Not Enough...

It's been three years since I walked out the door of the Cowman's life.  It's been two years since I scattered his ashes on the mountain side over looking the high valley that he loved.

Will I always feel I failed him, probably. But I learned a few things from that journey:

  I learned that his doctors didn't expect him to make it to thirty.  I learned that I would not accept that, and neither would he.
  I learned that after being thrown across a room, and sliding down the wall, I could get back up. That I could help him, who in the moment, didn't know it was me trying to correct the raging chemical imbalance.
    I learned to be on a first name basis with most of the paramedics, flight medics, ambulance services and hospitals in two states.  I learned that the time between the start of his reactions and their arrival was fraught with danger for all of us. 
  I learned that you can do everything right and things can still go to hell pretty darn fast. I learned that if I showed any signs of panic, it simply made things worse. 
  I learned to be prepared, I learned when and how to approach a situation, and to always know where my kids were in a given moment.
  I learned that I could be dead asleep and still feel a slight body temperature change, as long as I kept one hand on him.  I learned that it was a heck of a lot more mentally comfortable to wear jammies if there were going to be four paramedics in the room with us.  

In the end, I learned that I couldn't save him from himself or his disease.   But damn, it's hard feeling that I failed him.  It's hard to know that my try, my desire, and my love weren't enough...