When it does hit, I still can't believe this has all happened. And I definitely can't believe it happened over a year ago!
Another thing I'm getting good at is trying my best to turn a negative into a positive whenever possible. So, tonight, while going back and reading what I wrote one year ago...I am grateful that I am not still stuck in such a deep, dark place. And I am grateful knowing that, with the passage of more time...perhaps in ANOTHER year, I will be in an even better place.
I hope to never have to go back to feeling what I felt one year ago today. I honestly don't know how I survived it. I don't know if I could do it again. It was terribly lonely, terribly depressing and terribly painful.
For those who weren't able to read my older posts, I'm copying and pasting this one here...the words I wrote just shy of 2 weeks after his death and only 9 days after the funeral. It helps me to read it again because it proves to me how far I've come. Maybe you can see it too?
That's how long it's been since my Baby took his last breath. Over 19,000 minutes. You know, in recovery groups they have a saying... "One Day at a Time". Getting through the grief has been one minute at a time. When it hurts too bad, I just will myself to take one more breath. And then one more. Until the pain eases up enough where I don't have to remind myself to breathe.
I remember when I first brought him home from the hospital, on October 18th. I remember laying in bed next to him, unable to hold him the way I wanted to because of his pain. Unable to joke around and put my cold feet on his legs so he would jump. But I could put my hand on his. I would just touch his wedding ring and think back to the first time I placed it on his hand. I could put my hand over his heart and feel it beating. Such a strong heartbeat. It was hard for me to believe that those beats were numbered. Because he was so strong. And I could feel happy and secure just knowing that he was still here, lying next to me. And we could talk. And we tried to laugh. And we loved. We loved a deeper love than I ever thought possible.
I also cried. Silently, many times, because he did not like to see me upset. And I didn't want him to have to comfort me. He had enough to deal with -- physically, mentally and emotionally. I didn't want to burden him with worrying about me. Sometimes I asked him to please let me cry. After all, I loved him and my crying was just an expression of that love. I think he finally understood that.
Every time his health declined, I would quietly wish we could just go back in time...even one or two days back. I remember when his back was hurting. I wished we could back about a week before that. After all, we had just been to Cedar Point and he was fine walking around all day and he looked healthy and tan and happy. Then I remember being at the hospital and hearing the word cancer for the first time. After that, I wished we could go back to when his back was just hurting. Then two days later, when they confirmed the results of the biopsy and bone scan, I remember wishing we could go back one day...or even one minute...to when we knew he had cancer but had hope for a chance to fight it.
When he came home, he still felt healthy. He said, "If it weren't for the pain, I wouldn't feel sick at all." How quickly that all changed. I remember how he would call me early in the morning and tell me how he wished I would hurry home. I would come home and make him something to eat. He would eat a few bites and be finished. How I wished we could go back to the week before when he had a craving for Rally's or McDonald's and we would go out to lunch. I remember the first day he slept for all but two hours. I wished I could go back to the day before, when he would have me on my feet atleast once every five minutes to turn the fan on, turn the fan off, get him a drink, wash his back in the shower, help him into the bathroom, help him get dressed. I remember the last time he ate. On November 6th, he had a half a piece of toast. I wished we could go back five days. On November 1st, he ate filet mignon for dinner. I remember the day I realized he could no longer stay alone for 3 hours while I worked. I wished we could go back to the days when he would just call me and ask me to get home.
As he got sicker and sicker, I remember telling myself that no matter how bad it is, there will be a time real soon that I will be wishing we could go back to even the sickest times. That time arrived shortly after 1:25 PM on November 11th. Even though it was the most painful event of my life, I would go through those last minutes again in a heartbeat. Because atleast he was still here. I could still see him, touch him, talk to him, and kiss him. I know that is selfish. He would not want to go back to that. He didn't even like to look at pictures or watch old home movies during his sickness. It reminded him of what would never be again.
Every moment, every memory is so sharp and clear in my mind and my heart right now. I am so scared of forgetting. Not him...I could never forget him. I keep reminding myself how his voice sounded, how his snoring sounded, of his scent, of the feel of his touch, of the tender look in his eyes. I'm so scared I will forget, although I know these things are seared into my heart and soul. He is a part of me. He is all I've ever known. It has been me and him for all of my adult life. Always me and him. I spent over half of my years with him. And now I have to face what will most likely be many more years without him. Without him physically atleast. That is just too big for me to even think about. It's too overwhelming.
I don't think my brain is letting the many broken pieces of my heart accept that right now. I can say the words and think the thoughts...but if I were to accept that at this point in time, I think the pain would be so deep that it would literally kill me. I feel bad even writing all of this down. I could write it down in a private journal but I choose to write it here. I don't do it to worry anyone, I don't do it to show everyone that I am grieving even if I put on a happy face, I definitely don't do it to bring anyone else down. It is just what I need to do to try to begin to heal. I hate the thought of healing. Right now I don't WANT to heal. But I know that is a goal I need to work toward. For our sons. For me. These things I write are at the very front of my thoughts and feelings. This is my way of getting them out. So I'm not going to worry what reading this will do to anyone else. If it is too upsetting for someone, they can choose not to read it. I'm just glad I have this one way of sharing with others because I sure can't do it by talking.
I love you Chuck Roach. And I miss you terribly. But I'm sure you already know that, don't you?
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