One year ago today my heart was broken. One year ago today, we learned that Krissy had unresectable cancer, no chance for cure, no chance for life, a sentence ending in death. They broke my wife that day, broke her spirit and her strength, left us with pieces that we picked up but could never quite fit together again. Krissy fought hard, battled demons and pain and suffering, and although it's only been five months since her death, I truly lost her that day.
I hate marking these days that should otherwise have no special importance in our lives. This day, the 28th, will mark the day we journeyed into the horrors of cancer, every day a reminder of hardship and sadness. A year ago, last night, I slept in a hospital room, in a chair at the foot of her bed, praying that the doctors would finally give my wife relief from the pain she had been suffering through the previous year. What she received instead was the worst of any outcomes we imagined.
I've tried hard not to mark every day of significance since Krissy passed away. I don't want to look at every 14th on the calendar with despair, or any other day we marked with some importance during our lives together. But I can't get past it today. Today a clock started ticking. But the clock is broken. I'm broken. The minute and hour hands move relentlessly forward, but the second hand is stuck, trying to tick forward, hindered by some underlying mechanism that will never function quite the same again.
My memories of Kris these past few months have been of better days, when she was happy, healthy, full of laughter and fire. Today I can feel the past year under my skin. Last night I dreamt I was back in that hospital room, cold, uncomfortable, listening through waking and sleep for her breathing, the beep of IV machines, shuffle of nurses. Today I'm watching them wheel her into surgery, kissing her one last time before she's taken away from me, never to return. I just can't forget what came next, the tubes, injections, sickness, uncertainty, fear, desperation, hope, determination, frustration, decent, heartbreak. The rollercoaster is just starting on it's uphill climb before lurching and hurtling down and around and upside down.
I can feel the wound that had scabbed over starting to open up again, raw, painful. I hear loss like this leaves a scar so we'll never forget. I'm not sure scar tissue is going to form on this one, this feels like it's going to bleed for a long time.
2 comments:
Frank-- I just wanted to drop by and say thank you for visiting my blog and to let you know that my heart is just broken for you. The only thing as bad (or maybe worse) that I can imagine experiencing after having lost my precious little girl is losing my Ed. I admire you, your courage, your strength, your openness with your grief, your perseverance and your obvious love for your wife and children. I am just so very sorry that you are living this nightmarish journey. I just wanted to send some warm wishes and light during what I know is a terribly difficult time. Thinking of you and your Kris and your kids.
Every death has a gift in it. Sometimes it takes a long time to figure that gift out. With Ben it was immediate, with Reuben it has taken a year and a half.but I am certain kris left a wonderful gift for you and each one if her girls. The second year is harder but you soldier on. Been thinking if you a lot recently.
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