you and learns what your culture feels is right from wrong.  In essence, you are attempting to make the child an extension of yourself.  You will be gone at some point in time but you hope all your teachings will continue in the acts of the child you bore.

Then comes the death of that child.

Part of you is now dead.  Perhaps not to others but certainly in your own mind you feel the great loss of the flesh and blood of your child who is no longer here to touch, kiss and hug.  The child you took so much care of prior to his/her first breath will no longer breathe.  The child you tried to protect and insulate from the brutalities that life could throw at him/her is no longer in need of your protection. A part of you is gone along with the physical being of your child, your baby, the one you protected for so long.

You feel that you’ve lost an appendage.  It’s as painful as though you really did lose part of your body.  It’s like an amputee who has phantom pain.  The appendage is gone but you still feel it is right where it always was.  You just need to look harder, or longer, or more intensely and it will be back where it belongs. Then you realize, that it never will be back.  It’s gone forever and you have to accept the fact that part of you is gone and you will never be the same. 

“You need to move on”. “You’ll get over it”. “Life goes on”, “Time heals all wounds”. You realize that people are stupid, they have no idea until they go through it what death does to people.  Losing a child is not like losing any other person.  The death is personal, not abstract.  It’s part of you, you’re mourning along with the child.  It is your body that has also experienced the death.  You feel intensely a sense of loss of part of self.

The child, the extension of you, has taken from you that part of your feeling of immortality.  You don’t have the child to continue your thoughts and beliefs.  That child will not be able to impart wisdoms you gave them to their progeny.  You’ve ceased to exist, at least that’s how it feels at times.  Rational thought? I don’t think so, but definitely a layer of regret that you didn’t realize would be part of the death of your child.

So you go on, and do all the things you have to do.   You continue the façade of a life you never knew before but it’s part of you now.  You smile, you laugh, and you carry on, carrying on.  Maybe you don’t laugh as loud or smile as bright, but you do the best you can just like you did when you were raising the child who is no longer part of the breathing world, but part of the memories you hold close to your heart.

Thursday, May 4, 2017

second chapter

I said before this may be too much information but it is what it is.

Now we are on the second course of the toxic meds that are supposed to keep the Myeloma at bay.

It's tough to see the rough times and the person who was once able to get up and go, just trying to keep out of pain by moving slowly and deliberately to avoid any movement that will cause some kind of pain.  At times there is no pain, but the brain is so accustomed to feeling the pain it's like a phantom pain is there. 

That was the first week of the second course of this toxic medicine.  We are now at the end of the second course.  The hot flashes ( really the opening of flood gates from all the pores in his body at the same time- soaking all the clothing he has on and using small towels to stop the flow of water rivulets that pour from the top of his head...that's no exaggerating....Enough pours off that he needs to get hydrated by IV) seem to have slowed but there are still lingering side effects that may cause a change in the medication.  We are now facing going to the oncologists a couple times a week to get sort of an infusion of a different drug (I'm sure with all types of other side effects we can look forward to).

I know chemotherapy is the pits, and for a lot of folks it's a lifesaver.  The problem as I see it is this; the theory is the toxic chemicals will kill or chase away the cancer for a period of time, but it's all dependent on so many factors.  Many of those factors are based on how much of the side effects each person can endure.   Sometimes the chemicals will kill off the Cancer cells for good, and that's what everyone hopes.  But the reality is, it's a crap shoot... If luck is on your side you have a good chance. 

When he was first diagnosed I had so many people ask me if we were going to go to the Cancer Research Center, Dana Farber, the cancer center in Texas for another opinion.   Well, here's what I told everyone...I did lots of research on my own, spoke to a Myeloma specialist, went on the website for Myeloma, checked out the pharmaceutical companies blurbs, you name it, between my daughter and I we did out homework. 

This type of cancer has a regular protocol.  Yes, there are lots of new studies and ideas about this cancer, but the bottom line is not everyone will be able to take new drugs, or they may make them sicker.  It depends on so many variables... If you are diagnosed with any cancer and you're pretty young, you may have a better chance but then again...if you're older and have lived through some of the other health issues as you've gone through life, you may have some antibodies that will help to kill off some of these cancer cells...then again...maybe not. 

