4 Years, 9 Months - Your Death

It is the fourth season of Christmas since the last time I watched his chest lower, heard the last beep of the heart monitor, felt his energy crash into my chest, filing the space between my back and front ribs and once fully contained rushing with force up my spinal cord and shooting out the top of my head.
I knew without looking at the monitor, I had kept reminding myself not to watch just be with him, that the line was flat. He was gone now. I knew with finality. Then I looked and watched the flat line move across the black screen eating the mountains. The line moved fast erasing all that was left of his life. When the line devoured the hills and the mountains and conquered the screen, I looked away. I saw his older brother holding his left hand. The world was still. I heard his mother say we should get him ready. I replaced the head that had been my husbands away from my bosom back onto the hospital pillow and turned to look at his mother who held his right hand in both of hers. She told me to close his eyes. I knew how to do it from training by books and movies. I ran my fingers over his eyes bringing the eyelids to rest before brushing my palm against his cheek stubble. Why had I not shaved him when he asked? He never let me shave him even when I had asked in the shower. Because after that moment was gone, he no longer wanted to be groomed. I took the wet towels away. We had used towels to prop his head straight on the pillow when he no longer had the strength to keep it from falling forward. He would make the sign for rain to tell me to pour a pitcher of ice water on his head. We had not been able to replace the towels after the last rain. I tried to close his mouth but it would not close. It was set open in a gruesome tilted manner. I was sorry that his daughters would have to see it this way.

2 Years, 2 Days - Regrets of a Daughter

I cried for mom today.

I cried for all the missed opportunities. She took care of grandma for so long. Then grandma was gone and we were both widows. I thought we would go to North Carolina. Perhaps the first of many trips together.
She had such a kind heart and I waited until she was dieing to realize it. She said since I was 18 it was a few phone calls a year, a visit for half a day every few years, an odd holiday. How sad. How selfish. I just thought she would always be there. Of course that is what I thought. I was so busy in my life. She was a picture in my head, mom at home. I did not think I needed her. I did not even think I liked her. Yet, in those few days before the pain medication took over her thinking, I really loved her. I wanted so much for her. I could have done so many easy, little things to make her life better. I was her oldest daughter, her baby girl, and I shunned her. I talked bad about her. I avoided her.
I moved in with her when she was dieing out of love and caring for her, not out of any sense of duty. I knew first hand, or rather second hand, how scary it was to die. How she could not possibly live alone with cancer. It was then I saw what a truly beautiful women she was and I realized she had always done for others. She was such a loving soul. I truly miss her. I sadly miss the relationship that could have been if I took the time for her, or judged her as an adult, if I did not listen to anyone else but saw for myself if I enjoyed her friendship. I have lost again. I have lost my husband. I have lost my mother. I realize I have also lost the chance of having a close, loving relationship with my mother.

I am adrift, alone, and the tears drip from my cheeks and run off the edges of my nose onto my husband’s sweater.

5 weeks - Regret

I read your autopsy report today and wailed. I thought of your shoulder injury and could picture the thin line running vertically when they described it. I could see your healed midsection scar from a childhood appendectomy like me. I was at peace to know there was so much cancer everywhere. I felt less regret for saying yes to stop the care aimed at curing you. Still, I wonder if we stopped chemo too soon. Was there any hope? Could we have at least gotten you to the ocean? I think now how you kept asking me to go to the water - the ocean, a pool, a hydrotherapy bath. How I could not help you. How I kept promising you ‘maybe tomorrow’. You were unable to speak. You had not spoken in maybe a week. When your family asked me how long it had been since you could talk I could not answer them. I did not notice that much because we could still talk without words. I know you. You know me. I know your looks and what they mean. Plus you had incorporated basic sign language symbols we had learned from our one-year-old nephew visiting you. We also used scuba diving signals. The sign to surface became the sign to raise the bed. To dive together side-by-side meant for me to come closer to the bed. Sign language for milk was a request for Ensure. The sign for rain meant to pour ice water on your head. I knew you wanted to get in the water when you made the sign language for fish on your last day. When I said maybe tomorrow, you said ‘oh well’. As if you knew there were no more tomorrows. Did you say this with your eyes, a shrug, a tilt of the head? I don’t recall because to me it was the same as if you spoke the words. I think of holding your head to my chest as you left, of telling you I would look after your girls, and I loved you. I said ‘I love you’ with such deep sadness as your heart rate continued to drop and you stopped breathing. I felt you go. When I looked a the heart monitor the flat line was eating the mountains like a Pac Man. I am lonely. Yet, not as lonely as before I met you. I am more at peace now. Now, that someone has loved me unconditionally, without fear, without jealousy, without their selves first. You loved me first and then your self and I am at peace. I am sure my loneliness will grow without you ever coming back home. I will be so lonely to go places without you especially the places we already had tickets for, the places we had planned, that we had scheduled to take off work, all the places we had on our list. How I miss you pumpkin. How I wish we had years and years. I fear I am sick too. I wonder what I will do. I am scared. How scared you must have been.

5 weeks - I thought of you today. I cried.

I thought of you today when I saw the bird on the picket fence. I thought of you today and cried in the bathtub remembering our third date. I cried because I miss you. I cried for the regrets. I cried because I want to travel with you and have you hold me. I wear your wedding ring on my finger. I made a list of things to do and they include showering and crying. I feel you with me all the time. I feel you catch a peek at me through the eye of a bird and hug me with the wind.