Con Te Partiro

I made it through Thanksgiving. (The American one. Canadians did it first, a month ago.)


I spoke to my parents and brother, and went over to the Fraternity brother's dinner.
I ended up helping to cook and clean. It was good, kept myself busy and distracted. I enjoyed several moments. I did not even cry until I came home.

I am thankful Wash had a good sense of people. He truly made some wonderful friends in his life who have "adopted" me in a way.
It helps a lot.

Most of my very small group of friends is no longer local. Some that are decided shortly after Wash became ill to just... abandon us. "Come get your stuff you loaned us or I'm throwing it away!"
Suddenly, no more friends to help plan weddings.

No more local friends Graduating.

I cannot stand to be around pregnant or new children yet. The happiness and joy they produce feels like mortal pain to me.

Wash wanted something very specific and Doctor Who related to be done before his memorial service.
I have the supplies. I just cannot bring myself emotionally to do it.
"The Impossible Astronaut"

Except my Time Lord does not come back. There is no second chance. There is no way to cheat Death, not in a long-term.


His TARDIS urn is in the same place. It does not feel like *he* is inside though.
I look at it, and it is beautiful. It is art. It is love. It is Form and Function.

But my Love has become Stardust.

The Memorial is set. Invitations sent, plane tickets bought, pies being made.

This is the hard part. Not watching him in the hospital NuICU, not the wait of the two brain surgeries, not the fights for insurance. Midnight hours of vomiting and pain.
The moments he looked at me with just a little hesitation, willing himself to recall.
The anger. The fights. The physical pain.
Sleep deprivation. Going hungry to keep him fed.
What seemed like a steep climb was no more than an anthill.

This is my Everest, my Kilimanjaro. The 'After'.
The 'Alone'.

The Silence.

Such silence.


He was my best friend for 4 years. My husband for more than 3.
When he became sick, I became his memory.
He told me everything. All he could recall. His feelings. His jokes, and his pain.
I feel like there are two people living in my brain now.
I can hear myself, my inner voice. My Asperger brain continues to think, to ponder, to calculate.
Yet, at the same time, I can always hear him. Sometimes his voice is his, sometimes his words are my own voice. I look outside at my Throne he made for me, and I can remember his descriptions of how he built it. I can remember the nights, his clothes, the smell the welding burns. I can see all the sketches he drew of it, start to finish.
I watch a show; something new or something we have enjoyed before, and I can hear his commentary in my head. I can see his face light up at seeing his favourite actors, yet he's been gone two months.
I look at buildings and architecture like I never have before. I care because of him.

I have not been able to watch any new Doctor Who or Fringe yet.
I wish I was strong enough to. It is overwhelming. Like experiencing emotions from two people at the same time. I wish I could not just recall how much he loved those shows; I wish it did not hurt so much to continue with them right now.
Sensory and emotional overload.

He gave me such love.

He worked so hard to love me, to help show me not to write off all of Humanity.
I don't think there will ever be anyone like him again, not in the ways he was special.
Wash taught me it was possible though. Even at 6 Billion to 1 odds.
6 Billion in my mortal lifetime.

I ignore the probability, to hold onto the possibility Humanity might have someone like him again. The probability is I will not be alive to see who it is, but there is a possibility it can happen again.

My Love is over, in the living sense.


The world does not stop. It cannot. Not for one death. Not for one person. Society would not function unless we had to move on, forget.
But, the world moves, I still have not.
I have no career to go back to.
I have no children to tend or raise.
I have no interest in spending time trying to find a school to give me loans, to finish a degree I won't use.
I have no decades of memories and life to comfort me.
I have no idea what I would even want to do now, with my life, with a long future.

Half the people in my life are telling me to take time for myself right now, go slow, heal myself first.
Half the people in my life are telling me to start moving on, get a job, go finish my degree, move homes.

That's the one thing the WashVoice in my head stays quite silent about. 'Where do we go from here?'