You usually don't get anything definitive from the Oncologist's either.  They know better than to give false hope, no hope, possible hope, whatever.  They end up giving you the same information you've gleaned yourself from your research... That's the God's honest truth.

There's always hope.  People will say that all the time, and they are absolutely correct, there is hope.  You can ask everyone to pray or send positive energy, Reiki through cyber space all sorts of things, and some of it may help, so go for it.

We are hanging in and doing things as they come.  I have a neighbor mowing my lawn right now.  There's another neighbor doing my raking in the front yard.  I can only do so much and yard work kills my back so the neighborhood has taken it upon their hands to help out where they can.   I have another neighbor making a platform for Larry's recliner chair to raise the height to make it easier for him to get out of the chair.  He's moved from a wheelchair to a walker, so that's progress. 

Starting on Monday we will be going to out patient Physical Therapy. That will at least get us out of the house and we'll be able to see other walls rather than the ones in this house. 

It's not easy, and for me it's a struggle, but it is what it is...

I am blessed to have people helping me with everything.  I couldn't do all this on my own it's just too much...

Karma is great....for so many years I've tried to help out other people, now I'm getting my rewards.

Friday, April 21, 2017

Maybe too much info....so if it is stop reading....no worries

I see by the dates the last time I wrote something...almost totally something was in January....Now here it is April... Lots of changes have happened in a very short time.  None of them great changes, but after all the only constant in life is change so I guess it's the way it is.

At the end of January we were going to Doc appointments to see why Larry's back was giving him so much trouble.   There was talk of muscle tears, tendon pulls, you name it. The Primary Care Doc wrote a prescription to have him go to Physical Therapy (PT). So, that same day we headed over to the local PT office and signed him up. 

He did that for about 6 sessions and things were progressing horribly... After going back to the PPC again it was decided he should have an MRI, that day.  He was unable to lay down at that time so the screaming in the MRI machine was incredible. Somehow he, and the staff managed the test and he was wheeled out in a wheel chair to my waiting car.  The drive home was very difficult and painful for him, and me as well...

The next day was worse but we had to go to the Doc to see the results of the test...  We had taken one of the other tests to determine what was going on and those results would be there as well.   The PPC was very sure we were dealing with MM (Multiple Myeloma) and it was a treatable, albeit not curable kind of cancer of the bone/blood. 

That was the beginning of what has become a long arduous journey of Docs, meds, nurses, hospitals and new vocabulary lessons.  The internet was a great research tool and there were many resources to get more information about a disease I had rarely heard about.  Although, I knew Tom Brokow had retired as a result of contracting MM. 

We had more Docs to see. This time they were Oncologists and Radio-logical and an assortment of other technicians and lab workers...

The fun began...

to be continued

Thursday, January 5, 2017

Listen up...you may learn something...

This blog and others I write I write quickly with rarely any thought to proper grammar or spelling.  These are "off the cuff" no holding back...They are what they are...


In the past I've written blogs concerning things I see on a daily basis.  Sometimes they're funny and I try to convey that in the blog.  At other times they may be observations of how I understand things.  This is one of those, not gloom and doom but reality of things that you may not understand or never have to deal with in your life. 

I've been a student of psychology and sociology.  My specialty was in the field of "Aging, death and dying".  I read all the literature I could get my hands on about the psychological process of grief.  How it affects the brain, how the physiology of the body reacts to stress, how seemingly simple tasks are overwhelming to the grief stricken.  Yeah, right.  Let me clue you in to the reality of this stuff from my new perspective.  I feel as though I'm doing a PSA (public service announcement) to all the uninitiated.  No kidding.

First of all, the books that are written about grief give you a glossed over version of what the person writing about the grief thinks.  That person usually has some notion of the workings of grief but they can't know what you or anyone else is going through.  They can surmise things but that's about all. 

