Song of the week: Highway Unicorn (Road to Love) ~ The Highwomen

Today I had lots of appointments, viewing a house, teaching, and dinner with my niblings* and mother.

My 6AM alarm went off…. then my 6:30 AM alarm. I dragged my feet getting to the shower, my heart heavy as tears mixed with the shower water as I began to think about Allie. Her face hovering in my head, flashes of her laughing, then of her body lying in the hospital bed. I tried to think of something else, but I just couldn’t. There she was in my mind, and I wanted so badly to hug her, to hear her say something goofy, to hear her tell me something profound as if it was what everyone was thinking about at that moment.

I pulled myself together. I was running late now, so I had that to distract me. I hopped in the car and headed to the hospital. This was the first time I had returned since leaving in the early morning hours after Allie died. I looked at the windows as I drove up, thinking about her and how she spent her last hours there instead of at home like we had all planned. 

I made my way to registration. Sitting at the desk, the woman asked me the routine questions about address and insurance. “Is Allie still your emergency contact?” 

“No, that’ll have to change.” I bit my lip hard under my mask trying not to start crying again. I carefully asked to have my mother put there instead. As I walked away from registration, the tears began to roll down my cheeks and onto the top of my mask. No one really noticed I was crying, for which I was thankful. By the time I had reached the imaging department, the entire top of my mask was soaked in tears. I sat and waited and tried to regroup.

“Alden?” I stood up with a thread of my composure back in place. “Good morning! My name is Brie,” said the perky imaging technician. She gave me the usual instructions, confirming that I had a sister who had breast cancer, and left me in the room with the big imaging machine and pink ribbons everywhere to take the top half of my clothes off. I slipped on the gown, front side open, and opened the door. Brie came back and began to place my right breast on the machine, instructing and informing the whole time. I could tell she could see my tears, but she didn’t ask. I breathed as slowly as I could to make sure we didn’t have to take multiple shots. 

By the time we got to my left breast, I couldn't hold it together. I choked on my tears and apologized. She asked if I was ok. “I’m sorry. This is the first mammogram since my sister died.” Her forehead creased with concern, “Oh! I am so sorry! We’re almost done, I promise. Just one more shot.” We finished and she came around from behind the radiation wall and gave me a hug. 

A cup of water, lots of tears, and a few minutes later, I was headed out the door. 

But now today will not be a busy day.  I’m still going to look at a house, because it’s closer to Allie’s kids and husband. I’m still going to have dinner with her kids and my mother tonight. But everything else, all the things that felt so important, just didn’t matter as much. What matters today are the things that bring me closer to Allie. 

*gender neutral term for sibling’s children