Going Home

I'm writing this from a hospital bed after back surgery.  My second in 10 months.  Since Brian died I have had three surgeries and I don't know how many eye injections.  None of these procedures/surgeries have been awful, what has been awful is the fact that Brian hasn't been here with me.  Each time I get disturbing news from a doctor, I still turn to look for him.  He who was always there to hold my hand, give me a hug, let me know that everything was going to be OK and that we would deal with it together.  But that's not how life works.

I'll never forget that awful, empty, crushing pain when the doctor told me that Brian was dying.  I could hold his hand, hug him, be there to deal with it together, but I couldn't do anything to make things alright.  Three and a half months later, he died in my arms.

I'm not going to die for a long time. Despite some serious medical issues, I'm pretty healthy.  And somehow I have to learn to manage my health and my life alone.  I'm going to go home later today, and I'm going to be alone.  I have friends that will visit and help, I have a neighbor who will walk Lola and feed Tater, I have lots of love and blessings, but Brian, my love, my strength, my partner in life is gone.  That hurts more than the back and leg pain, more than the eye pain, more than the incision pain.

When we married it was forever; until death do we part.  Who knew that death would come for Brian when he was just 48?  Who knew that life could be so cruel?  That the love of my life would be with me for only 9 short years?

So I'm going home, but that just means I'm going back to my house.  Brian and I together made it a home.  Brian's love made everything OK.  And while Brian and I never stopped loving each other, he stopped breathing.  His big beautiful heart stopped beating.  He can't help me make everything OK anymore.  I miss him.  I miss him more than I can find words to express.

There is no home without Brian.