Doves Cry

I am angry.

I don't know if this is a passing thing, a "phase" as it were, or if this is my new state of being.

I have a small cold. I'm not certain how my low grade fever is effecting me.



I am angry.
I am angry there is no space for me.
I am angry there is no safe place for me to talk, to someone.
I am angry that Hospice has to be considered part of the "safety net".

I am angry at my friends, the people I love. I am angry and love them at the same time. It's a painful contradictory feeling.
I am angry at life. I am angry at the inherent unfairness. Of it all.

I am angry that every week I see more friends have birthdays that place them at or right next to my age.
I am angry that every week now someone new is engaged, married, or pregnant. In about 6 months I suppose I'll be angry at all the births around his death date.

I am angry at myself and society. I am angry that I will never be pregnant again. That I will never carry life, that my husband will never live on. That I have no more family with his death. He was my family unit, and now it is singular, and I'm angry that I had so little time with him.
I am angry at the milestones I have and will miss.

I am so angry at society for telling me I am worthless if I do not reproduce.

I am angry at society for telling me I am worthless for being poor. I am angry when people say it is my own fault, my own choices. I am angry when someone implies Wash wanted or asked for terminal brain cancer. 

I am angry at myself because I cannot be fully happy for my friends.
I am angry at comments about couples trying to get pregnant for under 6 months, and how upset/sad/frustrated they are. I am angry when those same people then immediately get pregnant.

I am angry that I have no one to talk to.

I am angry at my best friend for dying, for leaving me. I am angry at myself for that very thought. For not being happy he is not in pain, like he wished.


I am angry when I stare at his TARDIS urn every day and night and wonder if anyone else remembers him?

I am angry that he died before so many wonderful things.
I am angry he will never see the Doctor Who 50th Anni. special. Or be part of it in some way, which he would have; if he had not had the cancer and was still alive.

I am angry at being told I have to change so many things.
I am angry that so many things will change and have regardless.

I am angry that I can remember the last hug I had from him, that I remember it was the last.

I am angry that I have to live a future without him. I am angry that I wake up every morning, and he does not, will not.

I am angry and it feels like a hot weighted stone upon my heart.

I am angry that I feel so utterly useless.
I am angry how disposable I feel. I am angry at the daily implication that my existence is worthless- or worse, costing of others.

I am angry, and so sad.

Shabbat Shalom!

I have some melancholia in my bones today.

Are anniversaries still something to bring up, to celebrate, if there is no one to celebrate for/with?

My wedding anniversary is next week.
Pi day, of course.


I'm a widow. Am I allowed an anniversary, still? What, if anything is there to celebrate? My husband's death? I'm not that morbid.
The 6 or so weeks of marriage we had before the tumor grew so big it began to change him?
The few months we took to secretly plan an elopement?

Celebrating dreams and ideas that will never happen? The home never built. The children never to be born.



The cats and I have decided staying in bed and crying is the best move.

It doesn't seem real today. That he is gone.


Tomorrow is Sunday. That was his Gaming Day.
Too many memories today of loss.
Too many.

Widowhood

Everything hurts and I just want to wake up to this whole thing being a dream.
How can he be gone? It doesn't feel real.

I've been crying all day. Nothing feels real. It can't be that my husband is now in a box.
It all hurts. Breathing even.
I want to not be sad. I want my husband to hold me. I want a kiss. I want him to embrace me and just be there. Be here.

Nothing makes sense.

6.9

Thinking good thoughts for my friends right now in Japan. Most if not all of my family over there is down on the South side of the mainland or on one of the southern islands; but a lot of my friends from school-age days are still up North.


Births. Bris. Weddings.

I want to feel happy. I try to. For the sake of the people I love, I do. I adore and care about my friends and I want so badly to just enjoy their triumphs in life.

At the same time, I feel like I'm walking around at these social engagements with a giant black "W" on my chest. I don't know people, I'm not an extrovert; that was Wash. That was his job, he would socialize or help me interact.
I feel lost.


It felt bad enough as someone with AS, not knowing what to say, when to speak, or what is appropriate (apparently discussing anything related to medical work/dead bodies/bones is NOT "dinner talk") and now I feel like no one knows what to say to me.
So.
Silence.

