Cancer Ever After

Musings on Infertility, Adoption, Parenthood and Cancer

Suicide loss survivor

Did you know there is a special word for who I am now? I would have thought suicide victim, but that’s the phrase for him, not me. Don’t believe me, just google it. Suicide Loss Survivor”. That’s who I get to be.

If your wondering what it feels like to be here, imagine you have been planning a special date night or romantic getaway for your spouse, and then get a call to find out they died in a car accident. When you get to the scene, they have died, but in a terrible twist, there are divorce papers in the car with him.

That’s what this feels like. I was blindly happy. Our life wasn’t perfect, but it was good, and I was planning that special evening. And the loss is brutally sudden, with a heavy dose of betrayal. I question everything now, how did I not see?

The hardest part is when I begin to feel happy. Happiness hurts, physically hurts and almost always has me in tears. I took the kids to a trampoline park, they were having some damn much fun, and he wasn’t there to enjoy it with me. I should have been chatting with him as they played.

Each memory that I’m building and will treasure now has a hole in it.

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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

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The hardest thing I’ll ever do.

As a child, the hardest thing I ever had to do was:

… get on the school bus with a complete stranger
… speak in public for the first time
… hear the word divorce
… say goodbye to my best friends

As an adult, hardest thing I ever had to do was:

… hear there was no heartbeat
…allow myself to be stuck with needle after needle
…go to the hospital and leave without our baby girls
…bleed for months on end, laying it that bed, praying our babies would make it
…rock two colicky newborns all night long
…walk into that hospital not knowing if I’d leave with a son
…say I had Cancer out loud
…hold out my arm for that first IV.

No.

Now I see those weren’t really that hard at all because you were by my side, doing whatever was needed, being my shoulder to cry on. It turns out the hardest thing I will ever have to do is:

…get out of bed and face the day without you by my side
…walk into the kitchen to cook breakfast, when you should be standing there
…go to bed alone, never again to cuddle up against your side

No.

The hardest thing I’ll ever have to do is:

…to explain to our children why you aren’t here
…to make sense of what you’ve done
…to understand why you didn’t fight to be at our side.

No.

By far, the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do

….is to forgive you.

I love you.

woman in black long sleeved cardigan

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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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