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.

Entering Widowhood: The In-Betweens

This post originally written and posted at Persephonemagazine

It’s been a couple months since my last post here on my new status as a “widow.” The horrid “W” word that no one in love or marriage actually wants to think about.

In that time I’ve made a few personal steps forward, a few back, one even sideways I would say. I have had friends and mentors die in the last few weeks, friends get married, friends getting pregnant, friends having their children, and friends getting ready to graduate from college and “move on” to the next phase of their own lives.

Through it all, my constant is still defined by my husband’s death. I can see how easy it is when one is steps away from the actual death, is not closely bereaved. Life continues for most. They still have school, or a job. They have children who need them, and a living reason to get up in the morning, to eat, to take care of their own selves. That becomes harder for me.

I am a person of habit. I have lost them all. The schedule I had before my husband became sick is something I will never get back to. The schedule I had with him, is also something I am trying to accept that I will never have back.

I’ve had a good bereavement counselor from Hospice see me, and that, to a degree, has been helping my mental state. It is always nice to hear that the feeling I have, the thoughts, most of the emotions are all in the “normal” range for grief. What we’ve spoken about more of is the really arbitrary number system that American society has on “moving on.” It seems to be around six months if you are a younger widow(er) and/ r have no children and around 12 months for those who were married, say, more than five years and/or had children. While some mourners certainly can fit those numbers, I feel rather constrained to have a faceless nobody tell me to “get over it, already.” (“It” being the death of my husband.)

As a note, for me personally, and I have heard from other widow(ers) that hearing the phrase “moving on” can be disgusting and heart-wrenching for the bereaved. “Moving On” has a lot of implications, and though, for the most part, the people who say that come from a place of good or kind intentions, what is most often heard is “Well, we’ve been able to not think about/speak about [dead person] we have decided it is time for you to stop as well.”

Being a young widow, I often hear that phrase. I have tried nicely to have my family and friends stop using it, but after a few weeks of being nice, I just tell them that I can’t talk to them if they must use that phrase. Being a young widow what I’m hearing more of as time passes on is something akin to, “Well, you’re young. Well, you still have time. Well, there are still options. Well, being young, you still have your whole life ahead of you!”

These phrases are also terribly not helpful.

Being “young” is not a hard and fast rule. By pure age or cycles around the sun, yes, I am in my mid-twenties.

By life experience, I am willing to wager I am far more mature than most people in their early- to mid-twenties.

I have “time.” Time for what, exactly? My husband thought he had time, too. His brain cancer began to grow when he was 24. He was dead one month after his 28th birthday.

Time is not something I take as a given anymore. Time is not my friend, nor my enemy. Time is not to be taken for granted by myself though. Or, perhaps by “time” it is meant that I have “time” to find (another?) love? That is quite a presumptuous thought on my own feelings of love, intimacy, and personal wishes.

I have “options.” Please, dear friend, expound on that. What options specifically? As it is my life, I believe the choices are mine to make. Options for living? Options for moving? Options for a job, a career, another lover? Generic statements that do not really support anything.

“…still have your whole life ahead of you.”

That phrase, however, might be the worst of them all. That is the exact problem. I do have the rest of my life, every second I breathe or have my blood beating, to go. I am all too aware of this. I am aware with every bit of my body that can feel, and every bit of my soul that can feel, time is taking me away from the person I had wanted, expected, and pledged my life to.

I am all too aware of the days, months, years, decades even that lie ahead of me, without the person who swore the deepest oath to be there with me through it.

I have my whole life to live, missing the part of life I wanted to live for. Missing the half of me that wanted to share in living.
That kind of grief and mourning cannot be rushed.

I am thankful for the Hospice services. My local Hospice that served Wash during his illness is a non-profit and I can feel the people who work there really do care, and have a lot of experience in addressing the mourning issues. I can only imagine how much more depressed I would be without them.

For me right now I am trying to work on stopping the comparisons of my life to the friends and social circles around me, and I have to stop comparing how my life is now to what I had in mind it would be.

