Hope. Fear.

It seems like forever since I've written here.  It has only been a few months, but they have been long months.  I've wanted to post several times but have had password problems.  I finally got them figured out, so here I am.  How to catch up?


Grief doesn't end.  Two years and four months and the pain is so strong.  I don't know how to approach life.  My grief has to be private - others not in this position can't understand it anymore.  I do have good things in my life, but there is an underlying foundation of wrongness since Brian's death.

I can't share my honest thoughts or fears, and the energy that it takes to appear ok is exhausting.

My job is sucking the life out of me.  I'm not sure when or why my boss started hating me, but it is a reality that is hard to live with.  I spend more time at work than with anyone else, and her behavior is abusive.  She isn't a morning person, and that is not on me, but starting every work day with her snapping or yelling is unbearable.  No matter what I do it is wrong.  She treats me like I am less than human, and I really don't feel that I've done anything to warrant this behavior.  I've been looking for a new job, I really need benefits, but I can't find anything.  I'm overqualified, or under qualified.  I did have great interviews for two jobs.  The first told me that I had the job, but then gave it to someone else.  I need more money.  Even if I made the same salary, having benefits would save me a lot.  I am living beyond my means.   I'm not extravagant with spending, but I can't make ends meet.  My parents are helping to support me, and while I am grateful, the knowledge that I need their support to get by has destroyed my sense of self worth.  I know that I am more than my job title or my salary, but I don't feel it.  I'm no longer a wife.  I'm not anyone's mom.  I'm not important to anyone in the way that Brian and I were important to each other.

My health is more or less ok, but I have worries.  My eye condition seems to be worse lately, and constant pain takes a toll.  I'm seeing some new doctors.  The cause of my eye problem may be a blood condition.  If so, the eye injections I receive are fine, but the systemic medications might be all wrong.  This condition could also cause other more serious problems.  Or not.  The uncertainty is hard to handle alone.

I have friends.  I have people that are important to me, but when it comes to the big stuff I feel very alone.  I've been making an effort to not isolate myself.  I'm trying to reach out and make plans.  I'm trying to find a new job.  I'm trying to find interest in life, but I'm alone and scared and sad.

This is not a life I want, and I don't seem capable of changing that.  I hate not having a true partner. I hate my job.  I hate that I'm no longer financially independent.  I hate that I have health issues.  So much hate!

I love my dog.

Grief changes over time.  It isn't as crushing as it once was.  But life seems more hopeless now, and that only gets worse with time.  I'm so afraid.  Brian would have understood that.

Life Goes On

Time does not heal all wounds.  Life goes on; I'm alive.  I have friends, I experience happiness, I have fun, but so much is still missing.  Not the pain, the pain remains.  Sometimes it hides in the shadows, but it is always there.  You can't experience such a profound loss and expect to heal.  You survive.  And by many accounts, I'm surviving well, but the pain is always there.  When there is joy to celebrate, but he isn't there to celebrate with.  When there is sadness, and he isn't there for comfort. In the little things, and in the big things.  When something is interesting, horrifying, or absurd, he isn't there.  I have friends, I have so much, but so much is gone, The loss is always there.  The "new normal" doesn't feel normal - it feels like a compromise.

How to hold on, how to let go.  How to carry the love and the loss.  What to keep, and what to dispose of.  How to process things alone. How to not feel alone.  How to allow others in, and how to realize that they can't possibly understand the level of the loss.  How to allow yourself to be happy, and how to deal with all that is missing.

I wan't joy, laughter and passion.  I want purpose and permission to not have purpose.  I wan't intention. I don't want people to feel sorry for me, but I don't want them to confuse survival with strength.  I want permission to be weak.  I want to breakdown and have someone there who isn't made uncomfortable by it.  I wan't to incorporate my grieving and my sadness into a life that is purposeful and happy.  I want to feel good about myself.  I want to feel proud of my accomplishments.  I wan't not to feel defeated by my failure.

I want to understand how Brian is gone, even if I'll never understand why he is gone.  I want to maintain my faith in humanity and in G-d without anger.  I want to find the strength to accept my anger.  I want someone to know me the way Brian knew me, and to love me despite all ,my faults and frailty.

I want, I want, I want, but I don't know how to make it happen.  I don't know how to move on.  I don't know how to feel complete.

I'm not the first person to lose the love of their life.  The world is full of grieving widows, widowers, parents, children, sibling, friends - people who miss someone desperately, and most of us move on. But to lose your life partner before their time.  To watch a good, decent, kind, intelligent man die at 48 just because a cancer cell divided and divided and ate him from the inside - how do you live with that without doubt?  Can life ever be more than just ok again?

