Facing the Rising Sun

I am not a widow yet but the clock is ticking slowly to the end of my forty-three year relationship with my husband; forty-two years married. My usual panic wake-up call.  Fear.  I am watching my husband sleep in the hospital bed that he has spent the last few days in since returning to the hospital.  He has a gastric cancer.  It grew so fast that it knocked him down like a hurricane force wind, and then picked him up; he is spinning in the vortex.  Soon cancer’s wind-shear force will slam him back to the ground, our married life will be over, and his death will part us.

I know how cancer smells, tastes, looks, feels, and sounds this is not my first experience as a spectator and family participant. I lost my grandson to cancer a few years ago the vigil lasted several months and at three years and eight months old he died.  When the fear shakes me awake at night I find writing helps me cope.  Blogging will be the first new skill I learn as my life transitions.

I will not be a young widow or an old widow.  I am sixty-two so technically a middle-aged widow at least by today’s standards.

Kubler-Ross identified five stages of grief many years ago. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, I will call them DABDA. I do not know anything except DABDA is a daily occurrence. Yes yes yes yes yes to all of those emotional stages. I cycle through each of these emotions and feelings several times a day.