I previously blogged about how mornings were the most difficult, they still are. The physical and emotional ache I feel when I awake each day to the realization that my life is different is a hard way to wake up. In between, work keeps me occupied during the day and sometimes allows me to forget that things have changed. But at the end of the day, climbing into bed is a consistent moment of sadness and loneliness.
We used always try to go to bed early so that we would have time to simply be together. For almost a year we had a meditation that we would listen to together to help us relax. In the past year we often spend time snuggled next to each other watching Tik Tik. My favorites were a guy who would roll dice to decide what sandwich to eat (with some crazy options). This was the inspiration for Chris's birthday month last August where I got a variety of traditional meats, cheeses and bread offerings and Chris would "random for sandwich" and then get to pick from a box of undetermined treats and sides. Another guy who cooked recipes from old cookbooks that were always interesting. But in general it was just a mindless way to unwind and forget about our worries. In addition to watching Tik Tok, we would talk. About everything. I miss those moments, I miss talking to him.
After wrapping up our nightly rituals, we would each roll to the opposite side of the bed. Except for nights when the steroids from chemo kept him up, he typically would fall asleep quickly. Chemo is exhausting. I however would usually toss and turn, trying to get my brain to shut off. Caregiving and working full time leaves a lot of things to worry about. On rare occasions when I could tell he couldn't sleep, I would reach over and put my hand on the middle of his back. I could instantly feel him relax, and he would doze off very quickly. It was so humbling to know the power that my touch had. As well, though we liked to sleep with distance between each other to stay cool. If I ever awoke in the night, I would often find both of us reaching out with either a foot or holding hands just to be connected. A sign that even on a subconscious level, we belonged together.
In October he spent a couple weeks in a rehab facility trying to gain the strength to walk before returning to the cancer center for more chemo. The bed at the rehab hospital was big enough that one night after the nurse had left, I climbed in next to him and snuggled in his arms. It was heaven. When the nurse came back in and didn't chastise us but instead encouraged us, it became the highlight of the evening to put away my work laptop and just enjoy being together. After he was released from the hospital at the end of October, we spent several weeks sleeping on the couch and recliner. A familiar place for us as we've spent many nights there over the past five years. He was released from the hospital barely able to walk. Walking took so much energy and he often needed my help, or the help of our amazing nephew. Getting in and out of bed just was not possible. But he worked so hard and improved and in the few weeks that ended up being his last, we were both so elated when we were able to return to bed. Neither one of us had had a decent night's sleep since August, it truly was a blessing.
Throughout our marriage, we tried, but also weren't the most consistent at praying. However I have the most tender moments of this when we were dating. We visited his parents in St. George and spent the night at their house. Before going our separate ways for the evening, I remember sitting on their couch and saying our first prayer together. It was so wonderful to hear his voice and his thoughts in such a personal way. What a blessing it was that in in the final weeks, it's something we were able to do more regularly. We were so grateful for what he had survived, but also very worried about the future. He would always ask me if I wanted to, but hearing his voice was so comforting so I typically always requested that he pray. I loved hearing his express his desires and worries. You would think that they would be filled with pleas to have his burden's lifted. But not so, even despite all that he had gone through and the pain he was in, he was always so concerned for me and how difficult things were for me. He didn't remember much of what had happened in the hospital, just bits and pieces here and there. When I filled him in on the details, he was so sensitive to know how difficult it had been for me. He always said that things weren't fair for me and that I deserved better. That is just the type of man he was... my tenderhearted sweetheart, always thinking of others, especially me.
Last week I found out that big changes were happening at work that were going to impact me. Until it was official, my boss said I shouldn't talk to others about it. My first thought was that the person I wanted to tell more than anything was gone. I could talk to him all I wanted, but he wouldn't be able to talk back or tell anyone else. He couldn't give me advice on how not to break into tears when I introduced myself to my new boss and met the head of the company for the first time. Instead of thinking about what this would mean for me or what questions I had, instead in my brain all I had was static... or maybe fog, your choice of what to call it. Just nothingness. The day of my meeting came and went. I'm very grateful that even though I broke down into tears within moments of our meeting starting, that they both were compassionate and understanding. Something I desperately need lots of in my life. I'm optimistic that this will be a good change for me.
So here I am at the end of another month without my sweetheart, in shock that tomorrow is a new month. It feels like just the other day and yet so long ago that I walked away from the hospital. I've been blessed with several people who have reached out to me this week that helped me not feel so alone. Very grateful for the people who reached out and helped me fill my Saturday with the companionship of family and friends. Walking in the sunshine at the park as my sweet niece would reach her hand up to hold my hand was soothing to my heart. My sister in law tearing up as she talked about how much she felt connected to a picture that my husband had taken helped me remember that he still has the ability to touch others. Friends who I hadn't seen since December listening patiently; encouraging me and gently reminding me that I'm valued. It's hard to feel broken, but I'm blessed with people who are patiently encouraging me along the way.
The quotes in today's blog come from another amazing blog I've found.
Thank-you Catherine Tidd I feel such a connection to people I've never met.
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