and then...

 

One is day good, some days are wreck. That's the new state of my daily life.

When you died, I sat with you quietly and understood what happened but felt numb. You had waited for this event for so many years and talked about how death would bring you peace and end the pain you'd lived with for so long. Your breath stopped, I was watching for that.

I got up and turned off the oxygen concentrator and the house was suddenly so silent and immediately it felt abandoned and empty and...final.

I thought I was ready to handle it all. I was prepared to proceed with 'the things that needed to be done' next. I had a list of things to immediately accomplish. I had a list of places to call for notification. 

It felt like a business 'to do' list. 

I dove into the funeral business first everyone knows all about that.

I went down my list sometimes running into issues and hitches along the way. 

I figured that I'd grieved for years through all of your illnesses and close calls.

When you entered Hospice care, I was on high alert for months on end. Sometimes I wished for it to happen right away for you to end your suffering and the next moment I hated myself for thinking about it.

I wanted you here, I wanted you at peace and without pain. I couldn't have both at the same time. I quit the gym, I couldn't stand spending time with others who experienced joy and laughter. I carried my personal suffering quietly and sometimes angrily.

I was angry that family didn't step up or come around. They had their reasons but I couldn't see them or understand them. I hid that too and concentrated on our time together. I found that your friend Steve was the rock I could count on. I cherished those days when we worked so hard to bring you some enjoyment. 

Now it has been what, 9 months? I am looking back at last summer's photos of our little fishing trips on Wednesdays and the joy that it brought to you. I now wish I had more time to tell you how much I loved you and how much your smiles meant to me. I now regret not holding your hand every day [even though you were not a hand holder]. I wished we'd hugged more.

At night with my thoughts I wonder if I could have done more and realize those were just night wishes. I had so many nights without sleep for over 6 months. I was running on empty just like you were. 

I was pretty sure that my life would be easier after you were gone. I could sleep, I could go and do things I've dreamed of. I would be just fine and not a wreck because I was prepared.

Until I realized I wasn't. Half of me was gone. Okay, not literally, but you read about it all the time. I felt like I was adjusting to that. 

And then I wasn't.

No one else knows me like you did. No one knows you like I did. These were our secret powers. 

So, I have days where I am stuck standing in the middle of the living room with no place to go, and feeling quite lost. I do have places to go and things to do. But my feet are frozen to the floor for some reason. 

I don't want to go to the grocery store. I don't want to do anything I am supposed to be doing. I am just stuck and now I understand that I have to wait until I am unstuck and my feet can move and my brain can make a decision.

That shouldn't be. But I guess I didn't do grief the right way, if indeed there is a right way to grieve. I didn't fall apart, I just took care of things and continue to do so. And I get stuck.

Then I find a goal to work towards. I need a project or a challenge.

The months going by haven't really gotten easier. I've just been able to distract my brain.

I haven't found the answers to the questions I don't even understand yet.

But that is okay. 

I still think about you. I still see you. I still love you.