My gut told me, don't leave him.
Thursday night I'd made plans (more than a month ahead of time) to go out. Something in me said, he's getting close, don't leave him. As it turned out he was fine Thursday and I stayed Friday overnight as I had planned. The nurse came to check on him Saturday morning and said, he has a fever, his heart rate is elevated, and he's having lengthy pauses between breaths (apnea). I said I'm no dummy, I know what that means. I made sure to call the family and our rector to say, you better get in here. I climbed into bed with him for one last snuggle. I was so afraid to do so... what I was afraid of I don't know. Was I more afraid that I'd hurt him, or that it would hurt me? That was our thing... snuggle time. We nauseated people with it. I would have regretted it if I hadn't. We all had our moments to say what we needed to say including, "It's okay to let go". I promised him that while I don't know right now what it will look like, someday I will find my happy again. Evalina sat by his side and laughed in delight to see her daddy. I held his hand. He opened his eyes right before the end and with every member of his family in the room telling him it was okay to go find his beloved sister who went before him, he left this world for the next.
Nothing prepared me for the pain that would follow, and it was immediate. I'd had time think about what was going to happen, even after as long as I'd spent living in denial. That denial seemed to get worse as we went along. After his relapse in June I started to realize things might not go the way we'd hoped, when his MRI showed bad news in September I started to consider possibilities of "what would I do if...", I pretended I didn't hear the doctor at the Dent Institute say "probable mutation to glioblastoma", and even in December when I saw how weak he was I kept hoping "maybe it's just the meds, he's still going to beat this". I was so in denial for so long that by the time I realized I never even asked what he would want for a memorial service, it was too late for him to be able to answer. I hope he will be proud of what we chose for him.
How am I doing? I can't really say. The grief comes in waves. There's moments when I'm still wearing my mask, then something reminds me of what happened and I'm torn wide open all over again. We're having a private viewing tomorrow for immediate family and when I realized, that's the last time I'll see him outside of a photo or a memory; meltdown. I'm putting the baby to bed and remembering how she stroked his face yesterday; meltdown. Reading through my many messages, remembrances, shared photos, and so many people grieving the loss of such a kind and beautiful soul; not quite meltdown but steady stream of tears. And I'd be absolutely remiss if I didn't mention my concern for his family in losing their beloved son and brother, as well. They don't deserve this and it is so incredibly unfair.
It still feels unreal to me. He spent so long in the hospital, surely tonight is just another night and when I see him tomorrow I'll be greeted with that trademark Jesse smile. Right? Not this time, kid. When I'm not in the middle of remembering that I'd say I'm, if you'll pardon the minor copyright infringement, comfortably numb. I think I've got my guard still up so high to get through the next couple of days with the calling hours and funeral. Everyone has been so good about making sure I have what I need... food, care, company. My phone has been going crazy with messages of support. I have read them all and appreciate them. Please forgive me if I haven't responded... there are some that require a response when I've had some time to think and process. I know you're probably not offended anyways but I feel it should be addressed and acknowledged.
I'm reminded of a post I read a few weeks ago from the man who's life became the movie "The Big Sick". In his post he remarks about getting mad at random people for no reason and asking himself, "Why do you get to live a normal life?" I've thought that many times myself. Don't you know what I went through to find my soul mate, and now we don't even get 4 years together? In fact more than half of the time we knew each other he was battling this dreadful thing. We never argued in any of our time together, not even once. The closest we ever came to an argument was trying to tell the other one "no, it's up to you, whatever you want". And we genuinely meant it, we weren't being passive aggressive. What made us so great was always considering the other's wants and needs before our own. What made us lucky was that the two usually tended to be one and the same. We had the kind of love so many people dream of but not everybody finds. Why did it get taken from us? Was it TOO perfect? Was something so good not allowed to stay in such an imperfect world? It would have made no difference if I knew when we met what lay ahead; I would have chosen to be with him anyways. But still, we were robbed.
I've spent a lot of time not just being sad and scared but also angry. I was angry with his neurosurgeon for making us feel like we could control this and give him a normal life span. But I let that go and realized, without him we may not have gotten the almost 2 years we got after his diagnosis. We likely would not have gotten our daughter, and she is my little rainbow in the storm. She is his best legacy and she will know him well.
