You’re gone, and so am I

Evening darl. This means of trying to stay connected to you has been a mistake. I can’t be honest with you or me. I can’t say what I really think. I’m talking to you but others read my words and so, at times like these, when all the words of my heart are born in bloody-minded rage or boundless despair, I risk hurting those who have already been injured by this shitty show called life.

I know now there are no answers, no comfort, no end. Heaven was any place where we were together, and Hell is any place where we are apart. We’ve both been fucked over in this deal. We’re both grieving, lost, angry, desperate. No one, nothing, can change this.

Everything we had was taken from us. Even memories hurt. Beauty hurts. Love hurts.

You’re gone. I’m gone. We’re gone.

In a nutshell

Evening, my love. A wordsmith who is also a widow has given the crux of my problem with life clarity I can’t summon.

If grief is just about me (and perhaps someday I’ll get to the point where it is only about me), then it’s not my place to care about my life mate being gone from this earth. But if life is worth living, how can I not care that it is being denied him?

The corollary is, if he is the one who got the better end of the deal, if he truly is in a better place, then why am I still here? But I’d just as soon not dwell on that.

I do dwell on it. It’s the stumbling block in nearly every moment of my days, the weight that adds to my inertia, my reluctance to move, to think, to live. I know when I write to you each\evening I whine a lot about my life, about me, but that’s me sidestepping the real issue too.

I can’t come to terms with us being apart. One of us is in a better place. If it’s you, why can’t I be there with you? If it’s me, why did you get taken away? You deserved better. You were a good man, a good person and you loved life. Even if you’re not better off where you are now, I want to be with you because that’s who I am. I’m the one who loves you, who always has your back. Together we can make any place, any situation bearable. Fun even.

Remember that time we were trapped in the Myer Centre lift? You, me and a dozen other people pressed against one another, lno room to sit down, ittle ventilation, a hot summer day, a crying baby, an elderly man with a heart condition, bags of Christmas shopping, and it took them 45 minutes to get us out. Most of the people in that little metal box started complaining in the first minute, but I remember you and me cracking jokes and exchanging smiles. I remember your hand against the small of my back, not caring how sweaty I was, ready to hold me up if I fainted. I remember us being calm, patient, chatting about what we felt like for lunch.

I’d hate to go through something like that without you, but there are worse things, things that really make me sad. The beautiful things you no longer get to see, the things we would have shared.

How can I move on? When people tell me life is wonderful and I need to live it, I feel so angry and sad that you didn’t get this choice. When people tell me you’re in a better place, I wish I was dead and with you.

I love you sweetheart. I miss being your wife, your companion, your friend. xxx

 

Pretend it’s ok

Hello dearest. Another Friday. Another week since *that* Friday. Actually, it’s so late now that it’s Saturday, but that just means it’s the 11th of the month now, another date carved into my heart.

LBF Cat is a happier cat than he was earlier in the week, and it’s nice to see him more himself, but I’m not yet convinced we have any hope long term and neither is the vet. I have a week ahead of me of trying to dose him morning and night, of trying to apply topical cream to his nether regions twice a day, of restricting his food and therefore his access to the rest of the house, his brothers and his favourite places, and keeping the bucket head collar on him. He’s not at all happy or cooperative about any of this and I have almost no ability to stay calm when being bitten for trying to help him. I only have one pair of hands.

If his symptoms don’t start to improve by mid-week, the prognosis will not be good.

I thought I’d be struggling now with the events of a year ago, remembering where we were this time in 2010, what we were going through. Instead, I have now to keep me worried and stressed. Yay.

At least I’ve had a long GH session to wipe out thought for a few hours. My shoulders ache a bit from all the drumming but that’s ok; anything that stops me from thinking for a while is good.

It’s how I’m getting through these days. Not thinking. Not processing. Just letting it all happen while I step aside so it’s not really me all this crap is happening too. I’m not just talking about the cat. I mean how much my grief is shredding me just now. I can’t deal with that.

I love you. Stay warm. Xxx

Numb; better than bereft

Hello love. Another day without you. Another day of being alone and being reminded of it at every turn. Door handles falling off at the worst time. Struggling to get pills in the cat. Needing a hug.

