Haunted

I hadn't organized my digital photos in more than a year. On restless nights these days, it's a great project to catch up on because it's quiet and peaceful, even though staring at the computer screen can cause me sleep-deprivation. (Parkinson's often causes sleep-deprivation, and this is one of Lizard's daily Mount Everests.) There's always hope Lizard will be able to continue sleeping or be able to fall asleep if he's not already when I'm the sleepless one.

I used to be pretty good about downloading my camera(s) and my phone at least once a month to back up everything. When life went ballistic last year, all my organizational habits sought refuge. Or ran for cover. For years, I'd been organizing my downloaded photos by year, then month. Makes it easier to find something I need down the road. Almost exactly one year ago, all my organizational skills evaporated. They are just now beginning to take root again.

With all the trauma of last year, it's rather satisfying to scroll through old photos and remember the before. Before life became unhinged. Before every door seemed to slap me on the behind. Before sanity seemed to vanish into thin air.

I've been going through last year's photos chronologically, beginning with when things began to trickle into the unsurvivable category. Last weekend, I reached the most traumatic period of 2024. It's not a time I go back to willingly. It's not a memory I cherish.

Understandably, there aren't many photos of that particular time. Thank goodness. It's already painful enough. I don't need to wallow in it.

And yet, there is a sense of survival. Not then, but now. There are traces of comfort. I made it through. We made it through. A tiny nugget of hope deep down inside, sometimes forgotten, sometimes shunned. The fire of knowing we didn't give up. The summitted emotional mountain and accompanying view of the dark, bottomless chasm at the edge of the traumatic cliff we traversed seems like a very bad dream. Yet, a bad dream from which I eventually awoke.

I am whole again. There is still pain. And Parkinson's marches relentlessly on. But I am whole.

Lizard is not whole. The Parkinson's likely will continue to get worse with time. But he has reclaimed tiny nuggets of his life. His personality. His will to survive.

The one thing that kept me going most of last year when all seemed lost was knowing one day, Lizard will be whole again. Knowing that when we meet again on the other side, it will be the sweetest and most joyous reunion ever. There are so many painful memories. But the experiences that carved those canyons have created bonds we will cherish throughout time. One day, Lizard will remember everything he's been through, and he will rejoice that we hung on so tightly and never gave up. How awesome that the healing I am experiencing these last few weeks is surrounding me during Holy Week, with all the hope and promise of Easter knocking on our door.

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