There are so many memories of Fred as I walk the grounds and hallways at St. Luke's. So many ER visits, admissions, and discharges. I am never too far from Fred, and it's been 18 weeks since he died.
My afternoon walk was uneventful, trying to walk off the cake I ate earlier for a coworker's birthday. As I walked by the ER entrance, I thought of the many times I drove up with Fred, not knowing exactly what was wrong but knew he needed medical help, and fast. Then, as I approached the discharge driveway, I remember the many times pulling up, looking at him in a wheelchair as he and a transporter were waiting for me to pull up and load him in the car, and how ready he always was to get home and get the heck out of the hospital. I walked by the pharmacy, and one of our friendly techs said hi to me, and I teared up. She knew Fred's meds by heart and I was in there sometimes 2-3 times each week picking up one of his meds. I told her of my years of memories with Fred right here at St. Luke's, where I have worked for 15 years, and years prior to me working here, also with Fred. She listened to my hallway chat about Fred, and was so kind to me, and said to come find her anytime I needed to talk.
I go home now to an empty house, missing Fred every night. Missing him sitting in the kitchen, along with Rocco, waiting for me to come home. Coming home meant talking about the day in news, and the day at work, or talking about one of the grandkids. I now walk around the hospital campus with Fred memories flooding my heart and my mind, knowing those are only memories now. Some good, some not so good, since the last time I talked with him, bathed him, hugged him, and kissed him was on the 3rd floor of the hospital. I enter my work place and my home, without Fred. He is never far from me, 18 weeks after his last breath.
