When we first returned home in January after hospital stays, the length of the hall between our room and Jordan's seemed so significant after sleeping in the same room, and being just a touch away from helping him when he needed us. We were concerned we wouldn't hear him easily at home. We tried several devices: a tin whistle - which doesn't work when you're throwing up :-), a silver bell - too soft, and a cell phone - takes too long to press the right buttons. My mother gave Jordan his Grampy's bicycle horn partially as a joke - it is soo loud. But it has become our communication of choice. Thankfully we haven't needed it - until this week. In concept, the louder the better. In reality, I literally fall out of bed and start running since it rivals those WWII sirens I've heard in movies. And I can't calm my heart down quickly since I've been awakened from a dead sleep, knowing that Jordan wouldn't use it unless he's feeling desparate. Even after all these months, he still regularly apologizes for bothering us. Last night, when I asked what was up, his response was "I'm suffering."
We knew the effects of chemo would take awhile to wear off - even after all this time we didn't anticipate the unexpected and violent reactions to last so long. Last night upon arriving at a family Easter dinner, Jordan ended up in the bathroom losing the contents of his stomach. He just wanted to get back home.
And now I'm listening to the shouts and cheers of 8 young men playing games and being wonderful friends to my son. It's a beautiful sunny day - they could be playing football or soccar outside - things Jordan would have been doing with them a few months ago. I'm thinking of rewriting my will and putting all of them in it. What a journey!