Living, dying, or something in between

On April 20th it will be three years since Brian died. This time three years ago we had already been living in hospice house - living, no, we were alive there, but not living - we were dying. I am so sad; so alone in my pain. I am surviving, but not living. Without Brian There is nobody that understands and knows me. I live in this horrible solitude of pain, and while its jagged edges aren't as treacherous as they used to be, it's weight is slowly killing me.

Rage

I went to see my grief counsellor today. I see her every week, but needed an extra appointment today. I'm feeling so alone, angry and hopeless. I just can't seem to turn it around lately.

On the ground level of her building there is a small cafe, and when I walked in there was a family sitting there eating. I would recognize that beautiful woman and her magnificent hair anywhere - it was Brian and my favorite nurse from when we were still in the hospital. I excused myself for interrupting their supper, saying that she probably didn't remember me and mentioning my name. She jumped up and hugged me. I knew she would remember us. She only worked on weekends, and we always requested her to be our nurse.

And it all came rushing through the cracks in the dam that I put up to hold back the pain. In a week when I have been struggling so hard to keep it together, it all became too much - all the kindness we were shown during that horrific time. There was so much support then.

I guess when the dam crumbles it is good to be at the therapist's office. The rush of pain didn't surprise me, but the anger did. I am so angry! At everyone except Brian. I am so angry at a world that thinks that I could possibly ok, that I am weak or self indulgent. I am emotional - I often give into tears, but I am not weak! I am a survivor. I have been through losses that many couldn't endure. Nobody besides Brian knows or ever knew some of the challenges I have survived. Maybe if they did people wouldn't treat me like a silly child. I am so angry. I am carrying so much rage and I can't let it go because there is no longer anyone who can help bear the load.

I am so utterly alone in my pain and my grief, and I think that this is how it will always feel.

Tired

I haven't written in a long time because I'm tired. I'm tired of being a widow. I'm tired of feeling loss. I'm tired of wishing for what was. I think that mostly, though, I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of pretending that life is ok. I'm tired of smiling to make other people more comfortable. I'm tired of facing challenges alone. I'm tired of having nobody to share accomplishments with. Sometimes just getting through the day is an accomplishment that deserves recognition.

I'm tired of being alone.

My eye hurts. I started a new treatment that sucks, and I hate that I have to navigate it alone. I had an injection yesterday that left my eye burning for hours and that has my eye still hurting tonight. Brian used to take me to my injections. He knew this hurt and terrified me, and he always supported me so that I could be strong or weak. Now it is hard to be strong because I can't be weak. I have nobody to offer their strength.

In less than a month it will be three years since he has been gone. A lot has changed. I'm learning to live in this emptiness that has become my life. I'm learning to move forward even though I want to go back. But I know that the best of my life is behind me, and moving forward just moves me further from the life that was.

I'm tired of this life.

Another Anniversary

Despite taking a sleep aid, I'm wide awake. Could be anxiety, could be subconscious memory. It is December 29th. Three years ago today the nightmare began. I guess it began much earlier; who knows when the cancer began eating away at Brian's life? It certainly had been there for some time once it was discovered, but three years ago today was when the symptoms reared their ugly head.

I can't sleep. Despite taking a sleep aid and a pain killer for my eye, I am lying here wide awake. I'm tired and I want the mental vacation of sleep, but it remains elusive. Perhaps it is nervous energy. Perhaps it is because my subconscious knows that it is 12-29-15, the third anniversary of the start of a living nightmare.

Brian had had an unsettled stomach, and thought he had a touch of a stomach flu that was going around. I had an appointment on the morning of 12-29-12, and by the time I got home he was pretty sick. He had already vomited several times. When he vomited again, and I saw how violent it was, I insisted we go to urgent care. There Dr. Charlie suspected a gall bladder problem and ran some blood tests. I was upset that Brian would need surgery. Brian was happy that a simple surgery would fix the problem. He already suspected it was cancer. How I wish it had been his gall bladder! How I wish it was something that could have been fixed!

And so began the nightmare that ended with his death on April 20th, 2013. But it didn't end then for me. For me it went on and on; and while I will always be haunted by what happened and broken by my loss, I am finally starting to come back to life.

Next week I will start a new job at the university. For over twenty years I have wanted an administrative position in higher education, and that wish is finally coming true. I wish Brian was here to share this with me. He would have been so happy and proud. Then later in January I will be moving to a condo and selling our home. This is hard. Brian didn't want me to lose the house, and I didn't. I sold it when I was ready and on my terms. I purchased a condo that will eliminate the need for me to do the outdoor maintenance, simplify my life, and increase my liquid assets. Brian would approve. The condo is nice, and I will be very comfortable there, but selling this home hurts. Brian and I loved every minute of designing, building and decorating this house. It was ours. Now all of my physical links to our life will be gone. I lost him, Tater, My job, Lola, and now I'm selling the house. I have a great new dog who I love completely, but who Brian will never know. I'm starting a job about which I am so excited, but about which Brian will never know. I'm moving to a new house which will be very nice, but in which Brian will never step foot. These are all great things, but as much as they are new beginnings, they are a painful ending.

I miss Brian and the life that we shared. I miss my husband and my best friend. I miss sharing my life with the man who knew me even better than I know myself. I know that because of Brian I have the strength and confidence to make these changes. Because of him I am starting to live on my own terms. Because of him I have survived this devastating loss. I will live and I will again be happy, but there is a gaping hole that will never heal - a wrenching sadness that will never ease.

