I don’t know how to write this post. I don’t want to write it. But, I am told that writing it out will help me feel better in some way, as if the simple act of putting words to paper will take my pain away. I know it won’t. The pain is too deep and all consuming. Three weeks ago on May 19, my husband passed away. It was not expected. It was a total, utter shock, that has not stopped. Three weeks ago tonight, he simply went to sleep and drifted away from me. He felt no pain, he had no idea what was happening. His heart simply stopped. He was only 59 years old. I still don’t believe it, it is too unreal. But deep inside I know it is real. I know it happened and he is gone from my life forever. I didn’t think I could endure this much pain and continue to survive, to function. But, I am, because I have no other choice. I thank God all of my grown children are here with me, because I don’t want to be alone. But I am alone, in a house full of people, for the first time in twenty years.
The last thing we did together was laugh. I am grateful for that. I take comfort in knowing that our last moments together were joyous. I don’t remember if I told him I loved him that night, or even that day. I hope I did. But I know that he knew I did, just as I know how much he loved me. That is one of the things I am grateful for. I have always felt secure in his love for me. I never had any cause to doubt it.
My mind is in turmoil, jumbled with memories and questions. So many questions. Why didn’t I see any signs? Why didn’t I wake up? Could I have done something to save him? Why on that night of all nights had he slept in another room? (he had back trouble and didn’t want to disturb my sleep with his tossing and turning) I’ll never have any answers.
I want so desperately to talk to him. To just be with him.
All I can do is to write here the same thing I said most nights when we went to bed.
Good night honey. I love you.