A Walk Around the Block

As the good weather has struggled to return, Sam and I have finally been able to resume our walks. At first it was down to Cumberland Farms, another day it was down to CVS and another day, it was a walk to Walgreens. Tonight though, he asked me if we could go for a walk around the block.

As we walked, he asked me about his brain tumor and what it was like when we found out, and how we knew that he had one. It surprised me because Sam has never expressed more than just a passing interest, if any interest at all, in hearing about his brain tumor in any great depth. He's always been well aware he had one, if for no other reason than the long scar on the back of his head. It's never been a secret. In fact, it's been a part of life, particularly in the years of the MRI's.

Tonight though, it was different. He wanted to know the background. Our walk was a mile long, which was long enough for the Cliffnote version. I told him the story about how we thought he had a series of ear infections, about how his balance would be off and his speech was delayed. I told him how we took him to the doctors over and over again but they never found the ear infection. I told him how it got to the point where his arm developed an occasional tremor but when we went to the doctors, they were unable to see it.

And I told him how on vacation, just a few weeks before his ultimate operation, he got sick at Cape Cod and he and I spent the night before going home, in the emergency room. And I told him how on the day we were going to go to the county fair he couldn't sit straight, how he leaned at an unnatural angle and when he tried to stand, he would walk into walls, and how I rushed him to the doctor's which was closed because it was early on Saturday. I told him how I took him to the emergency room, first in the morning and then, how and why we had to go back that night, how they did a scan and how we ended up having to bring him by ambulance to another hospital, and how Grandma stayed with his brother and sisters.

Every time we got distracted from the story, either by an animal running by or listening to a bird singing, Sam would direct me back to the story with a "Anyway, you were saying...".

I told him a lot, but not everything. I told him it was scary, but I left out the fear. I told him I was scared of losing him, but I didn't tell him I was scared for years and years after. I held a lot back, but then, I always have when it comes to talking about this. But all of the emotion is still there.

As we walked along, Sam spotted some crocuses poking up. Winter is finally being pushed aside by the struggling spring weather.

It's been too long.