I've noticed now that pretty much no one talks about Wash anymore. They don't speak his name. They don't ask me how I'm doing. Maybe it is just assumed or obvious to others and not me?

Or, they've just moved past thinking about him. Which is ok for them. People die. People die who are not integral to one's life, and their memory or need fades.

It's not "starting over". That presumes I've only been moved "back" to a starting point I've been to before. I'm not.
I've never been here. I've never dealt with the loss of my husband before.
I've never had a 3 year employment gap.
I've never had my entire life and future I've dreamed and work towards since I was 12 suddenly vanish.
I hate that term, 'Start Over'.

I can't start over. Starting Over presumes a world without Wash ever in it, which would put me in an entirely different place. That's not what happened. Just because he is dead does not mean I will ever forget he was alive. He was a part of my life, he was a part of me.
This is not a JJ Abrams story. There is no "re-boot" halfway through, no change to another Universe, no extra Wash falling into this world, and no way to erase him from my mind.
He lives in my brain because he used my brain for 3 years.



Too many emotions. I've been crying too much lately.
I see all around me in my friends and family all the dreams I wanted that I will never have now.
There is no way to escape it.

Grief sets its own rules.

Android Sheep

Another bad night for me.
Adjusting to Widowhood is not easy. For every reason.

I am sad and missing my husband, my late husband, very much.

I will not be shamed about my choice to be more open and public with my grief.
It is far too stigmatized and misunderstood as is, despite almost all the human population feeling it at some point in their life, or several.

Did I laugh today? Yes.

Am I still sad to be going to bed alone tonight, without the person who should be there? Yes.

Grief is complicated, and unique to every person.
This is mine.

I went grocery shopping today.
I cleaned. Did dishes. Took care of laundry and my cats.
I also spent a half hour sobbing on my kitchen floor. Later on, more tears with a pillow.

There have been more functional days, and days where I've started to have more intense emotions, often overwhelming.

It is a mix every time I wake if I think I'm still dreaming, or if I recall right away that he is gone.

He is my husband. He was my late husband.
Such difference in emotion in those phrases, what information it conveys.

I see time like I never have before.

A cat in a laundry basket

This morning, I woke up, put on some music and began to clean, manically.
Cat-boxes. Laundry. Dishes. Trash. Newspapers that had piled up for approx 2 weeks.
I 'cleared out' Wash's bathroom/The Guest bath.
Half of the stuff I just threw out, the other half; his beard stuff, his aftershave, his handwritten notes (How to brush teeth, how to wash his hair and face etc) though, I put in a basket and put it under the sink. I can't bring myself to "find" a different place for them.
When I was washing dishes my Pyrex coffee carafe slipped and shattered. When it did, it also broke a plate.
An ordinary Ikea plate.
Just one from the set we bought together when we first got engaged and moved in together.

When that happened I ended up kinda crumpling to the ground and just sobbed for a half hour.

Rationally, I know. It's a fucking plate. I still have 5 more of the same colour, and 6 more the same size. It's already been thrown out.

But, for me, it was just a shock. When it broke, that memory of us being together when we got it, how excited and hopeful we were for everything at that point... it all came back to me in a flashback.
And it brought me down. Literally. I could not physically stand, or stop my tears.

Over a gorram PLATE.

Steps forward, steps back.
Like a serrated knife of Life along my heart.

Every day I wake up it feels "wrong". I keep expecting to wake up out of this reality.

I want to wake up next to him again. I know I can't. But I want it.

Stuck inside my head

Emotionally hard morning.
Completing paperwork where I have to change my status to "widow" and explain what happened.
I had planned to spend the evening/dinner with someone, who had to cancel on me this morning.

My dreams were of Wash. We were together.

Day like today, it is hard to not feel alone.
Day like today, I just want to go back under the covers.




I will write more later.

It is mentally and emotionally difficult for me to go day after day living, with no one around who knows my name. No one to talk to me. No one to visit. No one to share activities with.
In the past two weeks I have seen one frat brother for about an hour. [And she rocks. She usually brings the puppy over to help cheer me.]
I have had one family dinner. Spent maybe 2 or so hours with my mother, more than a week ago before they went on vacation.
I have seen my (local) brother for about 4 hours. Over a week ago.


