So not my job

So here's the thing. Eyeballs make me queasy. Putting on mascara is a task because that darn stick gets way to close to my eyeball.  I cringe at just the thought of having to put eyedrops in my own eye.  On the rare occasions I've actually had to have it done I was like a child shutting my eyes tight every time it came near. My ears would start ringing. Dan would laugh at me for being so silly but then he would help me put the eyedrops in.  It's not limited to my eyeball.  Other peoples eyeballs make me queasy too. I could not stand watching Dan put his contacts in or take them out. I would cringe and grown and walk out of the room as fast as possible. He would laugh at me and try to get me to come back, wasn't gonna happen.  I didn't even like watching him put drops in his eyes, which he did like everyday because he had terrible allergies.

This is why when Baby Girl needed eyedrops, which is often because she has terrible allergies just like her father. It was Dan's job. I stayed away. I couldn't watch, I didn't even want to be in the same room. I would let the two of them handle it. Dan's not here anymore, he died. Baby Girl still has awful allergies. She still needs drops regularly. Her eyes get red and puffy and sore just like her daddys and it makes my eyes hurt just to look at them. I had to suck it up. Like so many many things in this life without him I had to suck it up and do it anyway.  She needed me and I didn't have a choice.  It took quite a while but we found a routine to getting her eyedrops in.

Baby Girl is always rubbing her eyes, they always bother her, they always hurt, especially in the heart of spring when the pollen and cotton wood are blowing everywhere. That's why I didn't think anything of it when her eye was red a few days ago and she was complaining that it hurt. "stop rubbing it and lets put a cold rag on it" is my go to solution, not much else can be done, except of course drops, which we did. The pain subsided. It came back and went away the next day.  On Saturday night it was very red. We tried drops, we tried salene, we tried a cold rag. Nothing was helping and she was crying in pain.  My friend was over and she suggested that maybe we should go to the ER. Baby Girl agreeed. Ok now it's serious, my kid actually wants to go to the ER, This kid refuses tylenol when she has a fever, if shes volunteering to go to the ER something is wrong.

We get to the ER and start checking in. They verify my address, no thats the wrong one we moved. I give them the new one. Baby Girl is standing beside me whimpering in pain.  They verify more information. "And we have a Dan Stults as listed as the other parent." And there it is, the crushing blow on an already stressful event. What does one say to that? He is still the other parent, but thats not exactly what they mean, they mean someone else to call, another number, a this is the next person in charge of this beautiful child. He's not any of those things anymore, I want him to be and I'm sure he still wants to be but he can't be, he's dead. All these thoughts are running through my head as I take a deep breathe and say almost in a whisper because I can't bear to say it "No, please take him off" Baby Girl can hear me but she doesn't say anything, she's starting to learn this is what we do now, even three years later.

This is it. This is the cruz of everything. It's just me now, she had a daddy who loved her with his every breath, even his last one. It boils down to me, just me. I am responsible for this beautiful creature we made together, we wanted together, we loved together. Yes we have a huge wonderful loving family, they would do anything for us, but I can't list them as her other parent because there not. Dan and I are her parents. I took Dan off the list. We sat down and I texted that loving huge family to tell them what was going on. Dan's mom always worried about us says "I will come down and sit with you." I text back "no thats silly, it's moving fast, I'm sure by the time you got here we would be all done. We're ok"  we're ok is always a relative term, yes were ok, nobody is dying, in this family that equals ok. Am I alone, yes. Am I trying to hold in tears because I really want Dan to lay my head on his shoulder, yes.  Am I being strong for Baby Girl, yes. I am so tired of being strong, it is exhausting, especially in ERs. But we are ok.

It wasn't moving as fast as I originally thought. We sat in the waiting room for two hours. Grandma could have easily came and sat with us, she would have in a heartbeat, all I had to do was say yes we need you, and she would have come. I was being strong. I kept telling Baby Girl it would be our turn any minute, that everything was ok with just the two of us. Everything was ok, we weren't dying, we were alone, I should have called Grandma, I was being stupid, sorry grandma.

Finally we get to see a Dr. Baby Girl has a giant scratch on her Cornea. Daddy did the same thing when he was a little boy. She was probably rubbing her eyes in the middle of the night and her finger nail got in the way. Allergies, she has terrible allergies, just like her daddy.  Now for the solution. Baby Girl gets an ointment to be placed directly on her eyeball four times a day for five days. This is a job one of her parents. Preferably the one that doesn't cringe at watching contacts get put in. He's not here, we don't get that choice.  It's just me, the one who hates eyeballs, I have to do it, I don't want to, I want dan to do it. I want him to laugh and giggle with her as he tells her to hold still so he can put the medicine on. I want to over here this conversation as I'm in the kitchen doing dishes. I want her to say "daddy stop making me laugh" as she laughs more. I want to hear him say "you are so brave my Baby Girl"  I want to be able to tell him "thanks babe" because we all know eyeballs are so not my job. None of us get that choice today.

P.S. In case you didn't know she has the same beautiful blue eyes as her daddy.

I wrote a book about my grief, you can read it here: Carry on Castle