If “Ugly Crier” Was A Civil Service Title

I’m writing a book, a memoir of sorts. So this blog has taken the backseat. But, it shouldn’t. So many people ask how things are and this is the easiest way to broadcast that. 

It’s been a day. But, not the longest of days. Matt has been in Maryland a few times without me. While he’s there. I’m here. Trying to help make medical decisions and still keep life normal here for the girls. While working. But, we all know the hardest job is Matt’s. Pricked, poked, prodded. All day—most days.

I love him so much. I couldn’t handle today without him. How will I handle the hard times in the future if he’s not here?

Today he was home. And I was at the hospital. A role reversal of sorts. Except I wasn’t there for me. My grandmother, lays in isolation in the Covid ward at St. Peter’s Hospital. 

A fragile little lady, all of ninety pounds, is in the hands of nurses she once taught. In a hospital she was once employed by. I walked the halls with my Mom, we suited up in serious protective gear. We asked all the hard questions, some of the same questions I consistently ask in regards to Matt. 

She’s on oxygen. But, she has a DNR/DNI. So if it doesn’t do enough, there will be no ventilator, or chest compressions administered. She wants to fight without machines. 

I held her hand. Long fingers. Painted nails. 

Now I’m praying for two miracles. 

As I do so, I realize I’m ugly crying. I am ugly crying. And if I could make a career of it, tonight I’d be all about it. They should make it a civil service title. I’d ugly cry for the government. It feels silly to do it for free.

 But it’s freeing.

 So I’ll do it free.