Grief is a personal journey.  It's sure not easy and it's not something you can tell someone about.  Yes, you can give them the generalizations that everyone thinks about but not the nitty gritty.  Some grieve sincerely forever, never leaving the initial grief stage.  Some seem to bounce back shoving the grief into some dark recesses of their mind, hoping to bury it so deep as to never find it again (doesn't work by the way- it will get you in other ways-trust me on that).

I've been going to therapy, listening to the stories of others.  I thought at first, "What in God's name am I going to get out of this.  I've studied all this stuff ad nausea".  I know the theory.  I know what to expect. I understand what's happening to me.  I know what the next step is and I'll get through it ....no sweat.

Was I too cavalier about grief? You bet.  Was I holding myself above the others thinking I knew more than they did? Of course.  Was I sure that I knew best? Yes, I did.  

The one thing that made me laugh (to myself) was when my daughter realized that I was a basket case and she was shocked to see her, "bad ass Mother (her words)" vulnerable.  That made me start thinking about other folks who have parents who they think are "bad ass", "tough", "capable" "with it", etc. 

Grief has a way of taking over your life.  You are dealing so hard with the grief you can't seem to focus on anything else.  You see things that have to be done but you don't give a rats ass about any of them.  Not because you're thinking about the one you've lost but you're trying to keep breathing, in and out ( and trust me that may be the only thing you accomplish of some days).  It's not depression, it's a sort of depression.  Granted, some may go into full fledged clinical depression but from where I sit it's not what I'm seeing.  I've seen the full fledged clinical depression, experienced even and I'm hear to tell you this is different.  I think there should be a different word used when "depression" is a result of a death of a loved one.  I don't know, maybe, "soul longing? unknown fear dwelling", something other than "depression".

Most people have no idea how tough it is to go through the day not knowing what that day will bring.   Will I break down in the super market because I see something my  kid loved as an adult, a kid?  Will I look at Gatorade differently because that was his drink of choice.  Will I see someone who doesn't know my son is dead and they ask, "So how is the family these days?'.  Then when you tell them they look as though a shutter has dropped over their eyes and they flounder to say something "profound".  (the best thing to say is, "I don't know what to say"...it covers it all.   The worst thing to say is, " OMG How did it happen?" that's usually their immediate thought. Then if they're really stunned they say, "Well, he's in a better place...".  No, he isn't, he should be here with his family and us...  The worst is when someone says, "OMG, I don't know how you're handling this, I'd kill myself". Yep, that's been said.  I know it's not meant to be cruel but it is. 

Most of us want to talk about our loved one.  We love to hear the stories of them and things they did that we may or may not of heard about before, it's kind of nice.  So don't be afraid to give us reminders of past things it keeps the memories alive and in some way the loved one as well. 

Well, that's it for me... I can write for a time but then I can become overwhelmed, as I am right now. 

This has been your PSA understand?

Thursday, December 29, 2016

2016 Be gone damn you.....

We are quickly approaching the end of a lousy year. Not just lousy for me but for multitudes of folks this has been a year with no comparison.  We've seen things happen this year that we've never seen, nor ever thought would happen. 

Our personal loss was horrific, something no parents should have to endure.  However, parents all over the world endure the pain of the losses of their children.  We all hope it won't happen to us, but for some of us, it does.

Our difficulties are continuing.  We don't ever know when we will break down.  We are aging rapidly.  The loss of our child hit us violently.  It's hit us at our most vulnerable. It's not held back.  It keeps jabbing at us and kicking us when we're down.
We seek counsel and hear the other folks talk about their emotions and how they handle things that are hitting them from stem to stern.  These folks may have a loss similar to ours but how they handle their own emotions, I can never understand, because I am not them, nor them me.  Yes, we understand the feelings of loss and we can sympathize but we can't know what their daily life is like without that loved one. We can barely understand our own daily life without our own loved one.

It seems that every week, no make that almost every day, there has been another celebrity or prominent person lost.  No matter who it might be it makes our loss more tangible.  We could have been in a good spot for a minute or two then we're hit between the eyes with something else tragic.  It puts us into another tailspin.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is: be nice to everyone because you don't have a clue what they are dealing with on a minute to minute basis.   They can show a facade of happiness and be dying in the inside.  They can look fabulous, even enviable, but be riddled with disease you can't imagine. 

