New view . . .

The view from Bob's new digs at the acute rehab facility at the U of M/Fairview facility (or would that be the Fairview/U of M facility . . . no one really knows what the deal is, even people who work here, clueless . . . ). Not a great view, but not terrible, either. Green velvet, sunny lawn five stories below . . . hopefully, we'll be taking walks out there before long. Not sure how long he'll be here. Average stay is 10-14 days, but it will depend on his progress, his goals, his insurance . . .

This move forward is taken with immense apprehension and trepidation. We've never gotten to this point before. Many times close, but have been jerked back for multitude reasons . . . a whole year gone by in which Bob has been conspicuously (or not) absent. A whole year of holidays come and gone, the same round of holidays soon to be making rounds again . . . seasons come and go . . . friends, family, colleagues engage in life, take vacations, attend ball games, have babies, start new jobs, try to find new jobs, curse traffic, go to school, paint living rooms, plant gardens, go camping, bitch about work, fight with spouses . . . cycle of life . . . and all Bob's done, for the past year, is fight for his life. No small feat, that, and continues to be . . . tumor was removed via surgery, but the big question is, is the cancer still lurking in his body, in other, unseen places . . .

Right now, Bob still suffers debilitating pain that comes and goes in tidal waves, is still dependent on others to help him move, to get out of bed and into the bathroom, to clean him, dress him . . . still trying to figure out how to live life with a non-functioning limb and possibly non-functioning other body systems, to live with the heavy knowledge of a stealthy, potent cancer possibly lurking in the shadows of organs, bones . . . still light years behind what he was, pre-surgery . . . His body is wasted, a trembling, old-man shadow of the lean, muscular, vibrant soul he was just a year ago. His limbs shake when he stands, his hands fumble when grasping for a toothbrush, a pen, legs falter when taking a step forward. His words become garbled when he tries to force them out . . . He's lived through a horror that very few of us will ever comprehend and shouldn't even pretend to. In one year, he's endured immeasurable suffering, more than most of us will ever know in an entire lifetime. Not even close. A one man holocaust. A one man war. . . and no real, tangible evidence, yet, that all of this has been worth it.

There is no reason for any of this. I've said that before. No reason for one person to endure the pure and utter shit Bob's endured this past year. No lesson to learn, no message to glean, no miracle to behold . . . let's be real. No one will truly change their lives because of what they've read about Bob's experience. Oh sure, we'll gasp in horror, we'll cry some, we'll be moved by his story, certainly, but most of us will go back to life as we know it, a quick little prayer offered up to whomever that we are not he . . . little will change because of it.

Bob is the best person I have ever been blessed to know, hands down. And I meant that in the purest sense of the word, best. He has always lived his life simply, honestly, ethically. Despite his childhood illness, it was never an excuse, a crutch . . . it was several months after we were dating that I learned about his Hodgkin's lymphoma, and that was only because a mutual friend had told me of it, and I had to ask . . . There is no reason for Bob to shoulder the burden of all mankind, to trudge through the horror of the year that has passed. He's no one's sacrificial lamb, there is no "wake up call" to be had.

Each of us has our own journey to travel, our own lessons to learn. I could think of enough people to fill my fingers and toes and then some, who could use a "wake up calls" a helluvalot more than Bob ever needed, myself included. Some who've already had "wake up calls," multiple, even, but have chosen to ignore them. That is not how life works, in my book. We find messages (or chose to ignore life messages) all day, every day, throughout our lives, to fit our personal agendas. It's plain and simple, purely, without reason, life. Human nature, if you will. The sooner we quit trying to ascribe meaning to life events, and simply let them be, the sooner we can move on . . . no God to be angry at, no one to be envious of, no judgment, no punishment, no misdirected fury . . . just life . . .

Soooooo, Bob's been cleared for acute rehab—yea!!!!—and arrived at the facility today, around 11 a.m. Today has been a day of rest, of getting acquainted with the facility, the routine, the "what to expect" kind of stuff. Tomorrow is the real deal, the Boot Camp of rehab, the moving forward. Three hours a day of PT, OT, other therapies as determined. Because his doctors, his therapists, now know what I've known all along, that he's ready, he's ready. In spite of, despite of, the awful shit he's been dragged through for the past year, Bob is ready to get his life back. Fuck social security disability. Bob has said he's never wanted to go back to work more than he does right now . . . right now, at this moment in time, I have very little faith in much of the world. But I do have faith in Bob. Faith in the strength of the human spirit. He rocks it. More than any prayer, any scripture, any burning bush could convey to me. Amen.