Two Months Later...

So life in our house changed... We knew it would. We never knew when. It isn't something we could  prepare for, even though we lived with the reality that it was going to happen everyday.  I guess you do prepare for things to happen, somewhat, but grief is not something you can prepare yourself for. You have no idea how it will affect you, until it happens. I know because I tried. Todd was diagnosed with Cirrhosis of the liver about 6 months after he quit drinking. He was an alcoholic, he also had HepC.  He had gotten a lot of tattoos and not always in the cleanest places, he did a lot of drugs in his teens and early twenties.  He had an addictive personality. It all caught up to him when he was 40, 7 years ago. He was too young to have this diagnosis. He went between giving up, and getting mad at doctors who he thought should be able to magically cure him.  I should mention he also had diabetes. With that came wounds on his feet and ankles, that never healed, but gradually got worse over a period of about 6 years.  In January, of this year, he was facing amputation...both legs.  He had constant infections in those wounds, usually two weeks on antibiotics, one without...maybe more if he was lucky, and then another two weeks of antibiotics...repeatedly for months, maybe a couple of years. Time just started running together, when his health started getting really bad.

Two and a half months ago...the beginning of March, I took Todd to the emergency room. He looked like he had gained a ton of weight. His belly was filled with fluid, this was something new for him. He had swelling in his legs all the time, but never in his belly. It turned out to be 60 pounds of fluid.  The doctor in the ER sent him home with a prescription to help, and orders to call his GI doctor in the morning.  He didn't have a fever...there was no reason for him to assume that there was an infection. I called his GI doctor...they felt it was ok to schedule an appointment in 3 weeks.  Not even a week later, my oldest son was calling me at work, and I was speeding home. He was taken to the hospital by ambulance...and somehow I knew he wasn't coming home.  Those damn gut feelings can suck. He ended up being septic, infection all through his bloodstream...never had a fever. The infection started in the fluid in his belly. He also had pneumonia.  They put him in the ICU... and I struggled with the decision to call his family. They had barely been there for him at all in those 7 years, but I really couldn't have lived with the decision to not call them.   I had to call his sister using my sons phone, because my number was blocked.  Awesome....I know. They visited, and I made sure I wasn't there during those times.  He was doing ok after two days, so they moved him out of the ICU.  He was talking and being his demanding self, but not altogether there.   "Sorry," I told the nurse, "I forgot to warn you, he isn't a very good patient." He ended up with a feeding tube, Constantly on high amounts of oxygen, and had his ice chips taken away after two days as the pneumonia got worse. They were concerned he would aspirate...and he did. He was less like himself the next day. The day after that, he couldn't talk, and I could only get him to focus on me for very short amounts of time. That's the day doctors started asking me what his wishes were.  Sure they could keep him alive, with feeding tubes and oxygen, hooked up to monitors, in a long term facility.  He'd be there the rest of his life. Is that something he wanted? No...and I still agonized over this, and I would hold myself together until the next person walked in the room to have this talk with me. And they would go through it all again. His quality of life was extremely low. I really don't remember how many people I talked to, I remember being numb.  I do remember the last person that came in before I made that final decision, one of the GI doctors... he informed me that they found a fairly large blood clot in his liver that showed up on his ultrasound. They were going to have to figure out the best way to take care of it, there was no good way.  There were major risks, with either procedure they could try. And I looked at him and said, "We're not going to worry about it." and he simply said, "In my opinion, I think you're making the best choice." and he walked out. Lots of crying and more talking to doctors and nurses later... Hospice was called in.  Worst day of my life...hands down, but I also knew that I made the choice according to what he would have wanted. Then of course I had to go home explain all this to our kids, bring them to the hospital to say goodbye and let them have time with their dad by themselves, before his family got there and I had to deal with them.  And this is where things change...not with Todd...with his family.  I honestly didn't care if his family decided to come in and fight me on this decision.  I knew there was a real chance it could happen.  I was more concerned about our kids and their feelings, and how much they were hurting.

Todd's family came to the hospital, it was the first time I'd seen any of them in maybe 4 years,and the first thing that his dad did, was give me a hug.  This was how it used to be years ago, before Todd got sick, before I became their least favorite person. And I took a deep breath and I knew it was ok. I knew they were feeling the same way. His dad would have made the same decision, had it been his decision to make. For those 2 extremely long days, there were a lot of hours that we were all there at the same time, and I sat with his family in the room and we talked, and it was good. At one point his dad said.."I know it hasn't been easy for you over the last few years." and I just kind of looked at him and shook my head and said, "No, it really hasn't been." And he apologized...and they thanked me for calling them and letting them be there, because they knew I really didn't have to. I'm not going to lie it was a bizarre moment.  I wasn't really expecting it.  Todd passed away two days after hospice came in. One week after being admitted.