I was angry with God for a very long time and even had moments where I questioned my faith. Finally yesterday I let that go. I prayed, I don't understand why we were chosen for this, why this life has treated us so unfairly, but that's not for me to know or understand. It's not my plan. So in that moment I surrendered to God and asked Him to help Jesse not to suffer.
Something about letting go of that anger was very freeing. I'm sure that's not the end of it, the anger may flare up again, and I don't expect this to be a short process. How does one even start to process the feelings that come with losing their spouse, so young, in such a terrible way? I see his pictures and my heart smiles because, there's my handsome, that's how I remember him, that's how I'll always remember him. And then my heart screams because, well, he's gone. Then I feel guilty for laughing at something on TV. Am I allowed to laugh? (Of course I am, I know that) Then I go back into denial that he's really gone until something reminds me and the cycle starts again.
Jesse, my sweet husband. You showed me what it really means to be loved. Your kindness and gentleness touched many lives and I was blessed to call you my husband for even the short time that I had you. We crammed more into 4 years than some do in a lifetime. I will be missing you every minute of every day until I see you again.
Thursday night I'd made plans (more than a month ahead of time) to go out. Something in me said, he's getting close, don't leave him. As it turned out he was fine Thursday and I stayed Friday overnight as I had planned. The nurse came to check on him Saturday morning and said, he has a fever, his heart rate is elevated, and he's having lengthy pauses between breaths (apnea). I said I'm no dummy, I know what that means. I made sure to call the family and our rector to say, you better get in here. I climbed into bed with him for one last snuggle. I was so afraid to do so... what I was afraid of I don't know. Was I more afraid that I'd hurt him, or that it would hurt me? That was our thing... snuggle time. We nauseated people with it. I would have regretted it if I hadn't. We all had our moments to say what we needed to say including, "It's okay to let go". I promised him that while I don't know right now what it will look like, someday I will find my happy again. Evalina sat by his side and laughed in delight to see her daddy. I held his hand. He opened his eyes right before the end and with every member of his family in the room telling him it was okay to go find his beloved sister who went before him, he left this world for the next.
Nothing prepared me for the pain that would follow, and it was immediate. I'd had time think about what was going to happen, even after as long as I'd spent living in denial. That denial seemed to get worse as we went along. After his relapse in June I started to realize things might not go the way we'd hoped, when his MRI showed bad news in September I started to consider possibilities of "what would I do if...", I pretended I didn't hear the doctor at the Dent Institute say "probable mutation to glioblastoma", and even in December when I saw how weak he was I kept hoping "maybe it's just the meds, he's still going to beat this". I was so in denial for so long that by the time I realized I never even asked what he would want for a memorial service, it was too late for him to be able to answer. I hope he will be proud of what we chose for him.
How am I doing? I can't really say. The grief comes in waves. There's moments when I'm still wearing my mask, then something reminds me of what happened and I'm torn wide open all over again. We're having a private viewing tomorrow for immediate family and when I realized, that's the last time I'll see him outside of a photo or a memory; meltdown. I'm putting the baby to bed and remembering how she stroked his face yesterday; meltdown. Reading through my many messages, remembrances, shared photos, and so many people grieving the loss of such a kind and beautiful soul; not quite meltdown but steady stream of tears. And I'd be absolutely remiss if I didn't mention my concern for his family in losing their beloved son and brother, as well. They don't deserve this and it is so incredibly unfair.
It still feels unreal to me. He spent so long in the hospital, surely tonight is just another night and when I see him tomorrow I'll be greeted with that trademark Jesse smile. Right? Not this time, kid. When I'm not in the middle of remembering that I'd say I'm, if you'll pardon the minor copyright infringement, comfortably numb. I think I've got my guard still up so high to get through the next couple of days with the calling hours and funeral. Everyone has been so good about making sure I have what I need... food, care, company. My phone has been going crazy with messages of support. I have read them all and appreciate them. Please forgive me if I haven't responded... there are some that require a response when I've had some time to think and process. I know you're probably not offended anyways but I feel it should be addressed and acknowledged.