I had my Physical Therapist shake my hand Tuesday when I completed PT. A "goodbye, you did hard work!" thing.
That's been it for this week.


I suppose I should just shut up and be thankful I even have a few hours every week where someone speaks to me. And knows my name.
That's all a person needs, right?


Yesterday was the funeral and service for another local "Brain Buddy" who had the same cancer as Wash who passed this past.
I was not strong enough to attend.


I'm just depressed and lonely today.

Struggles

Redbox is giving me a free rental tomorrow.
Going to see Cloud/Atlas with my mum.
Eating dinner with my family at my favourite Mexican food restaurant.
Going bowling after.
Birthday pie.

I am going to try to enjoy it.

In truth, I am struggling a lot with stopping my brain from just constantly re-living the 25th, 26th, 27th of October 2009. When we found the tumor. When my life changed completely, and my world stopped on its axis.
When my future and dreams were stripped away by a connected group of rogue cells 9cmx5cmx3cm.

Tomorrow will be my first birthday as a Widow. My first birthday without my husband.

Today is even one minute at a time.

I have some great friends who sent me a LEGO set and Fringe. 

If anyone is wanting to send me a little "birthday" something, I do have a amazon wishlist, or the Fundly Site is still running for another two weeks. I do still need to figure out some monetary needs for his memorial service, and to cover back the cost of his body removal/cremation. Not surprisingly, his family did not help with that. Thankfully, we found a place to take care of it as "cost" so it was only a bit over $600... but as I still have not even received my $225.00 "funeral" settlement from Social Security...  there are stresses. 

Now is not the time to talk about those issues though. That just leads me to a place of hurt, anger, and betrayal. 

I've been painting a bit more, trying to take a walk each day, get myself out of the house and bed.

I'm starting to forget what he smelled like. 

Breaking Silence

I feel a need for honesty; though my friends know with me that is never really a problem.

Yesterday my husband's family had a memorial service in his name.
I did not attend.
Technically yes, I was invited; when my mail/invitation came Saturday AFTER the service in a different State was over.

I am Wash's next of kin, and his executor. I am his widow.
I heard him every day for 3 years describe in great detail his ideal Memorial Service.
I am working hard to make that happen for him on December 8, 2012, again, in the Winter, as he requested before his death.

I am truly sorry to those who may have been deceived by others, but he did want and had Willed me to take control of the details.

The love of my life, my soulmate, my husband died less than 6 weeks ago.

Please keep it civil. I will be moderating comments on this post.

Wash had asked me not to write about his parents' or his issues with them until after his death.

I complied. 

Engineer's Thumb

I ended up getting physically ill late yesterday.

Might have been some bad second-hand news I received late in the day, or maybe some spinach I ate which was not fully washed.

I did not sleep well last night for the most part; a lot of digestive issues and mental ones. I tried sleeping on the couch, and on the little bed in the library. Leto, to his lovely credit was doing his best to cuddle with me and make me feel better all night.
At about 3am I got a little manic and did some very light cleaning in the bedroom, and put down the heavier comforter on the big bed.
I also did a load of laundry.

I finally crashed out in the big bed around 4am, pressed tightly to Wash's pillows on his side of the bed.
It still smells like him, since I have not been able to bring myself to Wash his pillowcases yet, or replace the pillows that hold his scent.
It might be a while before I do that. I'm ok with this; I keep the little bed clean, and my pillowcases on my side.
I slept with no bad dreams the few short hours I was down in our bed. Aelphie was right by my chest, Leto was keeping my feet and legs warm. They both seemed to know I needed both of them.

I woke up for my morning Physical Therapy and felt so awful. After spending almost an hour in the bathroom I threw in the flag and cancelled PT for today.
My mum has been checking in on my throughout today.

Thankfully, I manged to keep some (vegan, non fish) miso soup down this afternoon and then had another long nap in the big bed.
It's easier to sleep in our bed when I can smell him. I miss holding him, as I used to do every night. I miss saying "I love you." and hearing it back every night before I fell asleep. I still tell him, but I don't hear it back anymore.

I tried to be kind to myself today.

5 weeks. Both a lifetime, and a second. Closer to a lifetime.

