If you’re old enough to remember The Jefferson’s on television, you probably know the main character was George Jefferson, a loud, wiry, funny guy who owned a successful dry cleaning business allowing him to “move on up, to the east side”. His wife’s name was Louise but he fondly called her Weezy.

Well, since Wednesday, I’ve been fondly calling Suzanne, Weezy. As it turns out, after she had her Tracheostomy removed, air leaks out the trach hole as she breaths or talks. It’s just a little squeek, a tiny noise in the background that is indistinguishable.

At night as she sleeps, it’s a lot less noticeable than if she snored and it really doesn’t keep me awake either. It has also served as my new health system alarm. Since her surgery in February, it’s been easy to keep track of where she is and if everything was OK because about every hour she would begin coughing and I knew things were fine. Now, she’s awfully quiet, but if I listen close I can hear that little whistle while she works on a quilt up in her sewing room.

From what I have heard, this tiny cowbell around her neck will only last a week or so. When the time arrives that she weezes no more and the house becomes silent, I’ll be able to take off my nursing gloves and relax a little more as another concern comes off my plate. My only worry is, now I won’t know where she is all the time. Maybe I’ll just have to go out and buy her a real cow bell.

The joyful timbrels are stilled, the noise of the revelers has stopped, the joyful harp is silent.

Isaiah 24:8