Shhhh...

It has been some time—a long time—since I last wrote about Bailey’s and my journey. Lately, my creative energies and time have shifted back to songwriting and photography. This is true, but only partially so. As much as a conscious refocusing, this shift has been a flight away from writing and talking and even thinking about the path we have been on or where it might go. I am afraid to talk or write about it. Afraid of jinxing the incredible run of good fortune that we have had. Afraid of getting my hopes up. Afraid of being crushed when the streak ends. So I have avoided talking about it and I have avoided writing about it. Out of site, out of mind.

Instead I have written songs about love and life, and I have taken pictures of blossoms and children and kites. And I have developed backaches and headaches and stomach aches. It does not take a Ph.D. in psychology to draw some conclusions here but, having one of those, it is even harder for me to deny the obvious. It is never out of site, and never out of mind. Not really.

I hoped, but never expected that Bailey might see the beginning of March. No one providing care to her thought that she would possibly see the end of it. But here we are on March 31st and Bailey is laying beside me still breathing, even if heavier and more congested than in February. Still, she is alive, comfortable and very happy.

Yes, there was a stretch of exceptionally low energy and a few days that were not at all comfortable or happy. Yes her arrhythmia has gotten worse and she has more (still intermittent) periods of labored breathing. And, yes, we have had to adjust to a new normal where days are not judged as good or bad, but more as comfortable versus “please feel better.” Yet, within this new normal, Bailey is still happy most of the time, and still gets ridiculously excited by small things like the call for dinner, the sight of a neighbor or a knock on the door. And a visit with a friend not seen for a while, especially one with treats, is met with too much exuberance as the excitement now leads to gasping for breath. Yes, the old girl is still bouncing, just not as high and with a little more loss of air upon each landing.

So, now I write again. I will still remain silent about the future and I will still try not to entertain hopes for anything more than the rest of each today. But, I will not suppress my sadness that the path has trended downward and the ball is being deflated. And I will express my joy, gratitude and affirmation that Bailey continues to live fully and joyfully as much and as often as she can, and that she continues to bounce with excitement despite the immediate and potential costs.  

We have reached the end of March and Bailey is laying here beside me, resting comfortably, still breathing—even if a little heavier and more congested then in February. She is still happy and excited by life, and for that I am happy.