Feel Free Not to Read This. Probably Don’t. If you do, please refrain from telling me whatever you think I need to Know. M’k?

Fucking cancer
Fucking death
Fucking widowhood
Fucking life without him
Fucking heaviness
Fucking memories of you dying
Fucking bed sores
Fucking hole in the base of your spine where the tumor ate through your body
Fucking having to live without you every damn day
Fucking having to wake up and do life in the midst of fucking confusion that is just always there no matter what, for fucking years
Fucking relationships that tear apart after death
Fucking dark shadow of widowhood that scares people away even when you try to hide the shadows
Fucking nights staring at a TV show that you couldn’t even describe to someone even after watching it for an hour and another hour and another and you still couldn’t say
Fucking eyes that stare into nowhere and beyond nowhere into you know not what of nowhere
Fucking screams that get shoved down into your body because…well, who knows why?
Fucking judgment from every direction; too soon, too fast, too much, not enough, too dark, too light, too this, too that, too everything
Fucking cancer that ravaged and blew apart the body of the man I loved
Fucking tears that spill out no matter where or when
And fucking tears that don’t spill and choke you instead
Fucking energy to suit up and show up every day
And fucking judgements that it’s not enough or it’s not the right kind or it doesn’t matter just don’t be a fucking widow
Fucking widowhood that you’d tear off of you if you could and fuck that you can’t
Fucking doing every fucking thing you can and he’s still dead and always will be
Fucking skin hunger and fucking every damn thing about him being dead and gone
Fucking life fucking death fucking grief fucking breathing fucking everything without him. fucking everything


7 thoughts on “Feel Free Not to Read This. Probably Don’t. If you do, please refrain from telling me whatever you think I need to Know. M’k?

  1. Four Fucking years without him.
    Fucking reliving those last minutes of his life over and over.
    Fucking angry at the nurses who ignored our call for help.
    Fucking Cancer.
    Fucking Chemo.
    Fucking Radiation that burned his esophagus resulting in a feeding tube and dehydration that Fucking took all his strength after he Fucking fought so hard to live, even after they took one of his Fucking lungs, went through 2 rounds of Fucking aggressive Chemo, rang that Fucking Bell yet was gone, Fucking dead, 6 days later.

    Fucking life without his love, his laugh, his sweet soul to make this life worth living.
    Fucking loss of a genuine good, kind, loving man.
    Fucking Why?

    Fucking tired of trying to keep things going, maintained, when I do not know what the fuck I am doing and cannot afford to hire Fucking help.
    Fucking tired of family seeing the struggle, they may sympathize and offer suggestions, yet not Fucking one shows up to offer fucking physical help.
    Fucking tired, just Fucking tired.

Talk to me~

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