I had prepared as best as I could, as my husband’s death was inevitable. His was not a cancer that can be “cured.” What is almost harder is knowing I could not prepare for the actual feelings I have had since he has died. Grieving who he was, our love, who he and we were going to be. Grieving the two pregnancies that almost were, and were lost. Grieving the anniversaries that now come, but are not cause for celebration.

Towards February and March I had played around a little with taking my wedding band and engagement ring off. Sometimes just for an hour at home. Sometimes for a whole night while I slept. Once or twice I even went outside on a walk without them. Then came the first wedding I went to since my Wash had passed. It was lovely, and my happiness for the couple is genuine. However, this was a wedding that Wash knew was coming. These were his friends, his brothers. This was a uniting of love that he should have been alive for. He should have been there to make a toast, to wish them well.

I stopped taking off my rings after that. I’m not ready to stop wearing the reminder of his promise to me. I’m not ready to take off my engagement ring that was the other half to his matching engagement ring. I have decided to forego any wedding invitations for the next while. Perhaps through this year, perhaps through next spring. I don’t want to limit myself to a specific number.

It’s not just the odd isolation that comes with being a young widow. I am stuck in many “in-betweens.” I am not in school finishing any degree. I love school, and I do have a desire to return someday. The timing is not right now. I do not yet have a job that provides me income, let alone a career. I’m not yet homeless, but I have no real way of moving anywhere new, despite my desire to leave this home I once shared with my love at some point likely this year. I have days now where I rarely cry, where I am starting to have longer hours together functioning. I am thrust as well into the space behind that where I still have moments breaking down and sobbing for hours until my eyes swell shut.
I am trying to stay friendly and in contact with the many many many more female friends I have who are pregnant or had/have kids.

It is hard for me to see something I wanted, something I had (if only for a few weeks), something I lost, something I will never have again. It is hard to have and own my own emotions and history and still be happy for those I love and care about. To visit and meet the child of a close friend who was born right before my Wash passed; I’m still working on how to cope with my own pain and express joy for the happiness in the lives of the people around me I love and care for. To hold hope for the friends and family I love that they will never have to face the pain I am living.

I will direct you up a few paragraphs and please ask you don’t placate me by saying I’m still young enough to have children, or to get married again, or to adopt (as a single??) or that “things will happen in their own time.”

So, how is this 26 year old widow doing?

There is no simple answer.

There is no set time on grief, or progress, or regression.

I simply am, now in place of “we simply are.”

For now, I am in-between. I still wear my rings, but I said my “goodbye” and listed my status on Facebook as “Widowed” instead of married. I have begun to really sort through his belongings, but have not yet fully parted with everything. Though I physically feel split in twain without him, I’m able to now stand on my one leg, even if I cannot move in any direction yet.

My journey continues.

DST

6 months.

like healing from a heart transplant that did not happen.


I can walk again, catch my breath most days.

But it feels like being post-surgical. I'm still walking around with a giant hole inside of me.
Like a much much MUCH poorer (and probably sadder and lonelier) Tony Stark.

 Everything is different but it feels like so much has remained the same.



I miss my husband. I miss his company, his jokes, his kisses, his hugs, his laugh, and I miss my best friend.
He was.


I don't have that with anyone anymore.

I do not bore of the company of myself, but I do not wish to remain alone for 360 days a year on say, the Isle of Skye or Mann. That is not a life for me either.

It is quiet here. Disconcerting to me.

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.

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.

TARDoor Returns!

When we first moved into our (my?) current home, pretty much the first thing my husband noticed was our door that was almost the same colour and shape as the TARDIS.

He asked a few times if he could put up a TARDIS sign. We did not have time the first Halloween, we were still moving in.
The second one, we were both in the hospital; I pretty much lived there for the couple weeks Wash was in there.
The third, he started to get back to the TARDoor idea again.

So, we started to turn our door/home into a TARDIS on Halloween. Traditions begin! [Occasionally on Christmas or Boxing Day as well]

He was SO PROUD of how it came out. He spent about 2 hours on the windows alone. Wanted to make sure they were "perfect". The architect in him.

