Tonight I spent hours sifting through pictures of my late husband for his memorial service. I would almost call the process therapeutic, weird, in a way, but yes, therapeutic.
Looking at all those pictures, waves of guilt, sadness, happiness, regret, what else? I am not even sure there are any emotions left in me to put down. I wanted this fucking shitty cancer to be gone, and now guess what? I have my wish, poof, gone, but guess what? Now what? Now, what is what I keep asking myself.
I spent 30 years with this person, some good, some shitty, I guess that is what you call marriage. I am not sure if I loved him as much as he loved me but we stayed together, we worked through our shit and here I am, now I am single. I am not sure If I feel more sadness for him or for myself because the reality is, now I am alone.
A long time ago my mother, who was a classic textbook narcissist, said to me when I was thinking of leaving Alan, "well you better make up your mind soon or one day you will be old and baggy and nobody will want you." Back then, that comment seemed almost normal because when you grow up in dysfunction junction, isn't that normal? But now here I am, I am old and baggy. I am a single 55-year-old mom. I am not sure If I feel sorrier for myself or for him and his cancer.
Going through those pictures, sad, every one of them is handsome, smiling, but the cigarette all the time. He could never quit that habit and I always just accepted it but over time I saw how much it aged him. Sad.
I guess there are stages of grief and I keep circling back to each one like a fucked up circle jerk, round and round. One minute, depressed, next minute I am onto bargaining, then finally acceptance. Although I am kidding myself with acceptance, really? Do you ever accept that your significant other is gone? I think not.
Months before he left, I was so bitter, I felt resentment, anger, pain, depression, bubbling up like a volcano. In a way, sweet relief that he was gone, now I sit in my bed, alone and think, if only he was here with me, a warm body unit, breathing, his hair, his skin, anything. I feel so alone and sad. Is this normal? I have never grieved like this before.
While he faded it was like watching the light fade on this man I once knew, a small version of this man, cancer, and morphine had reduced him to a shell of the person I used to know. I tried to talk to him but all that came back was mumbling and then sleep. His eyes started to sink in, his breath was shallower and shallower. He kept asking about his car, his keys, when is he going. I wished I would have had a better answer but all I could think of is, we are taking my car because of the snow.
When I had a day to think it over, I realized he was ready to go, that was his way. Let's get in the car and drive, let's get out of here. He asked for his cousins, I guess that is what happens when you are ready to go, you think back to people that are gone.
At first, sweet relief, now sadness and grief. I feel like I was not the best wife, friend, lover, I could have been, guilt, depression, wouldas and couldas cloud my senses. No going back, it is what it is. I just wish we had more time together but isn't that the bargaining tool that everybody wants?
Thursday, December 5, 2019
Grief
I am sitting at a lounge at the Denver Hospice waiting for my husband to die.
It's a strange thing watching someone die, there is a certain peace to it. The hospice is a calm place, especially at 3:30am. I had to take a break, so I am sitting in a lounge next to a warm fire.
It's been a while since I wrote anything, now I feel like I have so much to say. I have been in the weeds with my husband's cancer for almost a year. Small Cell, stage 4. I was able to wrap my head around it when he was first diagnosed, I did not need to read any WebMD bullshit to know what the outcome was. Sure I had some hope but I was always cautiously optimistic.
I felt sad for him and I still do but now there is a part of my brain that just wants it all to be over. Selfish? Maybe. It's just been a long ride, I am tired and he is tired and I am looking for sweet relief for both of us.
They say there are 5 stages of grief. I never really knew what those were until I googled it tonight. For a long time, all I felt was anger, I was angrier at him than anything. Smoker for 50 years, fucking cigarettes, but then the anger would follow guilt and then sadness. Such a waste of feelings when you think about it. It never feels good to walk around like a volcano ready to explode, but that's what I did these last two months.
The last 4 nights before we got here were really rough, especially the night before last when my brother in law woke me up from a dead sleep at 1am because my husband was on the floor in the living room, crawling to the patio door to get air because he was basically suffocating. Here I was, angry again. Hauling portable oxygen tanks across the room, hooking up the additional oxygenator, and telling him over and over again as I tried to lift him off the floor "In through your nose, out through your mouth." He says "Do you love me?" after I get him settled back again and I could not answer him. No, at that moment in time, all I felt was resentment. The volcano brewing again.
