I will not miss the Wheelchair Van
The van was the last big thing of Savannah's to go. Its been a while since we removed her house lift system and remodeled to cover up the holes in ceiling and all the gashes in walls and door jambs from her wheelchair and gurney. We had packed up her hospital bed. We donated boxes of supplies and medical equipment. We donated her wheel chair and shower seat. The van was the last of it. If you visit our house now, the only indication you'd have that she ever lived here would be the wheelchair ramp at the front door and the roll-in shower... That's it.
I've converted her room into my art studio. It reminds me of her every time I go in there. The cat is still skittish and won't follow me. He meows at the door. "That's not your room," he says. "Come back out and rub my tummy." I like to work in her room. Currently, I'm working on the graphic novel about her life (more on that in a future blog). I can feel her with me when I sit in the space and look out the same window she looked out every morning and every night.
|The fixture in front of the house is gone.|
On days like this, I take a little time to remember her. But, I don't miss her the way I expect most people miss a loved one who's passed on. She lived with such pain and suffering that I like to think her passing has brought her peace. When I sit in her room, I can feel that she is at peace. Caring for her was so hard-- physically and emotionally. I don't miss the long, sleepless nights, the doctors' offices, the hospitals, and all the medications, therapies, and equipment.
I don't miss that van either.
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