I had a few people ask me if I had said to Todd that I had forgiven him before he passed.  No...because I hadn't. And there were plenty of things I needed to be forgiven for also.   I wasn't going to lie, just because it's something that people think needs to be done.  It doesn't...If you haven't truly forgiven someone they're going to know, if not at that moment then after they've passed. And how does that help either person?  It doesn't. Just my opinion. Instead, I held his hand for hours, as I sat there in silence. I'm not really a talker. He knew I was there, that's all that mattered. About an hour and a half, before he passed away, I felt like I needed to go home to check on our kids and see how they were doing. His family had just gone down to the cafeteria, and it just felt like the right time to go. Before I left, I took his hand, and talked to him for a minute, and told him, I was going home to see the kids, that we were all going to be ok, and it was alright for him to go. I like to think that he actually listened to me for the first time ever in our marriage.  He died about an hour after I left and about two minutes (literally, because the nurse had just been in there), before his family walked back into the room. I'm glad that's how it happened, peacefully, no noise. After Todd died, it's hard to explain the way I felt. I have a hard time finding the right words. Peace, free, like a giant weight was not only lifted off my shoulders, but off of our entire house.  The heaviness of all the stress, and pain and everything that we had all been dealing with....was gone. And it was just...peaceful. Our kids are amazing. Of course they are sad at times.  They miss their dad for sure.  But, they dealt with all of this for a huge portion of their lives, and it wasn't easy for any of us. We knew how much pain he was constantly in, how much he struggled from day to day especially over the last few months.  They know he's not in pain anymore, and they know that he comes and checks on them. (You can think I'm crazy...don't care). They still get whiffs of his cigarette smoke. His bandages on his feet used to smell awful especially if he had an infection. It's not a smell you forget. They've smelled that too at just odd times for short moments.  And if he has the chance to make up for the past by letting them know, in subtle ways, that he's watching over them, it's a good thing. And I know it's a comfort to them.

Me... I was sure I wouldn't really grieve.  I'd been grieving the loss of our marriage...of him giving up..of me not feeling like I was good enough for years.  I was good. I was ok...not happy, but ok. Then a month passed, and this sadness came over me.  There were other things I was dealing with in my life and I thought I was maybe just overwhelmed.  But, it increased,  and increased until 3 weeks ago. I didn't want to do anything. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't go to work for two nights. I just kind of...stayed in my room.  The third night I decided there was no way I could miss another night of work...I couldn't. So, I made myself get up and shower and get ready.  And I sat on the side of my bed watching the clock. When it got to the very last minute I could leave so I could still get there in time, I stood up...and in that moment, I felt like I was being slammed against a wall with grief.  Thank goodness I was the only one home...because I sat back down, and let everything go. I cried for an hour...like the can't catch your breath, ugly cry sobbing... for an hour, and then I got in my car, went for a drive, watched the sunset, and let the tears fall some more...a lot less violently. Didn't make it to work...didn't care. I needed those hours to let myself feel those things I was denying myself. And...going back to the whole forgiveness thing... after I allowed myself to have those feelings.  I realized none of it mattered anymore.  The past is truly in the past.  Sure I still have issues that I'm working through...and actually doing very well with, but....the pain is gone. I can say I forgive him and I mean it, and I know he knows that. And I know he's forgiven me. And I think that's why our house felt so peaceful almost immediately.  Because none of it mattered anymore. We had a tough marriage, with a lot of not great memories, but I've learned that I'm stronger than I ever thought I could be. I've learned so many things about myself. I'm more independent, and I know I can handle most of what gets thrown at me. I learned that answers don't come when you want them to, they sometimes come at the times when you least expect them. Life is hard, for everyone.  We all have trials, none of which we can compare to what someone else is going through. Because everyone at some point in their lives is going to experience something that knocks the wind out of them, knocks them on their ass, makes them feel like they're not going to make it through, and hurts so deeply that there are not always words to express how they feel. Most of all I've learned to keep moving, no matter what, because this is when we learn, and when we grow. Let yourself feel every emotion, keep moving forward, and stop looking back. The past is behind us, there is nothing that can be done now to change it. So, 2 months later..2 months and 6 days...I take a deep breath, and move forward, because life continues to happen, and moving on...for me...feels right.