Cancer Ever After

Musings on Infertility, Adoption, Parenthood and Cancer

Grief

Grief is strange. My grief is deeper and broader than the ocean, and it’s as if my mind and body know that it is far too much for me to bear. I feel as if somewhere inside,  my mind has attempted to put a dam on the Ocean of my grief, but it’s an impossible task.

You can no more dam grief than you can stop the tide. With any loss, it is inevitable. And yet, I cannot comprehend the enormousness of what I have lost all at once. I feel as if the last ten years were based on lies and misinformation. I question our life together. Was he ever really happy with our life? Was the infertility and cancer just too much piled on to previous difficulties, or was it getting laid off that was the final straw?

I weep for the future we won’t have and the memories my children won’t have of their father. My children are 5, 5, 3, and 1. The twins may remember a couple of vacations, and I’m hoping the 3 year old remembers a little. I know the baby won’t.

If I wasn’t enough to live for, why weren’t our children?  That’s the part that I’m not sure I’ll ever understand. I never questioned going through a single part of chemo or radiation because it was simply what I had to do to be here with my family. It was the price I had to pay to get to live longer. I wanted to live to see my babies grown. Why didn’t he?

There are too many thoughts intermixed with the sadness. I miss the jokes, the hugs, the partnership. I can’t think of everything or I’ll be sucked to the very bottom of that ocean. Instead I have to grieve in parts in pieces. So my mind created the dam.

There are days where I am walking and talking and seem just fine, but inside the tide still rolls. Out of  nowhere there is a tide of sadness, or rage or despair that rolls up in a wave over that dam and takes me by surprise. Sometimes it’s a song, or word that triggers a memory. The memories are still more painful than comforting.

I cry in the car, in the McDonald’s drive thru, on my lunch hour, in the shower…. The numbness has worn off, and the dam seems to be lowering as if knowing I need to fully grieve Tim’s loss, and judging me more capable now than I was at first. I miss the life we had, I miss the life we should still have, and I hate having to explain that Daddy is dead everyday to a three year old who just wants bedtime kisses from his Daddy.

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On love

I hate the man that murdered my husband.

I love my husband.

To the man that pulled the trigger:

You put an end to my world.

My children have lost their innocent wonder because of you.

Broken families lie in your wake.

Everything I once held dear and knew about my husband has been torn asunder.

You broke my heart, my spirit, my ability to believe in the goodness of others.

I hate you.

And I still love you.

I miss your smile, your smart ass remarks, and the way you nibbled on my neck.

I miss your calls, your texts, your comforting presence at the end of the day.

The kids miss you too. They want to know what angels wear, if you can fish in heaven and if your car went to heaven too.

The baby says “DaDa” and looks for you.

I still say “we”. I forget for brief blissful moments that you are gone.

I love the man I married and created a family with. The man I planned to grow old with and raise grandchildren with.

I hate the man who murdered him and ripped that away from me.

The problem is, they are both you.

Damn you.

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The knock

Disbelief then numb

Hearing words that don’t make sense

suicide      gunshot     somewhere he knew he would be found

Was he depressed?   Is there someone you can call?

Every conversation, every argument, every word dissected.

My world turned upside down.  Love that I knew, believed in, was a lie.

How did we not see?

headaches  tremors  dizziness  irritability noise sensitivity night sweats

 

“It’s Parkinson’s.”

“No, It might be cancer.”

“Reflux”

“It’s just a balance issue.”

Where did we go wrong?

Every conversation we’ve had is now rewritten.

Angry last words that can’t be taken back. You left without saying goodbye.

I should have called.

Would you have answered?

ammo ammunition bullet chrome

Photo by Ivandrei Pretorius on Pexels.com

 

 

 

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Gone

A single snowflake falls.

The mighty oak doesn’t even feel it’s weight.

Winter brings more rain, more ice, more snow.

The smaller trees begin to break under the weight of the snow.

The mighty oak continues to stand proud as trees around it buckle.

The next ice storm downs a medium size tree, who helplessly falls under the weight of the ice in it’s branches.

The mighty oak continues to stands tall in the promise of spring. But even for the mighty oak, the winter has taken it’s toll. The ravages of the rain, the snow and the ice are there, but unseen.

A single snowflake falls.

The mighty oak falls too.

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Obituary

This blog has been an outlet during some of the hardest times.  Times just got harder.

https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.dignitymemorial.com/obituaries/olathe-ks/timothy-henderleiter-8148749

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