 The losses to the universe as a whole are not all known to us yet. We'll see what happens over this next year. Things may not be as bad as we think they're going to be, but then again, there's no guarantee of that either.  I guess it's "one day at a time" to the rescue again for all of us.

For us 2017 can't come soon enough... 

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

The Search

The Search

I have always believed that persons who leave their vessels (bodies) manage to be in many places at many times.  When they first leave, their spirit hangs around to make sure everyone left behind is doing OK.  As the time goes by the spirit makes the transition for the living easier by enabling the loved ones to remember times that were once only a fleeting memory in a subconscious.  These long buried memories help the living to remember and move the forgotten memories into the forefront of the minds of the living.   It seems, at first, to be counterproductive for the living, but in reality it’s cocooning the living in a warmth only to be given by the one they’ve lost. 

As the time goes on, the living, with the cocoon of remembrances, feel the warmth and laughter they thought they’d never feel or hear again.  That’s when healing starts…It’s a slow process, but a needed process.  The spirit is always near at this time, waiting to see what to do to help the living adjust.  When the spirit feels the time is right, it lifts itself to a higher plain, still watching and listening, but allowing the living to get on with their life making sure the living is still cocooned in the memories and remembrances of the loved one they can no longer feel.  The spirit then allows the remembrances and memories to become lodged in the heart of the living and no longer in the subconscious of the brain.  

When the living puts their hand over their heart they can feel the essence of the loved one they lost and a calming will come over the living, telling them that “it’s alright, I’m still here and I’ll never be gone as long as you remember me”.

The time had come for the long trip.   The trip to find himself.  The trip to understand the why’s and what’s of his life.  He needed to go.  His yearning for answers could no longer be held in check.  He loved the ones left behind, but his pursuit of his truth was more than he could bear.

His car was packed, his survival gear categorized He was ready for the journey.  Mapping out his route he started on his quest.  It would be long, and arduous, but it was his time to complete this trip of a lifetime.

His pain was intense, both physical and psychological, but he was ready.  His friends and family tried to stop this seemingly disastrous journey stating it should not be done alone, it wasn’t the right time to be making this pilgrimage, and there were things to do at home and not the time to be going away.   None of that mattered to him.  He was on a mission to accomplish something that few would attempt.   He was a broken man physically.  A man who had always been the strongest, the most thoughtful and wise of his cadre.  This brokenness bothered him, it put him into a depression of sorts that could only be assuaged by doing the undoable.  He was driven.

His thoughts were to camp in remote places where he could commune with all he loved, the trees, the soil, the land the fresh air, the waters, the nights and days, alone, with only his own thoughts and prayer.

His love for God and his need to show God he was a man of faith, further lent fuel to the desire to make this journey. He was in God’s country, the unknown to him.  He was going to make sure he was one with the elements and come out a better person.

That was not to be…maybe.

Those left behind were worried when he didn’t contact them, but they knew he was on a silent quest and it wasn’t the first time he had followed his heart to seek out the answers to the questions in his mind.  He needed the time to think and “get back on track”.  They weren’t aware that he was “ on track” just not the one they felt he should be on.

Time went by, still on contact. What to do? Where to look?  Should we look? Would we be intruding on a personal quest? We sat and wondered if we were doing the right thing.  Should we have taken things into our own hands and stopped this journey? I said, “No, this is a personal journey we should not interfere.  Let him have this time but let’s give ourselves a date to start another phase”. Our decision was to “Let go, Let God”, hand it to a higher power knowing we were really unable to control anything at this point and to keep swirling around in a whirlpool of worry was not helping any of us… We gave it up.  We sat back and waited for a higher power to take over to lead us to our next step. It wasn’t easy to sit back and let the chips fall where they would, but it was the only thing and the right thing to do.

We would wait just 12 hours when the phone call came from a Detective in Iowa.   He told us his car was found in a semi remote area, but they didn’t find him.   A trail camera was installed to see if there would be any activity in the next few days.   It was obvious to the Detective that he had been camping on private property, a farmers land far into an area the farmer didn’t plant.  His car was in the open.  The farmer saw it and watched for a few days before calling it in to the authorities.  The farmer was worried about the person who was camping since he hadn’t seen anyone near the car.  He wasn’t angry at the person camping, he just thought someone should check on him.