This year, I was planning to just hide out with a good scary movie. We do not get too many kids on our street, and there are none living in the complex currently.

However, as I got on with my day, I started to feel like something more than just Wash was missing.

I did not spend as much time as he did on perfecting the location of everything, but I did my best.
Tonight, I will watch "Blink" and the other Weeping Angels episodes while I paint and wait for any kids to come by. It's also a good night for "Zombieland" and "Hot Fuzz". It's Tim Dalton!
I am still feeling pretty down, between some miscommunications with family members, some well meaning people trying to give me perspective but in a real badly phrased way, and just missing the fuck out of Wash. He loved Halloween. I might post pics of his old costumes tomorrow.
I hate money issues.
I hate having no credit. I hated to have to find money to pay upfront and in full for his cremation and death papers, and I've hated that after 7 weeks I still have not received a cent from the $225.00 Death Benefits I am entitled to as his spouse. Which is not even 1/3 the cost of what I had to pay.
I have tried to let a lot of my anger and hatred go, and to some extent, it has worked. To another, there is still a lot of anger to people who are now no longer in my life at all.

Back to topic. Apologies, Dear Reader, this is my life. Mid thought of anything, and thoughts of Wash or his end will come into my mind. Always.

So I spent a little time today bringing back out the TARDoor.
I don't think/know if we have any Doctor Who fans in the complex, I guess tonight I will find out.
One of the frat brothers who lives close to me is splitting a pumpkin pie with me tonight.
Minutes seem like hours, and then 4 hours will pass in just a few blinks to me.

This is *my* TARDoor. I suppose there is always a chance I might open it tonight and find my TimeLord.

Hide and Seek

-My birthday was fine. I will write about it later.
-My foot is finally after approx 12 weeks, no longer broken! The Ortho cleared me, and my last Physical Therapy session is this Thursday


As far as the rest goes...
I have been in a very deep depression. Getting outside to get physical activity in every day, some days I will even speak to other people or clerks. But, I'm not really "getting out" and I'm not really going to gatherings or parties, because my anxiety kicks in overdrive at the thought of being out, and breaking down in front of others, or "ruining" something [my phrase, not anything anyone has said to me, I want to be clear.]or making my friends uncomfortable.

I'm hoping that with a bit more time, my medication will kick in a bit more and I will start to feel better.
I need to see someone, professionally.

It's painful to wake up literally crying. Or, sobbing so hard in my sleep it wakes me.
I'm getting physically sick now some evenings when the panic and memories set in.
I'm having more flashbacks, visions I cannot control.
I keep seeing certain days, certain events over and over and over.
Some mornings, it feels like my body is literally frozen in place for 30-60 minutes and all I can do is see these images and hear those voices and words and cry.
I need to deal with this.

Around the mid to end of last week I noticed a new trend; not really having emotional "ups and downs", more like a numbed baseline, and then moments of wrecking sobs.
I've been watching old horror movies that terrified me as a child now, hoping to feel something. I haven't.

A few more nightmares, unrelated to the movies, mostly it feels like I dip into a parallel word, things are not fully the same, and sometimes Wash is there. Sometimes, it is other things.
Things that I don't have words for in any language I know.
But, I don't have fear. Not "fear" in any sense of the word to my own self; no terror at the thought of my own end. So, there is a knowledge that
*I am dreaming
*I am hunted, by something
*I am not afraid of anything that can happen to me

It's odd. Everything feels odd in real, waking life.
I keep expecting to see Wash. Downstairs, in another room, somewhere.
I wake up and the bed is large, empty, and cold. My brain screams at me that it is wrong, it is SO wrong that nothing can be real. Everything feels surreal when I am awake now.
Numbness. Numbness, and a pain so deep it transcends the physical world.
What is physical pain to this?

I know my friends are trying to help, trying to support. I know my family is too; they showed it to me in heaps for my birthday.
I know you, Dear Readers, leave me such nice and encouraging messages and in a way, it does help.

