Views From the "Other" Side

I wrote this 5 days ago, on October 15th. I wanted to wait to post it out of respect for Chris and his family. He has a couple of friends and acquaintances who might read this so I wanted to give him time to tell them himself...

This was a hard blow. 3 days before the one year mark that we made that "final drive home". If you had told me last year on October 15th that I would be taking Chuck home to just wait to die 3 days from now? I would've said you are f#*%ing crazy.

If you would've said to me last October 15th that, in a year from now, not only would my husband be dead...but I would be emotionally invested in another man and his impending loss? Then you would've been certifiably insane in my book.

But this is life...and death. And sometimes things don't always go as planned.

Wow.

I've realized for the last several weeks that these next few dates were coming up.

October 16th...our trip to our 3rd (and final) Emergency Room. Trying to desperately find answers. Hearing the dreaded "C" word for the first time. The first REAL sense of fear.

October 18th...after a terrible day the day before, with all of the intrusive and uncomfortable testing and a bout with pneumonia. Bad fever, cold chills, sweating, dangerously high pulse rate. That was such a scary night. But he began feeling better the next morning after being loaded up with IV antibiotics. A small sense of hope.

Then the visit from the oncologist that stole that hope right from our hands in an instant.

Then, finally, that long, long drive home from the hospital. That drive where I was taking him home to just wait to die. The Death Drive.

I knew those dates were coming. I didn't know they would be on my heels this quickly. But here they are, looming overhead. The realization came to me some time this afternoon that tomorrow marks the date of the beginning of the final leg of his journey.

And then.....

Wow.

It's almost too surreal.

A little background first. The man I've been seeing, the one I've become very fond of, the one I have grown to care about so very much, Chris.....his Mom has been battling cancer for awhile now. At least for the better part of this year. She has gone through surgery, chemo, and I think radiation. All of the typical cancer treatments. As far as I can tell, she has had her ups and downs. One moment...hopeful. The next moment...full of despair. And probably every imaginable emotion in between.

She just finished her last round of chemo a couple of weeks ago. She hasn't been willing to throw in the towel yet. She even had a goal to gain her strength back and get back to work as a teacher by November 1st.

She got admitted back into the hospital a couple of days ago. I think they have all begun to give in to the idea that this won't be cured. But there has still been hope. Even if it is a very small amount of hope...at least that's something, right?

I just got word that she is coming home from the hospital tonight. For the last time. There is nothing more that can be done to help her. Without knowing the details, it sounds like it won't be long.

And it breaks my heart. For her. For him. For his brothers and sister. Her grandchildren. For the whole family. Her friends. For her students...and former students. Her co-workers. For everyone whose lives have been touched by this woman.

I haven't lost a parent. (And she is the last parent they have left.) But I know how heartbreaking that drive home from the hospital is. I know what the short-term future is going to be like for this family. I know that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. I know the gut-wrenching sobs that hit you out of the blue but you have to hold in until you're alone. I know the panic. The sadness. The pleading with God. The not knowing when. (That's got to be the worst.) Okay, maybe the helplessness and hopelessness are the absolute worst. That need that you HAVE to do something, ANYTHING, yet there is nothing you can do. The absolute worst desperation of your life.

To Chris and the rest of your family...I'm here. Whatever it is that you need that I'm capable of giving. And I know. I really do know. And, most of all, I'm sorry. I'm so very, very, incredibly sorry. Thank you for giving me the privilege of meeting your Mom. Even though it was only just one time, that meant the world to me. It was so important to me. I mean, I just had to meet the woman who was responsible for raising four kids into such loving, positive adults and close-knit, fun-loving siblings. That's an amazing legacy and a true testament to her character.

Man, I absolutely hate this. I hate for anyone to have to endure this. Especially now...after experiencing it myself.

I think I am beginning to understand how my loved ones felt for us. Wanting to do anything in their power to take the pain away, yet feeling almost as hopeless and helpless as we did...because there was nothing anyone could do.

This whole set of circumstances brings so many things flooding back into my head and into my heart. Maybe that's why it hurts so much. A mixture of seeing someone I admire and care about so much hurting...and the way it brings my own recent history back to the forefront.

I wasn't prepared to have cancer or illness or death or any of those nasty things invade my life again so soon. Although it hasn't been in as big of a way as it could've been, that's exactly what has happened. Chris has been there for me in so many ways. He has enjoyed my bright, happy times. He has watched me grow and take steps toward healing and make tremendous strides. All while being my biggest cheerleader along the way. ("Team Jodi"!!!) He has also been there through my many, very low points. As he still is. Making sense out of the senseless things. Calming me when I needed it. Giving me a shoulder (literally) to cry on. Assuring me that I'm not "crazy" as I question my sanity. Setting boundaries when I need them the most. Helping me to learn to stand on my own two feet.

Yeah...I don't think I would be as far as I am today if it weren't for his strength and support.

It is a huge risk to open your heart to love. You are risking being hurt again. No matter what this brings up for me though, it is worth it. He is worth it.

So I am determined to be there in any way I can. I am strong enough to share the burden. While I can't share it equally because I'm in a very distant position and still brand new (an outsider) to this family, I am willing to take on any of it that I can. I have become a much more compassionate person because of my recent experiences. For that, I am grateful.

I just want to do the right things. I want to say the right things.

Thank you to all of you who made your best attempts to help our family through the roughest moments. Even the most unsure and feeble attempts at support didn't go unnoticed. I've finally gotten a better appreciation of how very hard it was for you.

Thank you.

To Chris' Mom (even though she will never read this) thank you for raising such a compassionate, happy, loving, caring and positive son.

And, to you Chris, thank you for all that you've done for me. I'm here.

I'm always here.