For those of you that have been reading along, maybe you felt this one differently. When I wrote this in early January, before she went into the hospital for the last time, things just felt different, worse, more helpless than ever. She had changed. I’m not sure if she knew it but I think she must have, because I knew it. Even though we spoke about so much, there were things we didn’t speak about maybe things we couldn’t speak about, even if we wanted to, maybe things we didn’t even know we wanted to speak about…the depths of the human soul. And yet, sitting here, now, writing this more than a year later it’s clear how much we loved each other. It’s clear how little we knew and how much we loved.
I’ve done this before. Sat, contemplated her death, my death our family’s death…written about it, felt the love, the loss. I don’t know what to make of any of it. So I write.
As I look back, what’s coming in what’s been written is going to be different from what I’ve published so far. So far (back in Jan of 2023) death had stayed away, she defied it and I, with her and everyone, with us. All I can really say is that today, March 1, 2024, I’m reflecting on what I wrote in Jan of 2023 and when I wrote this post, she was still alive. I think that’s the main difference, that’s the change that’s coming. There was a time when i was writing about our life, when she was still alive. And then she died and I continued to write.
This is what I feel and see coming, this is what you may feel coming in the writing. I don’t look forward to taking that journey in reflection and up until this point, right now, I didn’t realize that I don’t look forward to it. What I will experience again is her death but now, removed, with time and perspective. I am not looking forward to this but I will do it. For her, for me. Maybe you will come along.
Chapter 9 – The Only Constant – January 5th? She went into Hospital Jan 6th.
I can’t sleep at night. Usually, I have no problem sleeping but for the last month, it’s been a no go. I’m pretty sure it’s because my mind is working to figure it out and it’s un-figure-out-able. My mind, my ego, they can’t handle the answers that they don’t get, and I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts, so I zone out with music, podcasts, video games, movies…until all hours. Meanwhile, she lies on the couch, unable to sit up or do any type of movement other than turning on her side, which is very difficult for her. It appears she sleeps; I know this because I don’t (sleep), but she doesn’t think she’s sleeping well because she doesn’t feel rested, ever.
One thing I’ve noticed of late, 11 months into round four, is that she’s talking in her sleep. She’s talking when no one is talking to her. When she talks it doesn’t appear she really knows what’s going on. Over the last months she’s been on and off THC, Lorazepam and may other drugs, natural and manufactured (for the most part they’re all manufactured) to help her relax, not feel nauseous and sleep. Sometimes when she’s on 30 or 40 mgs of THC she’ll take a Lorazepam and then she’s floating in space, no idea what’s going on but then she’ll drift off to sleep for hours at a time, wake up and not think she’s slept at all.
The thing that scares me most in all of this, it hides out like a thief in my mind, her mental capacity. Throughout this whole epic battle, she’s been with it, she’s been conscious, she’s been able to talk to me about what she’s going through, what we’re going through together, about our son about our fears. We’ve shared the most amazing things and strangely that’s made this whole thing, well, manageable.
What’s terrifying and so painful to my heart is the thought that she would not have the mental capacity to do this anymore. What if she can’t think for herself, what if she can’t talk to me and express how she feels or, process how I feel. What if the communication goes away. If the communication goes away, Jesus…I dread it, dread it, dread it. And what makes it, well, harder, is that obviously this is what happens. It happens with so many people without cancer. Alzheimer’s etc.…how many millions lose the ability to communicate and once that happens how do we really know what goes on. Maybe all these people are…stuck. What if they’re conscious internally but just can’t communicate with the outside world? Or maybe they are just gone, gone and just a husk. I can’t bear that thought, can’t bear it at all and yet I must bear it because it’s there and feels like it’s coming, quicker now.
And so on this January afternoon, rainy, grey, with the Vermont thaw ruining idyllic expectations…I sit here, she lays there, out. Alive. Out. And I miss her and I’m afraid for her, and I’m afraid for me and for my son and for her family and for everyone. This type of dying makes one afraid of life, afraid of death, it’s unexamined and because why? Because who examines it? Who, after all, sits with it, goes into it, looks to discover, looks to be overcome, who looks to die in our world?
It's the strangest thing ever. It’s the only constant we have and yet, and yet…who examines it?
Edited 1/3/2024