I'm really struggling with sadness. I have had some good times, but I really haven't felt joy since Brian's diagnosis. Life has been hard, and I hate being alone. I miss the laughter that was a daily part of our life.
There is so much bad news every day. Today a plane crash in Switzerland took the lives of 150 people including 16 high school kids. Today my friend Margaret shared her sadness that one of her newborn twins has become unresponsive and they don't know what is wrong.
There seems to be no good news. Everyone around me is struggling with stress.
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Inertia
I feel like I'm in a state of total inertia, and I hate it.
I lost my husband; I spend too much time alone; I'm in a dead end job with pay that doesn't cover my bills; I'm not keeping up with housework; I can't seem to get some health issues managed. There is so much I should or could do - housework, yardwork, cleaning out some of Brian's things, divesting myself of my own "stuff" in the knowledge that I should downsize into a smaller home to reduce my expenses. I'm just not doing any of those things. I do the minimum to get by. Laundry, bills. Even preparing meals is often too much of an effort. Who wants to cook for one? Eat alone? Eat the same thing all week?
Some things have gotten better, certainly, but there is an overwhelming sense of sadness and loneliness that overshadows everything else in my life. I know that there is a lot of good still out there for me, but I also know that my best years are behind me. I know that if I had a desire to look for it, there might even be a new relationship out there for me, but I believe that the perfect partnership is behind me and that no other could be as perfect, as all encompassing, as fulfilling as my relationship with Brian.
I had a visit with my doctor this week, and he injected an implant into my eye. I've had more injections in my eye that I can count at this point. This time I was terrified. This was something new - a larger needle, and not just a medication, but an implant being placed into my eye. I was fighting to hold back tears because I just wanted Brian to hold my hand. I hate having to pretend to be strong when I don't feel strong. I hate having to face these fears alone. I hate that my life is moving on without him. I've met people and been to places that Brian never knew. I've experienced good things and bad things that Brian hasn't experienced. I've created new memories that he is not a part of. It hurts.
I have amazing friends who support me and love me, but in so many things in my life I am completely alone, and it breaks my heart. I am lonely. I am not good with my own company. I see me friends, and I have good times, and I laugh and enjoy some things in my life, but at the end of the day I go home alone. I climb into bed alone. I go to sleep alone. I wake up alone. None of this was my choice. None of this was the plan.
It has been a year, ten months and eight days since he has been gone, and I still can't wrap my brain around what has happened. How does a 48 year old man go in for exploratory surgery and never come home? How does someone stop breathing and cease to exist? How do I as his wife learn to live in a world without him?
Maybe I could and should be doing more to have a better life without Brian, but I'm stuck. I can't push past the inertia. I can't process the pain.
I lost my husband; I spend too much time alone; I'm in a dead end job with pay that doesn't cover my bills; I'm not keeping up with housework; I can't seem to get some health issues managed. There is so much I should or could do - housework, yardwork, cleaning out some of Brian's things, divesting myself of my own "stuff" in the knowledge that I should downsize into a smaller home to reduce my expenses. I'm just not doing any of those things. I do the minimum to get by. Laundry, bills. Even preparing meals is often too much of an effort. Who wants to cook for one? Eat alone? Eat the same thing all week?
Some things have gotten better, certainly, but there is an overwhelming sense of sadness and loneliness that overshadows everything else in my life. I know that there is a lot of good still out there for me, but I also know that my best years are behind me. I know that if I had a desire to look for it, there might even be a new relationship out there for me, but I believe that the perfect partnership is behind me and that no other could be as perfect, as all encompassing, as fulfilling as my relationship with Brian.
I had a visit with my doctor this week, and he injected an implant into my eye. I've had more injections in my eye that I can count at this point. This time I was terrified. This was something new - a larger needle, and not just a medication, but an implant being placed into my eye. I was fighting to hold back tears because I just wanted Brian to hold my hand. I hate having to pretend to be strong when I don't feel strong. I hate having to face these fears alone. I hate that my life is moving on without him. I've met people and been to places that Brian never knew. I've experienced good things and bad things that Brian hasn't experienced. I've created new memories that he is not a part of. It hurts.
I have amazing friends who support me and love me, but in so many things in my life I am completely alone, and it breaks my heart. I am lonely. I am not good with my own company. I see me friends, and I have good times, and I laugh and enjoy some things in my life, but at the end of the day I go home alone. I climb into bed alone. I go to sleep alone. I wake up alone. None of this was my choice. None of this was the plan.
It has been a year, ten months and eight days since he has been gone, and I still can't wrap my brain around what has happened. How does a 48 year old man go in for exploratory surgery and never come home? How does someone stop breathing and cease to exist? How do I as his wife learn to live in a world without him?
Maybe I could and should be doing more to have a better life without Brian, but I'm stuck. I can't push past the inertia. I can't process the pain.
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