Time

Time has lost all meaning.  Since he's been gone, I have no concept of time.  The days march on and I seem to accomplish nothing.  The nights are long and sleepless.

I get up, I go to work.   The rest of my time seems to be consumed with tears and cleaning up pee.  I walk the dog.  I clean the litter box.  I clean up pee from the floor.  I feed the pets.  I forget to feed myself.  I sometimes get laundry done.  I pay the bills.  That's it.  That's my life.  Work, Pee, Tears, and Bills - not necessarily in that order.

It's already September.  He's gone almost 5 months.  I can't stand to think of the future.  Things look so bleak.  I'm not living - I'm surviving.  I hate this existence.   My life feels so empty.

I know what he wanted for me.  We talked about it.  He wanted me to be happy.  He wanted me to enjoy life.  He wanted me to live each day for both of us.  I feel like a failure.  I'm just not able to do that yet.  He knew me so well - better than I know myself - and he knew that it would take time, years, for me to get there.   I don't know if I ever will.  It is too much to ask that I be happy.  It is all I can do to just survive day my day.

Today is September 11th.  A horrible day in our history.  Before this year, I remembered 9-11 as the worst day of my life.  The day when the world that I lived in changed forever.  My sadness on that day was overwhelming.  But now things are even more bleak.  This loss is mine alone to bear.  This pain has engulfed me.  When my husband died, we both lost our lives, and I don't know how to build a new one without him.

The Power of a Voice

I miss my husband's voice.  The most beautiful sound ever.

When he was in hospice, I bought a digital voice recorder, and we recorded several conversations.  The sound of his voice still makes my heart skip a beat, but listening to those conversations breaks my heart.  He was still here, but we both knew we were nearing the end, and we spoke about it so openly.  He was so brave, so strong, so pragmatic.  I cried through each conversation.  I cry now when I listen to them.

Maybe someday they'll make me smile.  Maybe someday they'll be happy reminders rather than such painful ones.  Somehow I doubt it.

Those recordings are priceless.  I'm so glad that I have them, but  listening to them is sweet torture.  I miss him so so very much. 

Sigh

The only person who knows me well enough to understand the depth of my pain is gone.  Such a hopeless cycle of loss and grief.

What to say

Grief is pain.  Grief is loneliness.  Others say kind things; they mean well, but nobody can understand the loss.  Everyone experiences loss, and it is always painful, but the way each of us experiences loss is as unique as our fingerprint.

What comforts one person doesn't comfort everyone, and any person's beliefs about death isn't universal.  

Just hours after my husband died, a well meaning acquaintance told me that she was so sad for me, but so very happy for him because he was in a better place.  At the time she didn't know that I am Jewish and that her well-intended words brought pain and not comfort.  Other friends told me to take comfort in knowing he is looking over me - I don't believe that he is.  Unlike others who "see" their loved ones in the sun, sky, wind and rain, I don't. 

I don't know what happens after death.  Is it the end, is there some sort of awareness, is there some kind of afterlife?  All that I know is that the love of my life is gone.  I've lost my best friend, my lover, my confident, my biggest fan, my most honest critic, my comforter, my teacher, my student, my advocate, my partner, my sun, my moon, my everything. 

Sometimes well-meaning words cause pain.  When someone is grieving, listen to them.  Talk about their loved one - share memories.  But don't assume that you understand their pain, and don't offer your opinion on why they are gone or what happens after death.  The pain is all encompassing, and words misspoken can cut deeper than you realize.

The Screaming Silence

We lay together in the darkness
The quiet buzzing with sound -
A soft and steady beeping
The bubbling of the oxygen pump
A soft clicking from the wound vac
And the intermittent humming of the bed.

Below my cheek the pillow is damp from my own tears
My weight is balanced on one hip, the bed rail digs into the other.
Everything hurts
My head wants to explode
The pain is unbearable.

But he lies sleeping beside me
His skin so soft under my fingertips
The tiniest of snores - a beautiful sound
The rhythmic rise and fall of his ribcage reminding me that he is still here
Still alive
Still the man I love
And I pray that he is dreaming of a place that is safe and warm
And cancer-free.

 

 

I wrote that on February 11th.  Just 2 days before we moved from the hospital to hospice.  What I wouldn't give to go back there.  It was a painful raw time, but he was still here.  We were still together.  I knew better than to pray for time - I just prayed for quality time.  I knew better than to pray for a cure - I just prayed that he wouldn't suffer.  I knew better than to ask for anything but for things to be as they were meant to be, and thankfully Brian was painfree for most if his illness.  

 

But now, my pain is unbearable - and there seems to be no end in sight.  

 

Brian - I miss you.  I hope you knew how much I love you.  I hope you knew how wonderful you were, and what a legacy you left - not just for me, but for the world.   You were smart, kind, compassionate, giving, loving, funny - you were my sun and my moon - the air that I breathed.  You brought joy, happiness, and contentment to my life, and I'm so grateful for your love.  Maybe someday all those gifts will make me smile before they make me cry.  Maybe.

Pain

My Grief seems to know no boundaries.  It is always there.  Sometimes it hides behind a smile or a moment of real laughter, but it always returns quickly with such painful force.

Not a day goes by without tears and physical pain.  The human body is not equipped for such overwhelming loss.  It aches, and there seems to be no remedy; no relief.

In every quiet moment I feel I am fighting to survive this.  It is exhausting.  This is the other side of love.  Only a love of such purity could cause a wound this deep.

People say, "give it time, it will get easier."  I don't know how chronic pain can ever become easy.  I don't know how devastating loss can every feel ok.       

Bad Day

Today was not an "anniversary day".  It wasn't x months since y.  It wasn't a birthday, or holiday, or celebration that made Brian's absence all the more painful - it was just a horribly bad day of sadness and tears.  Today's memories did not bring smiles - they only heightened my pain.  I know that Brian would have been disappointed in me today for not taking better care of myself, but sometimes the pain is too strong for me to fight off.

Brian, I miss you so much.  I just ache.  I love you.