A Team of One

A while ago I read an article about invisible losses. Readers were challenged to identify our current most difficult invisible loss, recognizing this can and will change over time. 

I miss being part of a team. Brian and I "fit."  We made joint decisions well. Even when we didn't agree, we came to a decision we could both live with. We were good parents and grandparents. We spent time with our parents. Without a shred of doubt we knew that if something happened to one of us, the other would be there with unconditional love and support. I miss that about us. As time passes, I feel this loss even more acutely!

That's not to say relationships with family members and friends aren't important and that others can't be supports and that I can't enjoy the companionship of others, but it isn't the same. It's not the same as knowing without question, without even thinking about it, that Brian had my back and I had his. 

When Brian got sick and was diagnosed with cancer, I was there every day supporting him, cooking food that was going to cure him even though he hardly ate any of it, keeping our family and friends informed (within his acceptable and somewhat rigid parameters), even buying and setting up his new Microsoft Surface which is not my area of expertise AT ALL. He would have done the same for me. But he can't. He died and now I'm a team of one.   

Some days being a team of one feels very heavy and lonely. On the other hand, some days it's freeing. We would not have agreed on the living room shade I ordered last week, but I ordered it because I like it. He wouldn't like a lot of how my condo is decorated, but I do. 

Bitter and sweet - coexisting, but lately it hasn't felt so sweet. 

Still missing you...

Since arriving home from my last adventure I’ve been a mess.  I think I know why – I was camping in Sask – Brian’s favourite place in the whole world. He would have loved camping in 4 provincial parks within 2 weeks, but he wasn’t here to enjoy it and he should have been. 

Brian was thrilled when people talked about how boring Sask was and how little there was to see and do here, because that meant throngs of people would never come here and it would never be crowded. 

 I was hoping I was through the worst of grief (and maybe I am – perhaps I have a different gauge now?), but now that the camping trip is over and I’m alone again, I fell into the all too familiar “pit of hell”.  I keep thinking about his last weeks and especially his last days and how difficult that was for both of us, yet we didn’t talk about it – AT ALL - which is, without question, my biggest regret.  I still want to be able to tell him how much I loved him and how empty I felt when I went home at night after being with him at the hospital all day and what I thought about when I considered he might not get through his illness to health, but I never said it out loud.  That would have made the possibility too real.  I’m sure he was doing the same, but I want to KNOW that – I want him to have told me that, but we NEVER discussed it. Damn! I SO want to have talked about all of that and said good-bye and told him I’d love him forever.  It was on my mind all the time and the plan for the week after he died, but then he fell ….. and life changed.  I said those things, but was too late to be meaningful for him. 

Life has never ever been the same and will never be the same. 

How many of us ever get to have those conversations?

I find it odd that a year ago I felt much more optimistic about the future than I do now.  Then I saw possibilities.  Now, despite the great things happening, my world is grey - so very grey!  I’m not a fan of grey.  I want color again.

What do I miss about Brian?

·      The comfort level we shared with each other and how we could and did talk about anything – in depth

·      Our shared goals for life beyond retirement – for the way the world should be. And the list of things we planned to do together is long and unfulfilled

·      Our shared view of the world - I so want to talk to him about the horrific violence that is happening in the world and feel his protective arms around me.

·      His insightful and intelligent political analysis – I can’t imagine what he would have said about Donald Trump getting the republican (can’t capitalize the "r" word) nomination. He would have been incensed!!)

·      Shared kids/grandkids and his delight in their antics and their plans for the future. 

·      Our house, even though we didn’t always agree on the renos we wanted to do

·      Our shared financial goals

·      Our unconditional love for each other. 

Moving forward whether I want to or not. Is there another choice??

Mm

There are so many things I miss about you!

What do I miss? I've thought about this a lot. 

Perhaps more than anything, I miss your political analysis. It may seem odd to those who didn't know you well, but many (Evie, Suzanne) will understand. You loved small p politics. You were a critical thinker. I haven't known what to think about a lot of the atrocities going on in the world since you haven't been here to debate the issues (Donald Trump - well yes, no brainer - he's an abomination). I had no idea how I would miss that about you!

I miss you as a grandpa. You should have been at Savannah's first roller derby bout, cheering her on. She is amazing! I miss the grandkids jumping on the couch as you played Allygator by ZZ Top on your iPod. I know they miss that too. Y'know- I've charged your iPod twice since you died, but I've yet to play any of the songs. I just can't. 

I had no idea about the little things that would change after you died. You always made coffee.  You always made sure we had batteries for whatever real or perceived disaster might occur - mostly perceived. 

Life almost 2 years after ....

April 16, 2016

I know it's not April 16 anymore, but I have an ambivalent relationship with my blog right now and wasn't committed to posting what I'd written.  But, here goes, with the hope it might be helpful to someone.  

The “death march” is well underway.  Two years ago on April 16, 2014 Brian was in the hospital with a diagnosis of Non Hodgkins Lymphoma.  He had been through one round of chemo and we were hopeful, although he was at the bottom of the post chemo roller coaster with LOW, LOW blood counts.  He was experiencing some side effects, but overall he was strong and young and fighting hard.  I envisioned remission after round 3, followed by a stem cell transplant in Saskatoon, weeks or months in the “bubble” while he recovered over the summer, after which I would have my husband back and he could once again change the tires on his truck (his benchmark for recovery).  It didn’t quite work out that way.

After returning to our home from the hospital each evening, I was making bone broth and healthy snacks for him, thinking I was doing what I could to aid in his recovery.  Most of the time he wouldn’t eat or drink what I had prepared, because chemo affected what he could tolerate, but I kept trying and feeling inadequate when I failed – yet again.  Of course, he didn't know that, nor should he have known.  He was in a fight for his life, and didn't need to know about my insecurities. The other thing I did after leaving the hospital in the evening is shop – for flavors of Ensure that he liked (even though the hospital provided the basics), for the “right” breadsticks, for anything he damn well wanted.  I would have done anything - anything for him.  Almost 2 years later, I still can’t look at a shelf of Ensure or breadsticks in the grocery store without experiencing a pain in my gut. 

I love him and miss him horribly.  I’m convinced that will never change no matter what else changes in my life.  Sometimes still, I can’t believe Brian died.  In my mind, I was going  to die first. However, I must move forward and I am.  The pain is not as sharp as it was, and some days I feel great.  I've begun a new relationship, which is fun, but a new relationship complicates things.  Should I feel happy?  Am I betraying Brian by being with someone else? I don’t think so, but I still think about that.  I think most people expect me to now be okay now, although it’s so much more complicated than that. 

I miss being comfortable in my life. Brian and I knew where we were going. We had common goals. We knew, without a doubt that we would be there for each other no matter what. Damn, I miss that! Damn, I miss him. 

Love you forever, love you for always! You were one of a kind, my love.