The Fiery Pits of Hell

Disclaimer: I wrote this particular entry on May 10th and did not post it right away because I felt that many people would worry about me. This blog was not created to induce worry and pity in the minds of my friends and readers. Its purpose is to paint an accurate picture of the grief process from my point of view; the point of view of a young widow who watched her spouse suffer from cancer and die. Though, as a rule, I do not edit these entries, I did cut one thing out of this one. In the original, there is a bulleted list of what I witnessed throughout this ordeal. I see no reason to plant its horrifying and sad images in the minds of those who knew Chris and so I have left it out of this entry.

Also, I feel it is important to point out that during this week, I rehearsed for my play every single night from 7:00-11:00, woke up and went to work, I hadn’t taken my anti-depressant for a week (very stupid idea, but I felt like I could go on without it), I got my period, I had a horrid cold and was out of work for 2 days with nothing but unstructured time on my hands AND as though all of that wouldn’t cause ANYone to feel what I felt during this week, I suddenly felt it was time to pack up Chris’ clothes, which I meant to do with my friends by my side, but as it turned out, I was home alone.

So, without further adeu, and with all of that in mind, I give you what is probably my most honest entry to date. It’s all part of the grief process and if you are feeling what I felt that day, just know that you are not abnormal, it’s a normal part of the grief process and I am living proof that you can get through moments like this, too.

Disclaimer 2: I mention in this post that my friend, Carol, missed my signal. If I don't mention that I didn't give her a signal, she will kill me and I won't have to worry about doing it myself. Here is how our conversation went that night:

Carol: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Carol: So how are you doing?
Me: I'm good.

So, as you can see...though I wished she was clairvoyant and could sense something was wrong, she is not superhuman. She missed nothing. There was no signal. Hee hee.

The Fiery Pits of Hell

May 10, 2005

I don’t know how to ask for help. I feel like I’m burdening my friends. Tonight, could feel the Ativan telling me to take all of it. I could feel it, tonight. That’s scary. I don’t want to kill myself. I want to die, though. I think I want to die.

I’m trying very hard to envision my life with a different man in it. It’s impossible. I’d just want him to be exaclty like Chris. I can’t imagine ever loving another man. I’m such a fucking basket case. I’m just so sad. His clothes are gone. The clothes that I used to wash, fold and put away for him. And he would always say, “Aw. You didn’t have to do that, Smoosher.” I told him I didn’t mind and it was true. I didn’t. He gave me so much. What’s a little washing and putting away? It was nothing.

Isn’t it ironic that taking one Ativan tonight is what’s going to stop me from thinking about taking ALL of them? Oh, the irony.

I just want him to come to me and tell me not to do it, but he’s not going to. I just want somebody to pay attention to me. Carol missed my signal tonight. Teri hasn’t asked me how I am in weeks. Dad hasn’t talked to me since Teri’s.

I have to turn this around. This isn’t like me. Saying good-bye to him is so, so hard. I feel like I can’t do it, but I really don’t have a choice. Packing up his clothes was almost too much for me to take.

I guess “almost” is the key word there. I did it, didn’t I? I almost wanted to take the whole bottle of Ativan. But I didn’t do it. Again, “almost”. It really doesn’t count.

There are things that are too painful for me to handle, like:

• The songs Chris wrote about wanting to kill himself.
  
• The way he cried in pain all night long
  
• His worry and disgust that he wasn’t able to go to the bathroom for weeks. Weeks.
  
• The way his stomach became so distended that it looked like he was going to burst.
  
• Not being able to see his ankes anymore when he became so swollen that they disappeared.
  
• Seeing his enlarged liver protruding from his back.
  
• His baldness.
  
• His chemo-induced hazes.
  
• Finding out that he felt really bad when he didn’t remember seeing me at all during those hazes.
  
• How he looked in the ambulance on the ride home. His last ride home.
  
• The way there was nothing I could do to asuage his anger.
  
• The way he said. “Mmmmm. That’s GREAT.” when I gave him a sip or root beer.
  
• The night he lost control of his bodily functions and had an accident all over the bathroom floor, walls, rugs, cabinets and didn’t wake me up to help him because he was too ashamed.
  
• The way I walked into the bedroom and caught him standing there with the sheets in his hands because he was too ashamed to tell me the same thing happened in there.
  
• The screams coming from the bathroom every half-hour throughout the night.
  
• The way his self-esteem dwindled when his hair fell out.
  
• That he thought he was ugly. (He was soooo very beautiful to me)
  
• How completely helpless I was to hlep him.
  

The pain I feel is very, very intense. The guilt I feel is just as intense. How could i just pack up his clothes? I feel like i erased him.

My doctor felt a lump on my breast today. It’s an old lump. It first appeared about 12 years ago. I was sent to New England Medical Center to have an ultrasound and there was nothing there. Then again about 7 years ago I was sent for another ultra-sound for the same exact lump. The doctor there saw nothing unusual, but asked me to come back a week later. It was gone. It’s just the way that particular lump is. It’s a cyst. It usually appears during PMS and goes away after I get my period. I’m used to it. So today, it alarmed my doctor and I told her about the two other times and she wants to check it out again next week. Well see what happens. My point is that I wasn’t afraid. If I have cancer, who cares? Big fucking deal. It already claimed the one person in this world who meant the most to me. Big deal. Maybe it will claim me, too. I really don’t care.

It won’t though. As I stated, it comes and goes and it will be gone the next time I go to the doctors.The only thing I’d be sad about if I had cancer would be that Chris wouldn’t be here to help me through it. But that’s a double-edged sword. I also would NOT want him to be there because I always hated seeing him in pain. This really wouldn’t be any different.

Lately, I’m finding that I’m just marking time until it’s my time to go. I don’t know if I’ll be able to change that. I’m so stuck on remaining in limbo in order to prove my love for Chris.