As much as I am trying to avoid my grief, it won’t avoid me. This morning I am feeling the grief deeply. I still can’ believe he’s gone.
I was relaxing (I’m on holidays), reading a novel when the story started to talk about a fellow and his older Porsche. One of Dave’s friends has an older Porsche and it started me remembering Dave and L. I remember specifically how L was such a good friend in the end. He took Dave out in that old Porsche for rides through the countryside, through the foothills, stopping for lunch and having a pleasant day. This was when Dave could still sit. This was last October. This was after Dave received his news from the oncologists that “there is nothing more that we can do”.
It was shocking and disturbing news. Especially in light of the fact that Dave had a form of skin cancer that was supposed to be completely treatable. We had had a roller coaster ride for 2 years, as the doctors were sure after each treatment or surgery that the cancer was eradicated. Each time we experienced joy and relief and began to look forward, breath again and get back to normalcy. The photo above is taken on one of those good news days. Dave healed, I nursed and supported and he became strong again. Then 3 – 4 months later we’d be told that the cancer was still present. So, more treatments, more surgeries. This happened 3 times and the 4th was the time they gave up on it. The cancer was in the lymph system. They had lost the battle. Each ride up and down the waves of emotions was difficult. The last, devastatingly difficult.
Today, I am remembering the months leading up to Dave’s demise. I had no idea it would all happen so fast. I waited until mid-December to take a leave from work, and by then he was so very sick. Cancer is a relentless and disparaging disease. I was his full time caregiver and I took care of him with all the love in the world. It was so intense. But I wanted and needed to be there for him. He died 2 and a half months later. I still can’t believe that he is gone. How could that be? He was such a vibrant, energetic man. It doesn’t seem right. He should be here with me.
Yes, I feel much the same way. The post I put up last night is partly about that -- how sometimes it is hard for me to believe that Don couldn't win over the damned cancer. In his case, we went awhile with him coughing and us thinking it was the asthma he had had all of his life. As he was a never-smoker, the last thing his doctor suspected was lung cancer. By the time he was diagnosed, it was everywhere and it was only a matter of fighting it off as long as possible using various lines of chemo. When I look back on that time, it still makes me so very sad. Right now, it is one month short of two years since Don died. Two years ago, we were in the final month of what had turned into a real horror show in every sense of the word. Throughout all of it, Don was so brave and calm - never giving up for a minute until it was over. I still have "hospital dreams" and "cancer dreams" even now. I sometimes wonder how many years it will be until those go away and leave me alone. Perhaps they never will.
ReplyDeleteI know what you mean about your husband being so vibrant and energetic and how it doesn't seem right. Yesterday, I put a video clip up on my blog - of Don walking down the shore with our dog. He was already sick with cancer but we just didn't know it. When I look at the video clip, I remember how, that summer, I thought Don looked thinner than usual, especially his legs which had always been the muscular legs of an avid hiker. Yet, even at that, on that day, he pushed a small car that had been stuck in the sand, out single-handedly for the elderly couple who had foolishly driven it out onto the beach. He wouldn't let me help as I was recovering from a large incision right across my abdomen. To think, a couple of months later, he would begin his final battle against this stupid disease.
Well, I am sorry that the grief has found you even on your vacation. Sometimes it finds me on the road, and sometimes here at this old house that I'm working on. The only thing I can say is that, as you know, over time, it does lose some of its intensity. That said, I still can't help wondering, "Why us? Why so young? Why now?"
Take care of yourself. I hope you enjoy the rest of your time off.
Hi Dorthea. About two months before Michael died we went to the wedding of one of my neices. We had such a good time, and danced quite a bit. I remember being told the others at the wedding couldn't believe how seriously ill Michael was supposed to be, because he looked so well. As life would have it, he died exactly two months later. My neice sent me a picture of the two of us smiling at our table.
ReplyDeleteWhen I look at that picture I think the same, it can't be real. Now that the pain has become easier to bear, I start to question my reality. Did it all really happen?
Michael was also sick for two years. I thought I was prepared for death, but what I didn't realize is who you feel when it actually arrives. Suddenly time took on a different meaning. How did it all happen so fast? Why didn't I spend more time with him? What could I have done different? It's crazy making..
Know that you are on my mind a lot while you are on the road. Enjoy your travel, and drive safely.
Bev and Dan - Thank you for your comments. Having been through the cancer journey, you know the pain of remembering how our loved ones suffered so much. And no, "we are not prepared for the end" when it comes, we are too busy coping with the "horror show". It does still seem very unreal to me.
ReplyDeleteI am feeling much better this evening, I just needed to feel the grief and cry a small river and then get up and carry on.
Pismo Beach today, Ventura tomorrow and then I head inland to the desert.
dorthea
This is a question I ask daily: "He's gone - HOW could that be?" It is so bewildering to me still.
ReplyDeleteI just can't accept that I can't *fix* this. I can fix anything, so why not this???
Days like this just hurt my head.
Huge Hugs.
He isn't supposed to be dead...That's the common demoninator, isn't it? I lost my Nelson suddenly...but you're asking the same questions I am. Universe...seriously?
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