Thursday, March 20, 2014
The End.
I was sleeping. Dreaming. Then suddenly I woke. I looked at the clock and it was almost 5am. Just like that day eleven months ago. I woke just in time to hold you as you left. I held you in my arms, you squeezed my hand, took two breathes, and then you were gone. 5am Saturday April 20, 2013.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
A change in course
Eleven months ago tonight was the worst night of my life. Eleven months ago tomorrow morning my beloved Brian died.
I knew he was going to die soon, but there is something unbearably painful in switching from giving morphine to make living easier to giving morphine to make dying easier. That night I knew that the morphine was for managing his death and not his life. That knowledge ate me up alive.
Eleven months have passed and the sharp edges of my pain have smoothed somewhat, but not when it comes to certain memories - like this one. My pain tonight is not as bad as it was then, but it still hurts so much to remember and to process those memories.
I knew he was going to die soon, but there is something unbearably painful in switching from giving morphine to make living easier to giving morphine to make dying easier. That night I knew that the morphine was for managing his death and not his life. That knowledge ate me up alive.
Eleven months have passed and the sharp edges of my pain have smoothed somewhat, but not when it comes to certain memories - like this one. My pain tonight is not as bad as it was then, but it still hurts so much to remember and to process those memories.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Questions with No Answers
It is a waste of time to obsess about questions for which there are no answers, but over the past eleven months I've struggled with that sort of question. This morning it all kind of exploded.
Was I there for Brian in the way he needed as he dealt with his illness and mortality. If I were to ask my friends, they would answer that of course I was. I was by his side from the time of his diagnosis until his death. He died in my loving arms. But that doesn't mean that I was there in the way he needed.
Did I give him the opportunity to explore his relationship with his own dying? He insisted he was OK with it all, but I can't understand how that could be. Was I so wrapped up in my own pain and grief, that I wasn't truly there to help him with his?
I can't know. That is a question that might haunt me for the rest of my life. Was I there for him?
I'm not dying. I don't have a serious health problem, but I do have a health problem that causes me chronic physical pain, and when that pain becomes extreme, I miss him even more. He was he only one who could comfort me when the pain was too much to bear. Just a hug from him made it OK.
He was the only person who knew me and loved me uncondiotionally. He was the first person ever to respect me. He was my everything, and without him I am so desperately alone. Not lonely - I have amazing friends - but alone. What worth do I have if I'm no longer Brian's wife?
So when I think back to those last months, when I was still his wife, and he was my everything, I can't help but wonder if I failed him by allowing my grief to overwhelm me while he was still alive. I know how much he loved me, and I know he would forgive me if I was lost in my own pain, but can I forgive myself?
Was I there for Brian in the way he needed as he dealt with his illness and mortality. If I were to ask my friends, they would answer that of course I was. I was by his side from the time of his diagnosis until his death. He died in my loving arms. But that doesn't mean that I was there in the way he needed.
Did I give him the opportunity to explore his relationship with his own dying? He insisted he was OK with it all, but I can't understand how that could be. Was I so wrapped up in my own pain and grief, that I wasn't truly there to help him with his?
I can't know. That is a question that might haunt me for the rest of my life. Was I there for him?
I'm not dying. I don't have a serious health problem, but I do have a health problem that causes me chronic physical pain, and when that pain becomes extreme, I miss him even more. He was he only one who could comfort me when the pain was too much to bear. Just a hug from him made it OK.
He was the only person who knew me and loved me uncondiotionally. He was the first person ever to respect me. He was my everything, and without him I am so desperately alone. Not lonely - I have amazing friends - but alone. What worth do I have if I'm no longer Brian's wife?
So when I think back to those last months, when I was still his wife, and he was my everything, I can't help but wonder if I failed him by allowing my grief to overwhelm me while he was still alive. I know how much he loved me, and I know he would forgive me if I was lost in my own pain, but can I forgive myself?
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Living with the pain
Considering everything, I'm doing really well. I'm working and actually enjoying my new responsibilities. I'm exercising, losing weight, and toning up. I'm making plans with friends and keeping busy. Things could be a lot worse. That doesn't mean, though, that things are good.
I miss Brian every day. His absence is always felt. I feel like I have lost some internal force of gravity. He kept me grounded. He held me together. He made me whole. Without him, I'm functioning, but I feel disjointed, dismembered. I feel like parts of me are floating in various directions, and his force field is no longer here to hold it all together.
On an ok day I go to work, come home, take care of our dog and cat, exercise, shower, eat dinner, relax and go to bed. It's a full day, and I manage. But on those days when things aren't so ok - when I'm stressed, anxious, angry, or in pain - on those days I come home to an empty house and the emptiness strangles me. There is nobody that I can call that knows me like he did. There is nobody that can hug me, say the perfect Brian thing to make it ok, nobody so central to my being who can make that bad day less important just by breathing, smiling, being there.
In so many ways, things are so much better than they were even a few months ago, but that doesn't mean that things are good. That doesn't mean that I'm not still mourning. That doesn't mean that the pain isn't still overwhelming. It just means that I'm learning to live with it better.
I miss Brian every day. His absence is always felt. I feel like I have lost some internal force of gravity. He kept me grounded. He held me together. He made me whole. Without him, I'm functioning, but I feel disjointed, dismembered. I feel like parts of me are floating in various directions, and his force field is no longer here to hold it all together.