Nothing but the silence of time, space, all eternity.


Mortality is so fleeting. I cannot comprehend setting aside literally one day to "give Thanks".
I had love for 1575 days with my husband.
I was thankful for every one.
I am thankful we made a point to tell each other every day and every night before we fell asleep that we loved each other.
Every night.

We are fragile. We are flesh. We are not forever, like the wind or Silence.

Yet, the chance is there. Another body, another life, another chance for that Love.

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.

Once More (again) with Feeling

Things will never be back to "normal".

I won't go "back to [my] life".

I'm changed. Forever.

If not purely by my marriage and almost 4 years of living with another person.

I'm not "The Queen of Death". I'm not "Bones". [and ye gods I have hated those nicknames]

I'm me.

I'm Tashi.

I'm watching my husband die, more and more everyday.

I'm Tashi.

I'm not a wife anymore, though I've kept all my vows.

I'm a nurse, a help, a guide.

What becomes of me when he goes? I've done the statistical odds of dying at the same time as him, it's not a number in my favour.

I left college.

I left my work, my job, my contacts.

I never was smart enough to find a cure, to save him.

We never got a house, only our little rented "home" that I'm going to have to tear apart even before he dies.

I'm going to have to pack away my books, my closest companions and friends.

I'm going to have to put away things which we both love, but cause danger.

There is so much change.

I cannot see myself on the other side. I cannot see how *I* will remain with that much change.

I'm already so different. Who am I now, who will I be then? Will I have any part of my own true self left?

I've given so much away already.

Given so much of my life to him, to keep him going, breathing, smiling, loving.

Must be a bad day. My movie lineup is "Once More with Feeling", "Harold and Maude", "The Royal Tenenbaums", and if those don't work- JT's "Titus".

I'm lost.

I'm leading someone, but I'm lost. He's mostly leading me now, leading to the end. Saying goodbyes.

Soon, he'll go.

I'll be lost again.

And then, alone.

How can that ever lead to "normal".

How could I go back to what I was?

I have a few hours alone. I've cried, sobbed, and had two asthma attacks.

I'm going to go sit in the shower and probably cry more.

I try to think about the details of the next couple weeks and my brain just locks; there's so much pain it won't let me think about it. I just get headaches.

I want to clear my head and bowl.

64 minutes

That's how much time I have right now to process everything, cry, think, deal, cope- before Wash wakes up from his nap and needs me to help him move.

Wash did not have a good start to his day. He fell a few times (thankfully onto the bed) when he first woke because he forgot he has trouble standing/walking now.

He was angry. He was confused.

He was a stranger needing help and ready to fight if anyone tried to give him (help).

I called the Hospice nurses and got him some meds to help him calm down. The Nurses wanted to send one out to check on him, and our (awful, new) Social Worker as well.

My mum came in the late morning to help me watch him. By then, he had mostly calmed down and was back to playing LEGOS. That seems to be one of the only things these days he enjoys, building his little LEGO worlds. [a friend sent some Star Wars LEGO sets last week he's been working on]

We had P. our afternoon aide come at one and the nurse was here at 2:30. The (awful) social worker was late.

We spoke like we did literally yesterday about his falls, about his short term memory issues, about my concerns for safety, and his concerns for lack of control....

The talks did not really resolve anything, but I have a lot on my plate to think about and figure out.

Bottom line, he's not safe upstairs anymore. So, I need to figure out how much space I need to make, find a mini-storage place, pack/move/box things up, get them moved, get the downstairs "safe" from sharp corners or things he could pull down if he fell, and figure out if I will be sleeping with him in a bed downstairs- if so WHERE- or do we need to keep space for the couch AND a little standard single bed? How much can I move before his brain freaks out at the changes? How much can I move before MY brain just cries and breaks down at the changes? The Aspie part of me has been (in my brain) hiding and crying in a closet for two days now. That part of me is unquestionably despondent at change.

