I am grieving. My husband is still here and I have started the grieving process. There is a pit in my stomach that won’t go away. I have screamed in the car very loudly on my way to the hospital. I cry a lot. My mind is exhausted but my body still nurses him. He prefers me to give him his shots. I monitor the I.V.s, clean his hands and face and write all over the nurse’s whiteboard of the care my husband needs
My friend, who is an attorney wrote the will. I opened it, went to get my phone and as I sat down saw “Last Will and Testament” with my husband’s name on it. I stopped breathing long enough for it to hurt and even then, I was crying so hard it wouldn’t stop. My poor friend who I was calling had to wait. I didn’t realize I hadn’t hung up. John is 46. He should be here at home with me. We should be carving pumpkins with the kids. His drum is waiting for him in front of the chair in our little music room. He should be playing it while the girls sing in their toy microphones. We should still be planning our move back to New York after KitKat graduates high school.
Grief tries to rip out all hope. As my heart breaks, it beats with love, forgiveness and light. I guess that is just nature which moves forward despite death and loss.
When John was first diagnosed, I was beside myself with sadness. I couldn’t stop the wave. I watched my daughters sleep and I questioned how I was going to be a single parent. I wondered what I was going to do and how, then KitKat woke up, looked at me and stretched her arms out. I went to her. Her arms wrapped around me so tightly. “I love you” she whispered and fell back to sleep. My grief was gone in that instant and I have to be sure of myself as KitKat is of me. She pulled me out of that. She gave me such joy in that moment of complete sorrow. Even today, they still do and I am so grateful.