On an ok day I go to work, come home, take care of our dog and cat, exercise, shower, eat dinner, relax and go to bed. It's a full day, and I manage. But on those days when things aren't so ok - when I'm stressed, anxious, angry, or in pain - on those days I come home to an empty house and the emptiness strangles me. There is nobody that I can call that knows me like he did. There is nobody that can hug me, say the perfect Brian thing to make it ok, nobody so central to my being who can make that bad day less important just by breathing, smiling, being there.
In so many ways, things are so much better than they were even a few months ago, but that doesn't mean that things are good. That doesn't mean that I'm not still mourning. That doesn't mean that the pain isn't still overwhelming. It just means that I'm learning to live with it better.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Most Days
Most days I do really well. Lately I've felt Brian in my heart, and I see him in me. My thinking is different - I'm able to see things through his eyes, to process things with his wisdom, to try to honor him by living without fear.
Some days, though, life becomes too stressful. The weight of living, working, or meeting responsibilities become to heavy too bear; or someone is cruel; or circumstance is unfair. On those days I might feel overwhelmed, and when I do I turn to look for him, but he is never there. On those days the pain of his death descends upon me like a storm and tears through me like lightening.
Today was one of those days. A day when nothing and no one on earth could bring me comfort. When the sadness and loneliness rise up and choke me, and as I gasp for air, I question "what's the point?"
I would like to think that I was whole before I met Brian. That I was a self-actualized individual - strong, confident and ready to share my life with another. I know that isn't true though. Brian and I were two halves of one magnificent whole. He brought me safety, respect, and unequivocal trust. I brought him laughter, and joy, and the gift of silliness. We brought each other unconditional love - something I hadn't believed in before Brian.
So his death was more than the loss of my husband, lover, best friend, and confidant. His death was the loss of the best in me - the part of me that believed that anything was possible and that good things happen to good people. His death was a reminder that not only is life unfair, it is cruel. His death was proof that I, as an individual, am still incomplete, and needy, and hopelessly in love with a man that I will never again see, hear, or touch.
Most days, I can focus elsewhere. Not on the pain of the loss, but on the amazing gift that Brian and I shared in love. Most days I am now able to feel gratitude. But on those days when I can't, the pain is one hundred fold. The loss is too profound to find comfort anywhere but in Brian's arms.
Some days, though, life becomes too stressful. The weight of living, working, or meeting responsibilities become to heavy too bear; or someone is cruel; or circumstance is unfair. On those days I might feel overwhelmed, and when I do I turn to look for him, but he is never there. On those days the pain of his death descends upon me like a storm and tears through me like lightening.
Today was one of those days. A day when nothing and no one on earth could bring me comfort. When the sadness and loneliness rise up and choke me, and as I gasp for air, I question "what's the point?"
I would like to think that I was whole before I met Brian. That I was a self-actualized individual - strong, confident and ready to share my life with another. I know that isn't true though. Brian and I were two halves of one magnificent whole. He brought me safety, respect, and unequivocal trust. I brought him laughter, and joy, and the gift of silliness. We brought each other unconditional love - something I hadn't believed in before Brian.
So his death was more than the loss of my husband, lover, best friend, and confidant. His death was the loss of the best in me - the part of me that believed that anything was possible and that good things happen to good people. His death was a reminder that not only is life unfair, it is cruel. His death was proof that I, as an individual, am still incomplete, and needy, and hopelessly in love with a man that I will never again see, hear, or touch.
Most days, I can focus elsewhere. Not on the pain of the loss, but on the amazing gift that Brian and I shared in love. Most days I am now able to feel gratitude. But on those days when I can't, the pain is one hundred fold. The loss is too profound to find comfort anywhere but in Brian's arms.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Beauty
I've never been beautiful. When I was younger I was awfully cute, but I've never fit into a definition of beauty. In fact, the only two people who ever thought I was beautiful were Brian and my Grandmother, may they rest in peace.
Lately, I feel different. I've stopped focusing on my loss, and started focusing on the amazing gift I had with Brian. A relationship built on love, absolute trust, mutual admiration, and respect. We had it all. And since I started focusing on that gift, I've been able to see just how much knowing and loving Brian has changed me. I'm stronger, smarter, more confident and more trusting. I'm able to see myself through his eyes. To stop focusing on all my faults and flaws, and to focus on what is right about me. In doing so, I feel him alive and well in my heart.
And that makes me feel incredibly beautiful.
Lately, I feel different. I've stopped focusing on my loss, and started focusing on the amazing gift I had with Brian. A relationship built on love, absolute trust, mutual admiration, and respect. We had it all. And since I started focusing on that gift, I've been able to see just how much knowing and loving Brian has changed me. I'm stronger, smarter, more confident and more trusting. I'm able to see myself through his eyes. To stop focusing on all my faults and flaws, and to focus on what is right about me. In doing so, I feel him alive and well in my heart.
And that makes me feel incredibly beautiful.
Missing you, feeling you
Baby, I miss you so very much. Nothing is the same without you here to share it. But everyday I have reminders of you, and I know that you are in me. I'm not the person I was before I met you. You made me better, stronger. You live in my heart, and everyday I feel your presence in my life. I've reached the point where thinking of you can make me smile before it makes me cry. What a gift we had. What a life we shared. What an amazing love story. Because of you I truly am The Luckiest.
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