I'm reminded of a post I read a few weeks ago from the man who's life became the movie "The Big Sick". In his post he remarks about getting mad at random people for no reason and asking himself, "Why do you get to live a normal life?" I've thought that many times myself. Don't you know what I went through to find my soul mate, and now we don't even get 4 years together? In fact more than half of the time we knew each other he was battling this dreadful thing. We never argued in any of our time together, not even once. The closest we ever came to an argument was trying to tell the other one "no, it's up to you, whatever you want". And we genuinely meant it, we weren't being passive aggressive. What made us so great was always considering the other's wants and needs before our own. What made us lucky was that the two usually tended to be one and the same. We had the kind of love so many people dream of but not everybody finds. Why did it get taken from us? Was it TOO perfect? Was something so good not allowed to stay in such an imperfect world? It would have made no difference if I knew when we met what lay ahead; I would have chosen to be with him anyways. But still, we were robbed.
I've spent a lot of time not just being sad and scared but also angry. I was angry with his neurosurgeon for making us feel like we could control this and give him a normal life span. But I let that go and realized, without him we may not have gotten the almost 2 years we got after his diagnosis. We likely would not have gotten our daughter, and she is my little rainbow in the storm. She is his best legacy and she will know him well.
I was angry with God for a very long time and even had moments where I questioned my faith. Finally yesterday I let that go. I prayed, I don't understand why we were chosen for this, why this life has treated us so unfairly, but that's not for me to know or understand. It's not my plan. So in that moment I surrendered to God and asked Him to help Jesse not to suffer.
Something about letting go of that anger was very freeing. I'm sure that's not the end of it, the anger may flare up again, and I don't expect this to be a short process. How does one even start to process the feelings that come with losing their spouse, so young, in such a terrible way? I see his pictures and my heart smiles because, there's my handsome, that's how I remember him, that's how I'll always remember him. And then my heart screams because, well, he's gone. Then I feel guilty for laughing at something on TV. Am I allowed to laugh? (Of course I am, I know that) Then I go back into denial that he's really gone until something reminds me and the cycle starts again.
Jesse, my sweet husband. You showed me what it really means to be loved. Your kindness and gentleness touched many lives and I was blessed to call you my husband for even the short time that I had you. We crammed more into 4 years than some do in a lifetime. I will be missing you every minute of every day until I see you again.
Oh, Katie. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. So many of us are constantly thinking of you, and it's helpful to know what's happening on your end. It will help you process and find your way through all of these crappy times, and in turn, it will help us through them too. Feel free to ignore the rest of my comment, as I accidentally launched into my own wandering thoughts beyond what I planned to share with you. It's totally ok if you don't want to hear any of it, but in case it can be helpful, I'm going out on a limb.
ReplyDeleteEverything at church today spoke to me, and in turn, I kept thinking of you. Psalm 147: Praise the Lord, who heals the brokenhearted. That might be a good one to read right now. I was singing it, and thinking of you. The communion meditation I had picked was 'Come Unto Him' from the Messiah- "Come unto him, all ye that labor. Come unto him all that are heavy burdened, and He shall give you rest." It's lovely. I had my friend take a video with her phone and I'll try to send it to you, or find it online when you need comfort and peace. You were on my mind. And, the homily (sermon) was about suffering, and why the heck we suffer. My favorite part was about a priest who was diagnosed with cancer and going through treatment, and he had to cancel a retreat. The next year, he was able to go, and the biggest thing that he shared (and I can't find the right way to say this, argh) was that there are some things that you can only learn through experience and through suffering. Some of the most important things you can learn in life are because of suffering. I know that this is true, because even though it's strange to say, I have been able to view both of my parents cancers as a blessing. It transformed us as a family, and a lot of good actually happened despite the cancer. I have never felt more loved and supported than when we went through my Dad's passing, and that has been one of the single most important things that has ever happened to me. You're in the midst of that. Look for the blessings. Look for the good. And, when you're in the midst of feeling the crappiest, keep looking until you find the light. It's there. Also, people who suffer are sometimes the closest to God. When life is easy and going right, people sometimes don't think they need God as much. I wondered if our suffering is the reason we are close to God, or if God brings us closer to Him through our suffering. I guess it could be both. Anyways, I don't know if any of this can be helpful. I actually just went to look up about suffering and learning and came up with a bunch of things- one being that without suffering, how can we truly know joy? and, this quote that I'll leave you with. It could be true for you, for Jesse, and for everyone that love you both. Love you Katie.
“No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God . . . and it is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire and which will make us more like our Father and Mother in heaven.”
― Orson F. Whitney
What you and Jesse share is a beautiful love...one that will live forever in memories and in your heart and soul, and of course through your amazing daughter.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful,just beautiful!
ReplyDelete