But I know, I need more. This is not something I can do alone. Wash is not around to give me strength either.
Making those calls into such such SUCH a shitty insurance system, most especially for the adults with mental illnesses, it is hard. I tried it before, too many times.
I tried it right after Wash passed and I was told 2-3 months to wait before they could even have me see anyone. That, was not really helpful.

I have no way to afford to pay out of pocket for a good professional, who has experience in grief, loss at a young age, PTSD.
Magellan's history of treating patients in Arizona is not stellar, by far, but it is literally my only option right now.

So, that's about where I'm at, almost 7 weeks after --
I don't even know what to write. After he died? After he passed? After my heart stopped? After I lost my world?

The courser blinks at me, patient to my numbness and the slow pouring of words from the churned emotions inside me to the screen.

Goodnight, Dear Reader, and stay safe.

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. 

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.

Untitled

In some moments it hits me like a car going 35 MPH.

I just had a conversation out loud.
With myself.
Because I live alone now.
My husband died. I can talk, but he's not going to answer anymore.

I'm so used to telling him everything.
Now, I'm talking to myself/the cats.

Part of my new "normal".

Warmed Up

I'm not in the best of moods tonight.

More stress and drama for my poor Wash. He doesn't need more stress. He needs people to work together, or even pretend to for his sake.

I got to play with a kitten today (no, not a new one for us) which helped a little.

I'm just feeling like everything is unfair, happiness is not going to be obtainable for me, I'm grieving tonight.

I am tired and depressed.

Security

Some good news;

AHCCCS and SNAP benefits will continue! Apparently we ARE still broke, sick, and dying! It feels so odd to celebrate retaining our health insurance.

I also got my new glasses today. They are my first proper prescription in about 4 years (Thank you for the donations to help me SEE) and fitted for me and my eyes.

I can bloody well see. I can see details, I can see things without glare, without light halos.

Also, my house has SO MUCH DIRT and clutter. Before, it was all just kind of a group of gray lumps.... ugh. It's going to be hard not to clean too much and confuse Wash.

He's having a better day. Still a lot of memory loss, but it seems to me like he's forgotten his bad days from earlier this week and his severe depression seems to have eased. Though, it is still daytime and some days he is fine until sundown/sunset. At least in summer now he will get a little more light/sun. I managed to get him out for a walk at night when it was cooler a few days ago- he's gone from a walk every other day or so to around once a week now.

His muscles are going to atrophy soon. I try to convince him to move, but some days he doesn't have it in him.

If he doesn't remember I am not going to bring up his bad days from this week. Better he doesn't remember the pain or sadness. I can hope he can just move on past it.

I have had a nice few moments with my husband, a few chances for some (perhaps, last) memories. Emotionally, it's like taking a bowling ball to the stomach, but I have to focus on the good few minutes that happen, those quiet times where I can remember the man I fell in love with, or even remember more about myself, who I was.

I have to try every day to make it all count.

Posts at 1am

Wash has had Xanax and Ativan up the yazoo. He was ok for the two or so hours our friend J. was by tonight.
Then he got super angry and depressed again. He cannot remember so much of the short term stuff, and he was angry at himself- and yelled at me.
He asked for the Chaplain to come, it'll be close to 1am when she gets here. He says he's getting "Ready" and doesn't want to "pain me or talk about it with you".

I'm trying so hard to not cry right now.

I brought him some wood blocks and Legos to play with, because he was asking what was "safe" that he woudn't harm himself with.
The Hospice Nurse on call said she hoped it was a bad night, but that these intense changes, and his night-issues might be his way of trying to say he is ready to die.

Fuck.
NOW I'm crying.

Growing up

I have a few moments between emails today while Wash is getting his massage/pain therapy downstairs.

He's doing better. Mentally at least. I managed to get him outside of the house yesterday for dinner at my mums and a walk. Small steps, but it is something. He's coming away from his scary weekend, and is acting more like the "Wash" I recall, his personality is coming in a bit more. His meds were adjusted, so I am hoping that was the right change he needed.

Thank you to all the friends and Dear Readers who have left nice comments for Wash (us). I do read them to him and he soaks up every single kind word right now.

