One thing that I often hear from people is that the first year is hard because you have all of your "firsts". The first holiday's and special days without them. I was still very numb when I had my first Christmas and New Years, and frankly my first Valentines Day kicked my butt (substitute for a different word, my brain still does). They are not wrong about the first's...they are tough but I think for some there's something tougher. The anniversary's of the lasts. You might think they are the same, but these are different. The first's are occur on what were once happy days and possibly one day will be again. Holidays and special occasions you celebrated in the previous years. Lasts can occur on these days, but they can also be just random days.
I already know that is first birthday is also going be more difficult, not simply because it's the first birthday of his where we will be apart, but because of the memories of his last birthday. It isn't a happy memory to celebrate as that's when things started to fall apart at astonishing speed. Memories of him so weak that in the early hours of the morning that he fell out of bed. After hours of us both trying to get him up we called in reinforcements and thus started the day with a friend and then EMT's trying to simply get him back up. He spent the day in his recliner, had a visit with a niece and grand-nephew and tried to gain strength. Only to have another traumatizing experience the next day when I had to call 911 for help in getting him up off the ground when he wasn't strong enough to get into the car. Worried that he was going to break something as he was he crumpled to the ground in the garage. He was transported by ambulance and then life flight arriving in the ICU to battle sepsis. To say that was terrifying is an understatement! The statistics for sepsis will keep you awake at night. The survival rate in a healthy individual is terrifying, but in a cancer patient... But he miraculously and courageously fought and made it.
However three weeks later, our last anniversary similarly gives me great anxiety. We were on the road to recovery from sepsis when he ended up back in the ICU. Things were insanely complicated because his myeloma decided to become ragingly aggressive. Kidney failure needing dialysis, and encephalopathy caused by liver failure. It was yet another a miracle that I didn't lose him again then. The day after our anniversary I made the decision with his doctor to add very aggressive chemo into the mix. Those days were DARK and so hard. But yet again, he fought and he fought hard. What a blessing it was when the next day he opened his eyes and said "Hello". I quickly responded with three of our favorite words "I love you." He looked at me with that sparkle in his eye and lovingly questioned "oh?" to which I replied "of course". Tears slid down his cheeks and my heart melted into a puddle. I'm so very grateful that we were blessed with more time together, grateful for the tender mercies that brought some light into that dark and difficult time. But still incredibly sad that our time together on earth ended much before we were ready.
These "lasts" are just a few that I know are ahead. They are now also entwined with the difficulty of first's without him. Two days that for me were once wonderful days of celebration, but now are painful reminders of the difficult journey. I'm so very grateful for the 22 wonderful years we had, and for the knowledge in an eternal marriage and loving Heavenly Father and Savior. Without that and them I know that I would be in a much darker place. I do have hope, I anxiously await our reunion in heaven. But this moving forward without him, with this gaping hole in my life and heart, it is hard.
Not just a once a year occurrence, but the day of the month on which he passed away is engrained in my mind, and likely will be for the foreseeable future. I've seen others who have a countdown of the number of days since they lost their loved one. I've specifically chosen not to do this. Assigning a number to how many days I've been without him would only make things more difficult, but yet somehow it's impossible not to acknowledge the months. It was a day in my life that changed everything. The past three months have shown me that this is an anniversary that I need to be prepared for. Yet here again, it's the beginning of a new month and the third is tomorrow. At least this one didn't catch me by surprise like last month did, but I'm still not sure how to make them easier. I've come across several ways of describing grief. For example: “Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, sometimes it is overwhelming.” These first and lasts are days where the tide of grief is powerful, I would say that there are stronger than normal rip tides that threaten to suck you out to sea. I'm not quite sure what would make these days less difficult. But I'm sure I need to come up with something. It's likely a day where I may need to call in reinforcements. So I need to do my best to continue to foster relationships with friends and family. So that they can be my lifeguards when the tide of grief comes rushing in.
But for my widow fogged, exhausted brain I'm still at a loss and often all I get is static. How do I love myself how Chris loved me?
Thinking about his love isn't hard, he always loved me... for me. He not only accepted, but deeply loved me as I was and always told me how amazing he thought I was. So tender, so concerned, so compassionate.
So love myself as he loved me seems to be accept and love myself as and where I am. But how to love myself harder? Not sure what that looks like. And there's still the challenge of how to what to actually do...
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