It’s a slap in the face each morning and unceasingly throughout the day when I allow consciousness to be present. (whenever the auto pilot shuts down). Handsome Husband is gone from my life. Forever. I’ll never see him again. Ever. We had 24 years of togetherness, 23 of those years married. It’s over, done, gone.
I can console myself with the idea that I’ll see him again someday when I die, and maybe I will. I don’t know. Perhaps some essence of his spirit will greet me at the end. Who knows? Most of that type of thought is mere consolation for the living, I suspect. I’ve read numerous books about end of life, seeing the light, other life experiences and I want to believe such things as much as anyone and possibly a part of me does believe it, but ultimately, who knows? Each person has their own experience in death same as in life.
He’s in a better place, God needed another angel, God doesn’t give you more than you can handle, blah, blah, blah. So much noise. I personally don’t believe God (in whatever way God is expressed by anyone), had anything to do with this. The fact is, Handsome Husband got cancer again and it killed him. Environmental factors, genetics, whatever. It killed him and it didn’t kill him in a pretty way. He and I had spoken about end of life numerous times, and I know, had the choice of assistance in dying been available to him, he would have chosen it. We’d spoken about the possibility of Alzheimer’s most frequently and he told me that if he got it, right before his own consciousness disappeared, while he was still able, he would leave. Find a mountaintop and die there. He didn’t want to suffer, or make his loved ones suffer, the nightmare. The way he died with this fucking cancer wasn’t something he would have chosen either. In the few days prior to his death, I thought about asking the medical staff if there was something that he could take to hasten his death. The feedback was that he needed to see it through and there were emotional things etc blah, blah, blah that needed to happen. So much noise. I knew what his choice would have been. Why don’t we allow people who are dying, with no hope of living any longer, to make their choices?
Death is a slap in the face in every way. Grasping the finality of it is, I think, impossible for the human mind. I’ve been driving each day on new roads, with Indiana as my goal, to pay my respects to his mom. New Mexico to Indiana. A long trip. His sister is with me and that makes it the tiniest bit manageable emotionally. But, honestly, every minute of every day sucks and is painful to me because he isn’t with me. I don’t feel his spirit, or his energy, or any part of him. He’s gone and I just need to deal with the fact that he will never sit next to me in our car again. He’ll never touch me again or hold me in his strength again.
Death is a ripping away of one’s reality and it takes whatever time it takes to adjust to that starkness. I hope I see my beloved husband again someday. I hope that desperately, because this life without him is without meaning. I’ll make meaning out of it eventually because that’s who I am and what I must do in order to have my own meaningful life. I’m trying to think beyond this and do everything that I’m supposed to do. I’ll create a life for myself because that is what I must do, out of his love for me and mine for him, if nothing else.
But there is nothing good about this, the same as there was nothing good about his death. It is black and pain and empty and overwhelming and well, yes, it sucks the big one in every way.
There you have it. My opinion on death and dying and living beyond the death of someone who was integral to my life. You’re welcome.
Now, please. Find something that will brighten your day, beyond this darkness.