The Belchies

Friday was pretty ... intense.

I spent the first few hours of the day just sobbing.
Could not stop crying.

I kept seeing his last few conscious hours over and over.

My friends (Wash's frat brothers) sent me a text in the early afternoon to the effect of "We love you, and know it's a bad day. Can we still take you out for distractions?"
I said yes.

We had a nice time getting out for some frozen yoghurt. That was a nice break.

We were attempting to go as a whole group to a "movie in the park" event; a free movie on a greenbelt/lawn. With our weather this is a common activity.

Sadly it was like a coming together of all kinds of "worst case" scenarios.
Some members were running late... we did not have enough blankets to grab space for all of us, there were dogs running loose around, the folks behind us kept spilling pizza on my blankets and pillows.... It became obvious before showtime there were FAR too many people who came to see the movie than the venue really had space for.

To their immense credit my friends cared. About me.
Wash used to be my rock and calming presence when I went out. I do not like going out, really, I do not like crowds, or uncontrolled animals (even at an animal friendly venue), wayyyyy too many toddlers walking around with no parental supervision... my brain was going into overdrive.
Too many noises, too many sensations, too many variables for me to calculate, which is what my brain does when I am outside or in a crowd.

My friends said... "Tashi? You look really uncomfortable. Let's go."
And we did. And they did not make a big deal of it, or make me feel bad for having to leave a planned event due to me.

We went over to C* & R*'s place and ended up getting pizza, and lots of beers, and watched "Clue".
It seemed liked a much calmer (and to me, more enjoyable) evening.

I was still missing Wash, so much, but they really helped to distract me and get me through a bad day.


Today, it's suddenly Fall.
Cold weather, cats wanting to cuddle, and an extra blanket needed for the bed.
I like this. It also means in a week or so I'll have to switch the fish around some; the babies need to be moved to a larger and warmer tank, and the big tank needs to have a heater put in it so the big Molly I'm a Fish Foster Mum for stays warm at night.

I've been watching "The Belchies" this morning, so far about 3 times. I think it might be my favourite episode of Bob's Burgers. Which also means I will be watching 'The Goonies' later, because we did not see it last night.


Everything is different and new at the same time is it familiar to me.


Lately, I've just really missed in so so so many ways getting to be geeky around someone else.
I miss making a reference out loud to a show, a book, a movie and having that person (Wash) who got it.
I miss talking about George Lucas.
I miss talking about geek cons and panels.
I miss gossiping and guessing about movies to be released.

I don't have anyone to talk to anymore like that. He's gone.
I find myself still having conversations; as if he could hear.


Cleaning today. Doing some laundry; clothes and the sheets on my little bed I sleep in, and washing the winter blankets (heavier than the summer ones). They're clean, but they kinda smell like the linen closet.


Just trying to tread water today, keep breathing.







*Not their real initials

Feet on the ground

I had dreams last night about the last night Wash was ever conscious and it was pretty horrible.
It was basically re-living it in my dreams.
I could not wake up.

When I did, I spent the first 30 mins or so just sobbing in my bed, I could not even move.

Yesterday, distractions helped.
Today, not so much.

I even got notified that DES won't cancel my health insurance now that Wash is gone, but that is not 'cheering' me up like it should.

It's like his last few hours are burned into my consciousness and it's a record player that won't stop; over and over again I see him, hear him, but just those words.

I don't even know right now, breathing hurts.

Leto, being adorable

Had some nightmares again last night, but I was able to control them more.
I woke up feeling better than I have in a while.

Still broke down and sobbed for a bit in the shower this morning.

The cats have been cuddly lately. Super cute. Needy. I'm ok with this, and spoiling them right now. Maybe we all need it.

My friend R* is here from the Pacific North West on work, and then she's spending the weekend with me before she leaves.
We've known each other for years.
She knew Wash.
She's also lost someone close to her to (a different kind) brain cancer.
So, she knows.

Hour by hour, some worse than others, but I just hold on to Hope that somehow it will start to get better, at some point.
I still Hope it will.

Missed

Had a few good days, some good moments this weekend.

I can't yet figure out if I should keep up my small journal/notes and publish them, or limit to when I can make a real fleshed out post?