Memory

I no longer feel qualified to write about life. I don't know if I remember how it feels to live. There has to be more.

Done

Bad news begets bad news. Bad luck begets bad luck. Bad karma begets bad karma. Eventually it just starts to feel like nothing good will ever again happen. It is too dangerous to hope or to want. I'm done.

Two Years

Tonight I lit a yaretzeit candle.  Two years ago tonight was Brian's last night.  Two years ago early tomorrow Brian died in my arms.  He died peacefully.  He didn't appear to be in any pain.  I think he knew that I was there.  He squeezed my hand before he took his last two breathes.

For me, it was horrible.  The last two nights were excruciating.  I knew he was going - that was no surprise, but I didn't know what he felt.  I didn't know if he was scared.  He couldn't communicate, and I didn't know how to help him.

I knew that that last night, when I hit the morphine button, it was for more than to alleviate his pain.  I hit that button again and again, to end his pain.  I didn't kill him; I would never have done anything to hurt him, but if the morphine could speed the horrific process of dying, I wanted to do that for him.  I wanted to fix him, to bring him back to health, to spend the rest of my life with him; but the cancer ate him from the inside out.  Death was imminent, and I wanted it to be peaceful for him.  I didn't want him to suffer.  I didn't want him to feel pain.  I didn't want him to die, but I couldn't bear watching him live in the state that he was in. He couldn't communicate, he couldn't get out of bed, he couldn't control his body. He couldn't be Brian.

Two years later, and those memories are still so hard.  Two years later, and I still miss him so much.  I know he is gone.  I know he won't come back.  I know that my life has and is moving away from our life together.  I have to live; and living without him means meeting people, doing things, experiencing life in a way that he will never be able.  How can I be meeting people that he will never know?  How can I be going places that he will never see.  How can I be getting older when he had barely turned 48 when he was told that he was dying?

Brian and I did not make a decision to end our marriage.  If he could be here, he would be.  He didn't want to die.  He didn't want to leave me.  But he is gone, and he won't be back.  Our dreams of getting old together were dashed.  I need to live without him.  I need to do new things without him.  I need to plan for a life without him.

For two years I have been stagnant.  Wanting to live, wanting to be happy, but not wanting to move away from the life we had together.  But to really live, I need to make changes for myself.  I need to leave behind things that don't enhance my life, and welcome new experiences, people and opportunities that can bring me happiness.  I need to make changes in my life without being able to talk to Brian about them.  I need to experience things that he will never know about.  I need to go places that he has never seen.  I need to move forward, but that means moving further away from the life that we had; a life that I loved.

It is lonely.  It is terrifying.  It is heartbreaking.  I don't understand how I can want better things for myself, but be terrified of those opportunities because they move me away from my life with Brian.

Brian wanted me to live and to be happy.  He would be so proud of me for risking change on my own. He believed in me.  He knew that I could do anything I set my mind to.

I need to set my mind to living a life that is fulfilling without Brian.  I need to set my mind to making changes that will enhance my life.  I need to move away from the past and towards a meaningful life.  I take him with me in my head and my heart, but he can't come with me into the future.  I need to accept that memory is all that I have left.

I see the flickering of the candle, and I need to believe that his light is glowing in me.  That I carry him into the future by living the best life that I can.  I need to believe that my best is not in my past.  I don't know how to believe that.  I don't know how to look forward with excitement and anticipation.  I need to figure that out.  I need to start to do it now.

Grief

It has been almost two years since I lost Brian, and while the grief feels different, it still feels fresh.  I am anniversarying  the last two weeks of his life, and the memories are painful.  In the end, the decline was rapid.  We had the chance to say goodbye, but it was too quick, too soon, too hard.

I miss him every day.  I miss the life we shared.  I miss the love we shared.  I miss my best friend.  Life goes on, but nothing is the same.  It is hard every day.

This week I heard the horrible news of an online friend who just lost her infant son.  He was a twin.  They are now enjoying their beautiful baby girl, while mourning their beautiful baby boy.  I can't imagine their pain.  I know my pain.  I know that Brian died far too young.  How does one deal with the death of an infant?  How does anything in life make sense. 

I am heartbroken.  For them, for myself, for Brian. It hurts too much.  Every day is too hard.  I need to find a way to be happy again, but I don't know how. 

Sadness

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.