I've been working a lot more in the garden. More solar lights, more plants, more herbs, and my folks even gave me an old trellis they had but were not going to us! The garden is a way for me to be around living things and keep sane, and it's a nice space for Wash that reminds him of happier times and our potential as a couple and family.

The kitties have been more social, even though it is getting warmer. I am shocked. Aelphie comes downstairs some days when Hospice folks are over, and Leto of course greets everyone and even now has a few people he knows will let him climb in their laps.

We had a small sad moment yesterday though, Leto has officially outgrown his (Adult Cat sized) harness! I was watching him the other night and he was walking around like a kid on all fours wearing a sweater WAYYYYYY too small. Kind of cute, but that must have been tiring for him! It's not the girth, that was fine, but the length- he's getting even longer and lankier. So, I guess I need to take a trip to the petstore to get him a dog sized harness. Leto has been CRAZY this morning, running back and forth to all the doors, sitting in front, waiting and willing us to take him out, but he knows he doesn't go out without a harness and leash (his collar is always on) so he just cries. Poor guy. I guess he really enjoys going out with us. He truly is a sympathy and therapy cat.

After his nap I'm going to have Wash take a look at some Urn-makers and try to catch up on the wonderful offers that have come in from the CF4L crowd. I wish I had more energy to answer everything in the proper timely fashion. I do what I can, and Wash gets first.

My own heath problems are not really resolving yet. My meds will take about 2 weeks to really start to work and maybe repair some damage. I'm not certain if I'd be better off now if I still had my gallbladder, or if it just would have melted in me regardless. I'm in a lot of pain daily, but I'm trying to listen to my doctor about foods /diet and give the meds the time to work.

Laundry today. At some point. I've also averaged less than 4 hours of sleep for the last three nights and no nap longer than 20 mins uninterrupted. I'd like a nap, but I can't sleep unless Wash is, or someone else is around to watch him. I will be happy come April when he can be approved for some home aides to help give me some respite.

Cat cuddles, a good movie or two, and some chocolate with mint tea made from my garden are on my list today.

Shut off

I had lots to say the other day but it seems to have all left me.

We had a good start to the (Jewish) New Year with my family having dinner the other night. Yum. My mum picked up some honey-cake for us too.

Aside from just wondering what service next is to be shut off (we lost internet earlier this week and got it back with some help) and worrying about that, my brain is stuck on Wash. We went to the doc's this week- his ENT to check on the follow up for his eye cyst. I was freaking out as I had received a bill from them for $146~ from his first visit and I couldn't pay that or whatever they would charge to see Wash this week. Thankfully we both got some good news from that trip; the Billing dept had put Wash in as 'No insurance self pay' despite his insurance info being on the paperwork *I* filled out. So, 3 office staff later and two people in billing it was cleared up and erased. Small favours.

Wash meanwhile was treated to a less invasive scan of his sinus cavity and told it was NOT a cyst, or even a tumor. Just inflamed scar tissue. Apparently he broke his nose some 20 years ago and that's just how his head looks in a MRI. Thankfully he didn't need a biopsy, or worse more surgery.

He's just been distant and cranky lately. I ask him for help or to try something or he asks for guidance and then it just... gets ignored. Forgotten. I know that's the result of the cancer, or tumor, or surgeries.... I still get disturbed by it.

There are some other issues brewing as well, but not anything I feel comfortable talking about yet. Basically there have been some statements come out against Wash having comforts, or a Quality of Life- especially if it costs ME anything. To some, I guess his happiness at the end of his life doesn't matter just how much he "costs" to stay alive each day.

I have some ... anger issues, at this way of thinking.

Wash just turned 27. There's a 1% chance he will see 30.

To me, his quality of life is paramount in importance.

It's his life and death. He gets to decide what makes him happy while he can still FEEL happy, and he gets to decide when the pain is too much to go on anymore.

I get so tired and depressed having to explain this to other human beings. To me, it's fucking common sense.

Emotions

I did a video update/blog for today.