It's hard to watch him die. To watch him slip away bit by bit. He had about 3 days/nights/period of hours in the week where he's been very "Wash". His personality just keeps fading. He comes around for friends, to talk, and always to play, but less and less.

Lately he's been making "jokes" about suicide. Hospice says this is his way of coping with some issues relating to his coming death. It's so so so so so tough for me to hear his "jokes". I cannot laugh or see humour in them.

It pains me to hear from so many people that they think I'm getting burned out or over-worked. These are almost always the same people that don't offer any real help or solutions outside of, "I'm worried."

I'm frakking worried too, but there's no one else. He loves me, and a part of his brain hates me too. He sees me as the "reason" why he's in this place, why he has so many rules, why he can't instead of being able to remember or place that emotion properly on his cancer, not the person who has to keep him safe from himself.

It's hard.

Last week I fainted because I ended up going 30 hours without eating. I eat about once, maybe twice a day now almost always after Wash goes down for bed, 10pm-3am. The rest of the time I'm watching him, which, even if I have a moment to cook, prepare, and eat a meal, I'm almost never hungry. I'm just so stressed watching and caring and dealing with his hatred and anger at me, I don't want to eat. Also, a lot of the food I buy is for him. I forget that I'm a person too.

I yelled at my brother G.* this weekend when he called right as I was heading into my first shower in about 5-7 days. He wanted to "chat" and I wanted to take advantage of my 15 mins alone to shower for the first time in a week. I guess for him it's harder to grasp since he lives alone and showers for 40mins every morning.

It's becoming so hard for me to explain to the people close and around us just how much Wash's cancer effects me on so many levels, how I'm so tied into him and his moods for the mere fact of being around him 24 hours a day 7 days a week for 30 straight months. Even most prisoners get a "break" from their cell mate daily. I don't like it, but I can understand that Wash's anger and rage are going to come out on the person around- me.

Dying is not easy.

Acute

The pain in my heart is intense. It is overwhelming. Tears keep smearing on my glasses, but I can't write without seeing. Too many typos.

I did something last night I regret. I don't often have regrets, really never, so this hurts like a new kind of pain I'm discovering. I feel used. I feel like I have not in years and years. Dirty. Bad. Selfish.

I allowed myself too much hope last night. Too many thoughts and ideas of what Once Was, not what Is.

He can't even keep his days right anymore. The first thing he asks me when he wakes up now is no longer "I love you. I'm happy to wake up next to you" sort, now it is, "What is today, Tashi? What do I have to do? Am I seeing a nurse or doctor today?"

Physically he has sometimes 2-4 hours in a day where he is or can be active. Usually about 2 hours at a time. He sleeps a lot, and watches a LOT of movies/streaming stuff. With his memory issues he's finding it harder to watch TV with commercials, by the time the show is back on he's forgotten what's happened. Watching on DVD or streaming helps with that, he can keep his focus better and enjoy watching.

I try to read to him when I can. He asked me the other day to start getting the daily paper; getting news from blogs and sites is too confusing, so he wants to just look at the paper. He has not kept up with the news in years, I fill him in on the topics of the Daily Show and other things, but emotionally he can't distance himself; it's why I stopped reading him news years ago about the Affordable Care Act, or other AZ laws that have been enacted in the past few years which literally can kill him.

It hurts. I had a moment yesterday to stop that hurt. I took it. I regret it.

I feel like I've cheated on my husband and the man I swore to love to his death, with I'm not even sure. Who ever is wearing my husband as an Edgar suit right now.

I wonder if there's another tumor hiding in there? Eating up my husband, my love, and leaving this poor shell that doesn't even know he is being hollowed out.

He lives Groundhog day every single day, and only barely knows it. It hurts to watch how far he has come down. It hurts to see him give up the things that made him happy because they are just too dangerous or he can't be trusted to properly supervise himself. He's in an Adult body, but he cannot take care of himself. In any real way, he can't.

I know he has Hospice folks in almost every day to check on us. I worry they don't see what I do. They are not here 24/7 and don't always see him fall apart- lately he's been letting help in so they can. I worry since Wash is able to project himself into some level of "normalcy" for sometimes an hour at a time, people don't believe me. They don't see how much he's lost of himself.