Then, this all has to happen when Wash is somewhere safe; so do we try and get respite care hospice stay for him again, or does he present more of an "acute" need and thus can go right in to a hospice home for a while so they can get his morning stable and figure out how to best help him move around without posing a risk to break bones?

I won't even hear back about the possibility of a respite stay until Monday.

I feel like I have no time. Like this is all happening now far far too fast. Even beyond my control, my ability to keep safe.

I can't cry in front of him. I can't mourn. And I cannot get my head to actually make a godsdamned decision while he is here, while I have to watch him, to nurse him, to be strong.

Not to mention my asthma, which this week has been kind enough to flare up for me (smog and stress, my foes) so even if I have an hour while he sleeps, when I try to let some of this -emotional blockage- out, I just end up crying a few sobs, and then gasping for air as an asthma attack hits.

I am quite thankful for my mother. For her being there for me, for us, today. For the hug. I don't get hugs from Wash anymore, kisses really either. I think that part of his brain, himself, that could, that wanted to give ME comfort, I think it's gone.

I'm out of words. My brain just locks up. Rationally, I know what is coming down the line, I know the process, I know the stages, I know the signs.

But, as much as I try and strive, I'm not a fully rational creature. I have emotions.

I have memories.

The pain is overwhelming. I do not want to imagine how much worse it will get, how much more I will have to deal with at the very end.

The tunnel seems much much shorter now though.

It's not a light, it's not something peaceful, beckoning, calming.

The tunnel is ending and I can hear the train coming at me.

I should probably also eat something today. Nothing appeals to me.

No more good/bad days. Now we have good and bad hours in each day.

I hate myself in the few moments when I wish it was over. Because I'm not ready. I'm not ready.

Not even Joss, Jane, and Marti can stop the tears today.

'Where do we go from here?'

He can't run, he can't walk, he's getting ready to stop crawling. I wish there was a cure, an answer to pick up my Browncoat and carry him.

Gathered up a big storm

I managed to make a few new Walking Dead BINGO cards to play on tonight with our friends. I have so much fun trying to put my Aspie brain to work and figure out the trope patterns and the plot points. I've had mostly great feedback and outside some geek specific shows I made for me & Wash to play (The Invisible Man, Coupling, Torchwood, OZ, The Wire) I'm thinking of doing some for more current shows, like Law & Order: UK , continuing on for ses 5 of Mad Men, Downton Abbey.

I did this while Wash played with the Hospice Volunteer who came over today- as requested, "The geekiest one you can find!" said Wash. Well, when Will's* eyes lit up as he saw our TARDIS cookie jar and recognized Leto's name "As in Atredes?"

So, he spent about two hours over learning some more Warhammer and Wash taught him Munchkin (Steve Jackson game) so we three can play next Sunday. I think it will be fun even if it is not "me" time, it's time we can spend doing something fun, as it plays much better with more people than 2.

I spend a lot of my time thinking now. Going over thoughts and sometimes running as fast as I can away from them. How lucky to have had all this time, but how angry I can still feel that I won't get my "lifetime" with my husband, how we won't have all the things we want so badly, the smallest and simplest things. It hurts to spend so much of my time worrying about money, worrying about how I'm going to pay these bills, how long I can push others off, how badly my own credit score can really get...?

I ache for the children we will never have. I hurt that Wash will not get to see even his nephew grow up.

I hurt watching him cry and try to move past his dream of being a licensed Architect. How he stares at buildings sometimes, not able to speak a word but the pain is brilliant in his eyes.

I ache with the remembrance of pains he has long since forgotten, but not forgiven. How does one forgive when they do not remember they have been crossed?

He was looking for a specific Warhammer codex today for Will, before he remembered he had loaned it to a friend who literally just left him (and us) when he got sick. Who did some real shitty things to a friend who just had brain surgery and found out he was dying. All those memories, things he had forgotten for two years came back.

