I became a widow. The time between April 12 and 17 was filled with wonderment, frustration, compassion, disbelief and, “what the hell is going on?” I was going to update my blog but the clash between life and death bogged me down. My husband died at home with loved ones surrounding him. The glass bridge feels fragile; I am vulnerable and raw and strong at the same time. Looking back on those five days I have vague memories of how, now here on Saturday morning, April 19, I woke up on the sofa in the TV room at 5:30 AM.
A month ago when my husband’s gastric cancer was diagnosed I feared hearing the words, “Hospice Care,” for I knew that meant there was no medical treatment available and that patients are sent home or to a facility to die. Those words “hospice care,” came too soon. My husband described his cancer as a big Mac truck coming at him in slow motion. “You know”, he said, “sometimes people get hit by a Mac truck going full speed and are taken out immediately. I feel like that truck is coming at me in slow motion.” He would add something about being grateful that at least he had time to say goodbye. I would describe his cancer diagnosis as his wife like this: a big Mac hit me and sent me flying in the air many yards down the road. It happened so fast that by the time I realized I was hit, the accident was over; I lay on my road burned back starring up at, I do not know what.
He died in the same way he lived his life, without much drama and with logic. His last meal was a bowl of Lucky Charm kids cereal, his rationale “might as well eat the stuff I want, “ then he grinned and look at me with his yellowed bilirubin stained eyes. I asked him if he was afraid, “a little,” he replied, “I am sorry that I got sick and will not live long enough for you!”
Our private moments were spent going over our forty-three years of accomplishments, raising three children, vacations, when we met, things that seem mundane until you realize those mundane moments are the strands that weave a life.
We went over all the finances, he advised me to roll his 401K into mine; contact our financial advisor about the life insurance money; have our son help with filing an income tax extension. “Don’t forget to file the final return by Oct. 15,” he reminded me.
I look back now two days a widow and try to grasp memories of our last Christmas, what we did on our wedding anniversary, the last time we were out to dinner. I want to tell people, pay attention to how you spend Christmas, a kiss, and a shared from your gut-laugh.
All of the practicalities of supporting my dying husband distanced me from feelings of tiredness that like a poisonous snake has slithered into every bone of my body. I feel the exhaustion and grief but only restless sleep comes in spurts.
I am a discombobulated mess on a rollercoaster ride with DABDA.
~ Loyalty ~
loyalty is one of love’s sparkling jewels
bond glue, castling ‘gainst betrayal
those times when passion wanes
loyalty grips the soul
holding it firm against the tides
that rise and ebb on lovers lives
love without it, certain dies
what do I need of money
out of debt be adequate
food, drink, shelter from the elements
and a good horse
oh,
and a woman, of course
but an independent one
one that pays her way
that she and I may
twist around the soul of each
as if strands of a rope
our strength in simple length of link
not in test of weight we think
Your blog is beautiful, Deborah. Thank you for allowing us to be a part of your journey. You demonstrate what it means to embrace and care for our feelings. Take care.
Thank you for sharing this…..