A Flashback and Today

How can I be so many different things? I’m happy, distraught, angry, tired and hopeful.

At the moment, I’m just sad. I don’t want his birthday to come. I’m too scared. Creejie has been dead for ten months.

Ten months ago, I watched the coroners wheel his body in a body bag out of my apartment on a two-wheeler, down my front steps and load him into an SUV hearse and drive off with him. I still hate them.

Ten months ago, that stupid, fucking social worker forced me to make decisions I wasn’t ready to make, yet. While my husband was in the other room, living and breathing, I had to tell her whether I wanted to bury or cremate him. I wanted to run.

In the hospital during the days previous to his demise, I asked Chris if he wanted to be involved in the arrangements. He didn’t know what I meant. Looking straight into his eyes, I clarified, “The funeral.” and freaked him out. For the rest of my life I will never forget the look of shock and on his face and how he recoyled from the question. I felt evil and heartless. I feel like he hated me at that moment. I hated me, too.

I had to know what he wanted though. I had to make sure I was giving him what his wishes would have been. We hadn’t talked about it before that because we both thought he was going to get better and live. He wanted no part of it. I made the decisions on my own based on what I knew he would want. I knew him through and through. Creejie never liked being gawked at in life. I knew he would have hated to have his dead body layed out on a slab for everyone to gawk at. That just would have been the final loss of control in a fourteen month loss of control.

I had to sleep in the hospital. I just shut down and had to sleep. I went to the family lounge and curled up on a leather seat, wrapped in my green winter coat. I kept waking up in horror, gasping for air. I remember jumping up and running down the hospital corridor because I was horrified that he had died while I was asleep. Bonnie said he had asked for me and my heart broke because I wasn’t there. I shouldn’t have needed sleep. I should have stayed by his side. It was really hard, though. He was so doped up on morphine. He began to regress and seem very child-like. Creej ate popsicles and drank rootbeer that entire time and raved about how “great” they were. He used to think steak was great.

Creej was scared this time. The second diagnosis caused him to give up hope and just give in. Who wouldn’t have given in? Throughout his entire ordeal, he made it very clear that he wanted me working and that he wanted to go to all of his treatments by himself. He needed to in order to keep control over any part of his life at all. I had to give him that. He deserved to feel in control of anything of which he could still remain in control.

That second diagnosis took all of the wind out of his sails. He asked me to come to every treatment and he asked me to spend the night in the hospital by his side. I knew he was terrified and defeated and I wanted him to fight, but he just would not. I don’t know what I thought fighting was. Nothing would have changed if he fought. He was going to die from the start.

Today I took the day off and went to Newburyport with Robby and Carol, two of my oldest friends. We sat on the docks, sipping coffee and conversing, which for us is simply quick-witted, sardonic battling of the wits, survival of the fittest. How we laughed all day. We had lunch and then hiked a bit at Maudslay State Park, laughing the entire time until we were giddy and tired. Then we drove home and Carol and I went shopping. It was a perfect day.

But now I hate that I had a perfect day. I feel very guilty tonight. I feel as though I’m forgetting all about Chris. It isn’t true, though. I talked about him all day. We laughed about things he said and did and would have said and would have done. I’m so afraid of forgetting.

God, I loved today. Having fun is the most wonderful feeling ever. My hope is that someday, it won’t hurt at the end of the day.

Shneed.