Thankfully for Will, he was able to keep Wash distracted enough to move past it or maybe with his short term issues, he just forgot again. I can hope.

I want moments of happiness. I want a chance to savor and remember what I know will be too short, too sad. I want something special, something more than just seeing the decline. I'm thankful every hour I get to spend with him, that he is alive, but I want more than just mere .... "well, he's alive...". I want to be thankful he is living and enjoying the life he has. I want more time for that, I want more chances for that.

Ah, crying now. That's my cue for the moment to stop writing. I am trying my hardest to keep the stress and drama away from Wash, and as I'm writing this in the afternoon not 2am when he's asleep, I have to be careful how he sees me. Sometimes he cannot understand the reasons why I am in pain and he just wants to do something to make me feel better. I try and keep him from having to feel like he has to take care of me. He should be focusing on himself.

We dated for 3 months before we got engaged. We were engaged for about 9 months before we eloped in secret. I had from the end of March through about May before his personality had changed so much he was hardly recognizable as the same personality. Realistically, I had one year to "know" my husband, my best friend, and the person I swore my life to.

I had about 6 weeks of being a "newlywed".... except since our family did not know we had eloped, most of our friends did not either. So, it was a secret and silent marriage.

By the time everyone knew we were married, all anyone could focus on- and should have- was Wash and the cancer, and the word "terminal".

I wanted to elope. We wanted to elope. We wanted something small, something that was all ours, that we "owned". I remember every lovely moment of it; even the scary parts and the first laughs we had as "Mr & Mrs."

But, we wanted (before the Cancer) something large for our families and friends to share and celebrate too. We just never got there. It was supposed to happen for a "anniversary".

I ponder these thoughts as March 14th approaches; our 3rd wedding anniversary.

My defining years as a wife have also been as a caregiver. I have never known another way.

I am sad about that though. I wish the 4 years I have been given to spend my time with him would have been less of "nursing" and more of "being his partner". I wonder if in a different universe 20 years from now "Pratt-King" would have meant the same powerhouse as "Charles and Ray Eames"? I can still hope for that future there, I suppose.

I just truly wish we as a couple, as a husband and wife, had something great to look forward to, something to celebrate.

*Not his real name

Chapter 3

So we have met the main people in Wash's "Hospice Team". They have been calm, polite, affirming, helpful, patient, and just wonderful to us.

Wash's wheelchair will be coming tomorrow so he can do outings without worrying about his energy levels. He's also got a massage scheduled tomorrow to help with his "pain management" side. We met 'our' Chaplain today and she'll be checking on him/us Friday. So far his nurse will be checking on him about twice a week and his social worker and chaplain once a week minimum. When they come back on Thurs we will talk about some other help during the week watching and caring for Wash so I can get rest and do errands and things.

His nurse is lovely and so far they seem to get along. His social worker will be working with us Thursday to try and help communicate with Wash's family about what is going on.

I do feel a measure of relief at this. They are really taking on a lot of the stuff that just takes up time and energy and space in my own head. I don't think it will be an overnight type of change, but I do hope that it is a shorter amount of time before I start to feel better and more rested, able to handle things. I'm doing my best to trust in others; I don't really have much choice at this point, but I'm doing my best to reassure myself that this is truly the best thing for us both. This helps us both, and with both of us having some bit of relief we really CAN start to work on our relationship and marriage.

I feel the need to also mentally remind myself that Wash is (seemingly) not going to die like now. He still has some time, and I am so hopeful that with some help, it will be good time that he has left. I've asked him to start thinking about what he wants to *do* while he still can go out and do things in the world. A place to visit, or sight see, or person he wants to meet? He said he will spend a few days thinking on it.

Most of the people we've now told have been supportive, some wondering why I chose now/why it took "so long". It was not entirely my decision, a big part of it was waiting for Wash to be ready for it, or at least open to what the benefits could be. That took some time, since he spent a fair portion of time denying his issues. It's not as easy for me to do that. His issues can acutely effect me.