It’s horribly cold today; record low for our town. No sun. Perfect.

LBF Cat doing ok today. Doesn’t like his bucket head and is very keen for food. I lost it trying to get the pill down his throat. Think I frightened him, but he’s forgiven me now. I’m crap.

When I was crying about this yesterday, I said out loud that I’m not strong enough for this just now. A voice in my head – you, me, don’t know – said I’ll never be stronger. Not sure if that means I’ve faced the worst life can throw at me and if I can get through that, I can face anything, or that I’m so shattered by losing you that I’ll never heal and I’ll be the pathetic loser I am now from here on in.

I’m thinking it’s the latter. I was pathetic before I met you; default status.

This is me being too numb to care about anything much including my attitude.

Bedtime now. Warm blankets, darkness, solitude, oblivion of sleep. No alarm. Sleep in. Put off the sinking despair of waking up to another day without you as long as I can.

Love you. xxx

Who cares?

Hello love. LBF Cat made it through the night, and through surgery today, but he has a tough road ahead. The bad tooth has been pulled out – no big deal, looks like it was cracked in a collision with the floor or something because the rest of his teeth are ok – but it looks like he has ulcerative colitis complicated by impacted anal glands (treated today) and his habit of keeping himself clean (resulting in licking his rear end so much he’s damaged the tissue in/around his rectum). Poor little bugger has a bucket head collar on now, I have to get pills into him morning and night, he has to fast for the next 24 hours and he’s groggy from the anaesthetic. He’s cuddled up to me just now, struggling to stay awake. He might get better; he might not. All I can do is offer him love, try to make him comfortable.

It feels like the little period of false hope we would get after one of your surgeries, the idea that because we made it through something that dangerous meant we’d make it all the way back to normality.

I’m so low, darl. Each morning has been stupidly hard to get out of bed, go to work, get through the day. My autopilot trick is on the blink. It’s like, now I’ve seen that I do it, the illusion has been dispelled and I can’t conjure it again.

I did manage to convince myself to cook a meal tonight. A few days of living on toast and chip buttees meant I was hungry today, so I made a kind of chicken stroganoff thing and it was ok.

I’m tired again. My back hurts. My head is full of vile words, poisonous, barbed, hateful words about what I think of life, of dreams and happily ever after. Words I’ll keep to myself because I don’t want to share them or endure how others would respond.

Love you. xxx

Please

My love; I’m not coping. LBF Cat is really not well at all. The $250 blood test done last week shows him to be in excellent health, especially for his age, but sitting with him this evening is too much like watching you die. Each day, his health is going downhill. If he makes it through tonight, I’ll get him back to the vet tomorrow, but I think I’m losing him. It feels that way. Too familiar.

I don’t want to wake up. It’s too hard.

Love you.

The break is over

Hello love. Taking a break from grief hasn’t worked out so well. As I walked out of the office today, the balance of three days of not grieving so hard came and wiped me out. I wanted to fall to my knees on the footpath and really, really cry, sink down, disappear. That being the kind of melodrama I’ve so far resisted in public, I made it through an hour of yoga, walked to the car, then wept and wailed most of the way home…

…to find LBF Cat in a bad way. His health had picked up over the weekend, but he’s not so well just now. I’ve settled him and will see how he’s doing in the morning, but my hopes are sinking. I called the vet today for the blood test results and everything came back normal, so I don’t know what’s happening now. I can only hope it was the tinned food I gave him this morning not agreeing with his intestines and that he’ll be better in the morning.

I really, really miss you. I really, really wish I was with you instead of here. Yes, I’m pathetic – I always have been – but I love you so much and life without you is all hurt. Why have I been left behind? Why?

I think you sent me a message today that you can wait, and that’s something I’ve been worried about, but I’m not sure I can.

Love you. xxx

Break

Hello my dearest love. It’s Sunday night and I’m back at our house after spending the weekend at Mum and Dad’s. The last couple of days have been very like a little holiday from the abject depths of my grief. I’ve still missed you; I’ve still cried. But I’ve laughed more, smiled more, felt less sad.