The trail camera saw no activity after three days, so the searches were started in earnest.  We had to make missing persons reports in order for more intense searches could be made.   There were helicopters, dogs, volunteers, people we didn’t know nor maybe never would know looking in earnest for signs of him.  Two of his friends flew in to the area to help with the searches knowing they were more knowledgeable about him than the multitudes of strangers who had taken up the job of trying to find an unknown person. 

Rocks were turned over, camps were checked for signs of him, stored boats were flipped over, posters and flyers made and were given to everyone they encountered.  Some had seen him days before walking and riding his bicycle. Some had spoken to him and thought him to be a “really nice guy”.  He had been all around, but now was gone.

The river was high, higher than usual.  The rains had swelled the river to rise above its normal height.  The search was now on the banks of the swollen, raging river.   Signs of him were there: his water purifying kit, a boot print, and water bottles.  Where was he?  Did he fall into the river?  The search extended down the river slopes to the edges of the raging river.

On the other side of one area was an old quarry, still, dark, deep and cold, oh so cold.   The search and rescue changed to a search and recovery.  There are certain protocols that are adhered to in any kind of searches. 

The Detective overseeing this search was more than helpful in helping his two friends searching for him. He was a compassionate and caring man who was willing to give leeway to these two friends, he had never seen before this time in his life.  He felt the pain the friends were in and knew their friend was someone who was loved.  He let the friends do what they needed to do and didn’t try to stop them, just guide them.

The two friends along with the Detective came up with a scenario which could explain what had happened.  There was no proof other than what experience had taught the Detective and armed with the only physical evidence they found it was probably, not completely, but probable, accurate.

They found a boot print near the river and the water supplies.  There was a slide mark close by.  The edges of the river were steep and muddy.  He slid into the raging river was the thought.  It fit.  The river claimed even the strongest at times and swept bodies down towards the great Mississippi, we may never again see him.  That was the thought, but they didn’t give up the search…The friends had to return to their lives and the search would go on. 

We waited, and waited.  Worry over came any other thoughts in our minds.  We wondered how we could go on not knowing where he was.   How could we ever get closure?  I knew he was gone to another dimension.  I could feel him around me, but I’d never hug him again. I’d never feel his soft lips giving me a kiss before he left my house.  I’d never again hear him utter the words, “love you Mom”.  But that was OK, I knew he was no longer in pain.  He was no longer searching. He was no longer alone.  He was where he needed to be, not where we wanted him to be. 

Time marched on. In retrospect, it wasn’t really that long.  So much happened during that time that he wasn’t part of at all.   It seemed as though he was hovering nearby but unable to get to us, or us to him.

One of the friends went back again to see if anything else had been discovered.  The Detective went to the airport to collect the friend.  They had become friends during the search and rescue/recovery.  He was still an integral part of the case.  The Detective gave the friend all the information from the forensic team to read, so the friend would realize the extent of the ongoing investigation.   It was an extensive report.  They hadn’t just made it into a “cold case”. They were actively still looking and waiting for information to turn up.   The farmer was more than generous to the friend and the Detective stating he wanted the car to stay where it was, no need to impound and tow, let it stay, just in case he came back to get it.    These were people none of us knew.  People who lived in a state far from out home, Iowa. 
They were the salt of the Earth types.  We didn’t know them but they were instant friends.

Finally, in the night, the phone rang. It was the Detective.  A body had surfaced in the quarry.  There wasn’t an official identification but there was a probable one.   He had a tattoo on his left arm.  A tattoo of a Scottish Rampant Lion.  I remember being furious that he wanted a tattoo.   He came home, said, “Mom, I got a tattoo”.  I was angry as he was pulling up his sleeve and I saw it was the Scottish Lion….My birthplace’s standard of strength…He had outmaneuvered me again.

That tattoo identified him as my son, my baby, my boy.  A new chapter in our lives would now begin.

To be continued…