Then again, I can't keep my own house clean anymore- not and watch him- I am falling to pieces, and I wonder if they can see that he cannot help. He wants to, he does! But saying you are going to do something for 5 days in a row, staring at it, but not doing a thing.... this is what he does. He cannot be honest with himself or with me. That hurts so much.

I could make provisions, I could make plans, I could ask for more regular help if he would be honest- first to himself and to me. But he cannot. He cannot see that what he says he never does, he has no follow through. That's the cancer. I don't know if it is cancer or Wash though, that does not want to face the truth, or even hear it from me.

It's a sharp Guillotine above my head. He was once an adult who had a complete brain. He was a genius. Now he cannot remember what day it is. He's 27. I infantalize him for safety, win/lose. I treat him as an adult and spend all my time fixing, repairing what he's messed or broken win/lose.

Either way, it is painful for me, and then I still have a blade rushing towards my own head.

Too many tears.

Spirit in the Sky

I want to be clear on something- I love Wash. He's my husband and my best friend. I love him.

That being said, I can sure as hell get angry at the cancer in his head and the effects of trying to kill the cancer and not my Wash.

He had a BAD day on Friday. They are the kind of days that the oncologists and nurses and friends who have gone through it before can warn about, but never really prepare you for. (Thanks Jo & Rose!)

He was just not Wash on Friday.

He was angry. He was forced to confront some issues in his therapy and they came out on me. He can't exactly take his own brain out and yell at it, so I take the brunt. That part sucks. I don't even know really how to describe these days to his friends and family- the close ones that need to know the details. Remember that Wash can pull off "normal" with a hat for a few minutes to most people, but thankfully he has found some comfort with a few friends just being himself.

He was speaking in the same voice, and it was the same body. I can really only describe it as close to how he was acting when the tumor was in his brain- his voice, his body, but not his words or his mind.

MY husband would never say such frakking evil things to me.

Cancer? It has no reservations about saying the most hideous thing and with the sharpest of points. Case in point- I'm trying to help Wash, trying to explain that Friday I was not the enemy but he might need more help than I could give. I have to think it was the cancer or some damage that caused him to say such nasty things to me.

I watched a film last night that was a small companion documentary to a book I read a few months ago on forgiveness and grace. Even knowing that it is not always my husband's WILL that causes him to do something horrid - that still needs some communication of forgiveness to pass between us. We're not just roommates. We're not just best friends. I'm not just a 24/7 nurse- that is my husband slowly being eaten away by cancer in the other room, our relationship greatly impacts his length and quality of life.

We don't go to bed angry. For me the chance of him not waking up tomorrow is always so great I never want to risk sleeping away out of anger again. It really only wastes time we don't have.

What this means though, in reality, is that I have to be willing to forgive ANYTHING by bedtime.

This way of thinking, which is a far cry and change from my own youth, proves challenging to me sometimes. I find myself forgiving Wash with more ease, but feeling more anger at others who I see as wasting my time or energy. It's not really mine, for right now Wash is borrowing it all until he passes. I see things as my time can be wasted, but not his.

It all has to end with letting it go, though.

Friday was a monster named brain cancer living in my husband's skin.

Saturday he seemed to come back. That's the terrible nature of this. I can always always always hope that he will be back to "Wash". Cancer says I really never know who he will be when he wakes.

Every new day I am thankful that he is still with me. 3% make it 18 months. He's at 23 months now. He's a person, now defined by a statistic.

My goal, my challenge, is to make sure that every day he is alive here, now, is better in quality for him than death. Some days I think I fail. Some he falls asleep happy and telling me he loves me.

He's the other half of me. He's my heart. He's the person I would take cancer for. He's the man I'd wait 2000 years for, locked in a box.

How can I stay angry at the person I'd fight hardest for?

Sometimes.... I wish it was not real. A great story, a great myth. I could conquer mountains, Hell, and gods for him. I would have that River Tam shot, saving him, and in the end, a medical CURE would be found.

I remember it's all real instead. There is no magic cure. Fighting won't really save his life. I can't bring him back once he's gone.

There is no "set" ending. There is no happy news or 11th hour reprieve. Real life is so far away from fiction, the little minutiae of living each moment. Real life means now knowing that the "happy ending" only happens in fiction.