It is only five days until the anniversary of Mary's death. The date looms ahead of me now, just over the horizon of the last day in February. I'm putting down some of these thoughts now because even though it happened only a year ago I'm already starting to forget.
Last year we knew she was dying...and things were close by this time. She just had a catheter installed because even getting out of bed to use the toilet right next to it was impossible. She was on oxygen all the time. The doses of pain, anti-nausea, and cough suppressants were larger and she had to take them more frequently.
I had to keep a large piece of poster board in the room so that the medications could be kept track of for the few times I wasn't home to give them to her. Sleep was broken up into 2-4 hour chunks because even though her sister helped some at night, if there was the slightest question or if Mary started to cough or get sick I was woken up to comfort her and make decisions regarding any changes to her meds. I needed the poster board just because changes happened so frequently that I was afraid I would forget to give her something more than worrying that I’d give her too much.
When Mary and I found ourselves alone we would talk. I tried not to cry, so that I could be strong for her, but increasingly I would and she'd be the one comforting me. It just seemed so unfair and I selfishly wondered how I was going to survive without her in my life. I grieved for the tomorrows we'd never share and for the times that I could have been a better husband and wasn't. I also thanked her for making me a better man, and I meant that with all my heart. She would tell me not to worry, that she didn't want me to be alone and that she'd send someone to me. I tried to smile and humor her little realizing that she'd actually follow through on that promise...
Each day would start with me giving her medications and then going out for coffee and to run some errands. I needed time away from the house in order to really grieve and did that while driving in my car. The house was the center of a constant buzz of activity and my grief felt private…like sharing it would make me seem weak and I needed to be strong for everyone. After a couple of hours from the house I would return and Mary’s sister would leave for pretty much the entire day and show back up at around 8-10pm. I’d head to bed after briefing her and would try to sleep but it usually eluded me so I’d end up helping with her midnight meds and then trying to sleep after that.
By this time, Mary was ready to go and wanted to know when it would happen. She had written notes to everyone that she wanted to write, sorted her jewelry for the kids, spoken to each of them and was ready for it to be over before she ended up in a lot of pain that couldn't be helped with medication.
I have more I want to write but just putting this down has been a drain so I think I’ll save it for another day…
The anniversaries are hard, Bob. But precious. These things never do go away; but in the end they feed into your life and are part of its richness; sad part, maybe; but making a richer pattern, even if it's a part of the pattern you wish wasn't there. To this day I regret- mourn - the unlived part of my beloveds' far too short lives. But even so. I'm thinking of you. xxgp
Posted by: grannyp on March 5, 2007 04:14 AM