I also have to call DES this week; there is an issue with our Food Stamp account. I've been paying out of pocket for two weeks for groceries. Not that fun. SNAP benefits make up pretty much my entire food budget, not a "supplement". My worry if they have cancelled our benefits for some reason. I really cannot afford food, rent, electric, medical costs (what Hospice doesn't cover and then my own medical co-pays), and entertainment for Wash.

BUT, I'm trying not to think about depressing things anymore tonight. That can wait a few hours.

We had some good news and good things today. My garden is coming along so well now; all the bulbs and seeds are coming up, I harvested strawberries this week and will get tomatoes next week. Wash gets massaged tomorrow. We heard about a charity Wash loves getting some donation help (kinda in his name/at his behest) which will in turn help a lot of families. I added my (almost/semi) retired mum onto Netflix today for her birthday present and she was nearly jumping with excitement. My family had a lovely dinner together and we agreed to try to see "The Muppets" as a group. We've gotten some nice distractions in the mail lately (wonderful books and movies!) Our friend has a new job after months of looking. Leto has been doing very well with his leash training and now spends time most afternoons outside with us.

Good things.

The pain exists. Keeping the happy and good things in the front of my mind helps to quell the pain. That's where my focus goes.

Thank you all deeply for your kind thoughts to us. We are both thankful for every single one.

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.

I remember we could talk about anything

I've been having a hard time lately.

I have clinical depression and have been dealing with episodes since my teens. A few months after Wash was diagnosed I went on anti-depressant medications. I topped out at 4 different ones to deal.

Earlier this summer for certain medical/health reasons I had to stop taking them. With a very short step-down process. I've been dealing with everything on my own, no meds for a few months now.

I've noticed how hard it is. My Asperger's has become a lot harder for me to control/function around on most days. My depression when it happens, it faster and harder and deeper than before. Medication is not really an option right now, and dislike the kind of numbing it did mentally for me.

I bring this up as it's getting later in September. I hate this month. In 2003 my grandfather died on Sept 16. In the bedroom next to mine. My family and myself had been very close in his daily care even through the home hospice period. That was also the time I had my first real betrayal by my then boyfriend and best friend.

Three years later and my other grandmother had been battling leukemia all summer, while my grandfather's widow was literally trying to die. She passed 3 years to the day from her husband, and 7 days later on Sept 23 my other grandmother passed from the cancer complications.

It was the start of a huge cycle of death and loss that continued for another 2 months that year.

I tend to get 'seasonally' depressed around the anniversary of their deaths every year.

This year it just feels all compounded.

GBM is a fuck awful cancer. I literally live just waiting for a sign or a word that a new tumor has grown back. That's the eventuality. It's a WHEN, not an 'if'. I hate trying to force down from my conscious the worry and the knowledge that waaaaaay sooner than I want my husband will die.

There's maybe a half dozen people in the world with his cancer even 20 years close to his age who have made it more than 4 years. He's almost at 2.

I keep feeling like my time with him is running out. I want to be able to give him something, to take him somewhere, to find a way to have a fucking chance to live before I loose him.

It feels like this cancer has taken my youth and my chance for an "adulthood".

I often and lately have been questioning my own worth and value, especially in this society. The message it sends it really one of "move away or just die". There's no financial system in place for those terminally ill and in their 20's. People judge based on how productive one is- Wash can't do what he used to, and no one pays me to care 24/7 for my husband.

I see less and less humans around. People who will take the time, see us as people not numbers. Right now we are a "cost". Personally, I'm loosing my self worth with the peanut gallery constantly chipping that I have "no" worth.

It's hard mentally for me to continue to keep myself going. I have death and debt to "look forward" to.

I want a life with my husband.

I want a family.

I want a job and a career that pays me for the hard work I put in.

Intangible delicacies.