He did well for a while, remission for almost 4 months but then it came back again like a vengeance. I had some kind of hope, I guess, what is that stage? Oh, yes, bargaining. I asked the oncologist, so what's the next step, but I knew the answer already.
We put the oncologist on speakerphone and listened to what he had to say. What would you do, we asked? He said, go home, spend time with your family. So there is nothing else? I heard him sigh, and then say, no, not really.
What a fucked up cancer this is. Smokers cancer, that's what they call it. I fucking hate it, I hate cigarettes and when I see someone smoking I want to smack them upside their head and go what the fuck dude?
We have been together 30 years and If I had a dime for every argument I had with those cigarettes, I guess I would not be here right now. I would be on an island drinking a cocktail. But here I am. It sucks ass.
I guess that's where the danger lies, which stage of grief is that? Number two? Today we all went to talk to the social worker in a nice comfortable lounge area while my husband was sleeping soundly. His kids, his brother, myself. What did the social worker say? Oh yea, he is transitioning. I guess that is a nice way to say "dying." Before I was able to research all of this grief, I guess there was every stage in the room, denial, bargaining, anger, and finally for me, acceptance. I cried, but I also accepted what was happening. In a way, it was peace for the first time in several weeks.
I stopped and said to myself, the volcano is not working for me anymore. I need to honor my husband's life and remember him for all the positives. Let that shit go, focus on the future, move forward.
This cancer turned my world upside down, and I am ready to move forward. I never want to think about cancer anymore.
It's a strange thing watching someone die, there is a certain peace to it. The hospice is a calm place, especially at 3:30am. I had to take a break, so I am sitting in a lounge next to a warm fire.
It's been a while since I wrote anything, now I feel like I have so much to say. I have been in the weeds with my husband's cancer for almost a year. Small Cell, stage 4. I was able to wrap my head around it when he was first diagnosed, I did not need to read any WebMD bullshit to know what the outcome was. Sure I had some hope but I was always cautiously optimistic.
I felt sad for him and I still do but now there is a part of my brain that just wants it all to be over. Selfish? Maybe. It's just been a long ride, I am tired and he is tired and I am looking for sweet relief for both of us.
They say there are 5 stages of grief. I never really knew what those were until I googled it tonight. For a long time, all I felt was anger, I was angrier at him than anything. Smoker for 50 years, fucking cigarettes, but then the anger would follow guilt and then sadness. Such a waste of feelings when you think about it. It never feels good to walk around like a volcano ready to explode, but that's what I did these last two months.
The last 4 nights before we got here were really rough, especially the night before last when my brother in law woke me up from a dead sleep at 1am because my husband was on the floor in the living room, crawling to the patio door to get air because he was basically suffocating. Here I was, angry again. Hauling portable oxygen tanks across the room, hooking up the additional oxygenator, and telling him over and over again as I tried to lift him off the floor "In through your nose, out through your mouth." He says "Do you love me?" after I get him settled back again and I could not answer him. No, at that moment in time, all I felt was resentment. The volcano brewing again.
He did well for a while, remission for almost 4 months but then it came back again like a vengeance. I had some kind of hope, I guess, what is that stage? Oh, yes, bargaining. I asked the oncologist, so what's the next step, but I knew the answer already.
We put the oncologist on speakerphone and listened to what he had to say. What would you do, we asked? He said, go home, spend time with your family. So there is nothing else? I heard him sigh, and then say, no, not really.
What a fucked up cancer this is. Smokers cancer, that's what they call it. I fucking hate it, I hate cigarettes and when I see someone smoking I want to smack them upside their head and go what the fuck dude?
We have been together 30 years and If I had a dime for every argument I had with those cigarettes, I guess I would not be here right now. I would be on an island drinking a cocktail. But here I am. It sucks ass.
I guess that's where the danger lies, which stage of grief is that? Number two? Today we all went to talk to the social worker in a nice comfortable lounge area while my husband was sleeping soundly. His kids, his brother, myself. What did the social worker say? Oh yea, he is transitioning. I guess that is a nice way to say "dying." Before I was able to research all of this grief, I guess there was every stage in the room, denial, bargaining, anger, and finally for me, acceptance. I cried, but I also accepted what was happening. In a way, it was peace for the first time in several weeks.
I stopped and said to myself, the volcano is not working for me anymore. I need to honor my husband's life and remember him for all the positives. Let that shit go, focus on the future, move forward.
This cancer turned my world upside down, and I am ready to move forward. I never want to think about cancer anymore.
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