I'm not working this week, so I need to get all but the basic necessities packed, and get the condo ready for move in. I got a lot done today. Sarah came over to help me, and we made a big dent. My eye is really hurting and I'm physically and emotionally very tired. So maybe I'm awake because of nervous energy and anxiety. Or maybe I'm awake because my mind and body remember that this is the anniversary of the day that Brian and I knew that something was quite wrong. For the next four months I will be anniversarying horrible moments from our life and his death. I will also be experiencing exciting new things. Two sides of the same coin- sorrow and joy, love and loss, endings and beginnings.

Few people understand how difficult it is for me to look to the future with hope while inexperience another ending. Something huge in my life is closing, but there is no closure. Something new is beginning and I am genuinely excited, but that excitement goes hand in hand with a deep sadness. I know that this is good. I know that I am driving my life in the right direction, and even though this is not a route that I have chosen I am making the best of this nerve wracking travel.

I don't know if I will sleep tonight. I don't know how the hope and sadness will meld in the coming months. I do know that I will survive the pain. I will have happiness. I will be ok.

Brian would be so proud.

Hard Day

I don't know why today has been so hard, but it has. I feel overwhelmed by sadness and depression.

Sometimes I wonder if this will ever get easier. No, often I wonder if this will ever get easier. Wasting this life is wrong, I am not entitled to happiness; I have a responsibility to find it, but I feel like if I haven't done it by now I may never.

Happy shouldn't be this hard. Maybe there is something fundamentally wrong with me.

Overwhelmed

Life is hard alone.  Of course, I'm not alone. I have friends and a family that supports me, but I don't have my partner, my love - the man I lived with, the man I planned a life with, the man I discussed everything with.  I miss him.  I spend far too much time alone, and it isn't good for me. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm just weak.  If I were more decisive, more independent, more secure, I would do better.  I'll never know.  I just know that I'm faced with all sorts of life decisions right now, and I'm not managing well.

I need to find a new job. I've been applying and networking, and things are looking promising.  I need to put my house on the market and look to buy a smaller condo.  I don't want to. I hate that I have to, but it is just me and a 20 pound dog. This place is far to big for us and the maintenance, yard work, shoveling, etc is too much for me. I dont' see well, I have to be careful not to re injure my back, and I just can't keep up. This place will sell quickly and my realtor says I should get more for it than I thought I would, but this is home.  This is the house that Brian and I built together. We planned for it, we customized it, we selected paint, and light fixtures, tiles, carpet, fixtures, counter tops, cabinets - everything.  We made this place ours, and we both loved it here. I know it is a just a house, but I love it. It was built with love, and now I have to leave. I know it is the right thing, but leaving here is leaving the last ties to my life with Brian. He is gone. Our pets are gone. I'll be starting a new job he never knew about and working with people he never met.  I hate it.

This house is big, and it is filled with stuff.  I've been working hard getting rid of things. I've gotten rid of over 40 boxes and bags of stuff.  Some of it I don't care about, but some of it is hard. I gave away most of his books. That hurts. Giving away my stuff is easy. Giving away his stuff rips open a wound.

If he were here, we probably wouldn't be moving, but if we did, we would have done it together. We would have gotten the house ready, shopped for a new place, done all the work and the planning together. Now I have to do everything alone. I do have friends that help, but it is all up to me. I have to make all the decisions without having him to talk to.

I find that I wake up in the morning and just can't do it. I can't bear to start working on this process.  Then in the mid afternoon I get busy, and I get a lot done, and before I know it it is dark and the day is done.  No dinner, no break, no social engagement. Just the knowledge that I didn't waste the entire day. At least I can feel like something was accomplished before I go downstairs to eat a small dinner at an hour way to late for dinner, snuggle with my dog that Brian never knew, and go to bed alone.

There has to be more. Life should be more than this - and I know that is why I'm doing it.  I need a new job, I need a more manageable home. The job and the new home will help me practically and financially, and it will make things better. But getting from here to there is horrible. I ache inside and out. I feel so alone.

Struggle

Today is the fifth anniversary of Brian's sister's death. Connie was great. She was self aware, fun loving, and wise. She and Brian were so different in so very many ways, but they were both wonderful people who left behind legacies of love.

They both died far too young of cancer, but their experience with cancer was so different. Connie lived with breast cancer for 14 years. Fourteen years on active chemo. Fourteen years of not letting cancer define who she was, but of incorporating cancer as part of her self - not a favorite part certainly.

Brian was diagnosed and never came back home. He went from the hospital to hospice house and died only 3.5 months after diagnosis. Like Connie, he didn't let cancer define who he was, but the inevitability of his death was more immediate. From the moment he woke from surgery, he never had even a hint of normalcy left.

I don't think one is better than the other. They both suck. Whether you accept life with cancer and all the unpleasantness of controlling it for more than a decade, or whether you suddenly come face to face with mortality without the opportunity to choose the path of your last days, they both ended up leaving this world too soon. They both are gone.

I don't know where I am going with this. I have no words of wisdom. I would like to say that I've learned to embrace all the good and bad in life, and to live it to it's fullest because I've loved others who didn't have that opportunity, but I would be lying. I'm struggling. I'm struggling to accept my losses, and to find happiness despite them. But, I suppose, the fact that I'm struggling means that I am still trying. So many changes have been forced on me, and I'm sad, angry and depressed, but I still have some hope for a good life in the future. Some days it is harder to imagine, but I'm struggling to get there.

Sometimes it is all just too hard, but I think that Brian and Connie would be proud of me. I think that they would understand just how difficult this is.

I miss them both.