Things That Run Through My Mind After The Death Of My Husband
The month of May was one of the hardest months of my life. My husband’s birthday was May 1st. Just days before he’d been admitted to the hospital for some stomach pain. We didn’t know what it was. Was it related to the rare autoimmune disease he had (polymyositis) or to the liver cirrhosis? Or was this something new entirely?
We decided that this was the suckiest birthday ever and that we would wait and celebrate it later in the month. Or when he was out of the hospital.
That never came.
To make a long story short, water in his stomach had gotten infected. It turned into sepsis and multi-organ failure and being air lifted to the nearest city.
He passed away on May 9th at 9:55 am.
Obviously, sadness is part of every day now. After a week in the city for the funeral, spending time with family, and a tattoo (see below) I came home. It’s been two weeks since I’ve been home now. Hard to believe it has been that long.
He’d been sick for a long time. Emotionally and physically. He suffered from anxiety and panic disorder, depression, and agoraphobia. He told me he would not live longer than me; that he would be the first to go and I should be prepared for it. But I didn’t really believe it. I didn’t expect it to come so soon. We had plans.
Besides the sadness, there have been a lot of unexpected thoughts and ideas.
- Am I grieving properly?
I know — there’s no right or wrong way to grieve. But I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Because I don’t cry very often. I mean, in the first week I did — a lot. In the second week, some. In the third week? Hardly at all. I went back to work (and can you believe someone actually asked me why I was back at work so soon? A nurse that had been on his rotation a couple times nonetheless! Stupid woman.) and I cleaned my house and I write. And watch Netflix. But I don’t cry much. I feel like I should still be crying. But the tears aren’t there. And I worry that I’m emotionally dead inside or something.
- I’m planning for my future.
Or I’m planning to plan. I’m not sure what I want to do yet. But I have ideas. And I think about them. And then I think that I am some kind of messed up inside because I’m planning to go on living life without him already. Then I think that there must be something wrong with me again.
- I’m grateful for time.
I know that seems weird. It does to me anyway. But I haven’t had time in ages. I was a mom so time was pretty much non-existent then. And then I was taking care of my husband. His mental health and then his physical health were such a big part of our lives. If you don’t have mental health conditions or a physical condition you just don’t realize how much time that can take up for yourself or for the loved one that takes care of you. So, I have all this time. Time to write, to watch TV, to work, to go out. I am really enjoying it. Until I feel bad that I am enjoying myself and my time so much. Which brings me back to point #1.
- I’m so glad to have money.
We were really poor. My husband couldn’t work (and I really mean he couldn’t) and even though he tried to bring in a little extra money via doing taxes and eBay and stuff like that, it wasn’t much most of the time and it wasn’t consistent. I’m grateful for what he was able to do. I also couldn’t work a lot because he needed me to be at home a lot. So, I worked no more than 30 hours a week. And I felt bad when I had to leave him at home alone because he was mostly alone. He had a few friends and family (that lived far away) that he could call sometimes but that’s not the same as having someone with you. And being alone was always hard for him. But now, I can work full time. And I’m making more money than I have in — well, ever. And he had insurance so I will get a pay out from that. And for the first time in my life, I will be able to think about doing some of the things I have always wanted to do. I could write full time. I could travel. I could buy a house. And once again, I feel guilty about that. Because, well, #1.
I don’t know. This is all weird. These thoughts…I just wonder if I should be seeking a counselor so I can grieve properly? Or am I fine. I feel fine. I miss him dearly. I wish he was still here with me. I’d rather be poor and have less time if it meant that I could have him back.
I don’t know why I had to write this. Maybe just because I felt like I needed to say it. Writing — it’s still the one think that makes thoughts make sense to me.