On the drive back here, I wondered if I’d turned some emotional corner. I didn’t wonder about this with any sense of gladness or achievement, just curiosity. The more I thought about it, the more I felt this is just the top of the rollercoaster again, that I’ve felt relief and happiness at Mum and Dad’s because it was easier to pretend you’re not dead while I’m there. I used to stay there when you had to be in hospital for few days. I used to be parted from you when I had to travel for work. That’s what this weekend was, a couple of days apart from you. A little break from grieving.

A break I probably needed before I broke.

I’m far from functional or repaired, but I was getting very, very low. Dark thoughts circling and all that. A couple of days of playing Guitar Hero, going out with family and friends, enjoying good food and good company haven’t convinced me life without you is worth living. Having said that, as long as I do have to stay here – for the family and friends that mean so much to both of us – I’d like to have fun days again every now and then, just to ease the pain for a little while. It helps pass the time.

And now, I fully expect to be heading downhill at speed at any moment. I know this because, as I came near the house tonight, I remembered I wouldn’t be coming home to you, only to the absence of you, and it snatched my breath away. I still can’t dwell on the truth too long; it still hurts so, so much.

I love you and miss you.

Coat

Evening love. It’s only 10:20pm and I can barely keep my eyes open. Very unusual for me – I’m usually wide awake until midnight at least. It’s making my head hurt trying to keep my eyes open.

Yesterday, as I rummaged through a pile of clothes in our walk-in robe, I noticed your winter coat hanging at the end of the rail. You only got to wear it a couple of times, I think. It was too nice to wear just anywhere and the weather isn’t usually cold enough here to need a coat like that often. I put it on. Ridiculous really; it’s way, way too big for me. It’s a very nice coat though. I wish you were here to wear it.

It jingled as I put it on. I reached into the pocket and found $2.80 in coins plus a receipt. You last wore the coat the night before our 14th wedding anniversary in 2009. The receipt is from the restaurant you took me to for dinner to celebrate.

It was a lovely evening, cold enough for a winter coat. I can see you sitting across the table from me, leaning forward to reach across the white cloth and hold my hand. We had champagne. We were happy.

I love you. xxx

Sixteen

Evening, my love. It’s been a day. I’ve cried, laughed, been angry and sad, and happy too. To be honest, today would be the best Friday I’ve had since you died, but that’s not saying much. It’s just that here, now, sitting on the bed and writing to you, I am riding a little wave of happiness AND thinking of you.

Partly, it’s because I feel you near again to some extent when, for the last couple of weeks, I’ve felt you were a long, long way away. Mum tells me she’s sensed you here, at her house, watching her make dinner. Have you been off visiting family and friends? Is it because you miss them, or you were worried about them, or you’ve been trying to tell them something about me? Or all these things?

I’ve been so sad these last few weeks, and I’m not kidding myself. A couple of hours playing Guitar Hero with family is great fun, but this feeling isn’t going to last. It’s just nice to think of you and not cry. We played one of your favourite songs – Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Free Bird’ – and while it brought a tear to my eye to hear it – those lyrics hit close to the bone just now – I smiled too remembering you singing along to this track when we played it in the car.

Why did you love songs about having to leave? You loved them for their bittersweet pain, songs like ‘Free Bird’, and LedZep’s ‘Ramble On’ and ‘Babe I’m Gonna Leave You’ and Jackson Brown’s ‘The Load Out’, and David Bowie’s ‘5 Years’. Sad songs, powerful and poignant. Songs I like too but find so edged with grief now they hurt to listen to. Is it like my fear of cancer, born when I was 16 years old and our neighbour died in her 30s of breast cancer leaving a devastated husband and three little children behind? Did we know somehow our lives would turn out this way?

Sixteen: another week between us, between your last breath and the one I’m taking now. Sixteen: the wedding anniversary we should have had next month. Sixteen.

I hope you are free as a bird, my love. A seagull learning to be perfect, to be ‘there’. The tears are coming now; my heart aches too much and fun only lasts so long. I miss you and want to be with you. Can we be free together or do we have to be apart forever?

You are my true love, my dearest heart, my better half. I miss you. I’m crying again. I’m sorry. Be well. Xxx