I wrote this last week- the 7th of January, in fact. I just haven’t felt… solid enough? I think that’s the word I’m after. I haven’t felt solid enough to publish it until now.
I thought it was over. I really thought it was over and I was over this and life could move on. That feeling like this was just a memory, something I could have empathy for and vaguely remember but never again feel as keenly as I did.
But I was wrong. So wrong, and I should have known better.
I’ve spent all day mourning, grieving, keening, crying. Pushing through panic attacks and reminding myself to breathe, breathe, breathe. Everything that hurts, everything I successfully disengage myself from most days… it’s all here. I re-live four days spent in the ICU over and over. Tiny events and interactions with nurses and police and family and friends splice themselves unbidden into my mind. The time-frame of them solidifies. Normally, they are painful pops of memory disjointed. I know they happened, but I never delve far enough into them to put them in any kind of chronological order.
The last few days, I have counted them off. Yesterday was the day he responded, moving his eyes and flexing his feet. Yesterday was the day his body flexed and stressed and then relaxed as i told him what he wanted to know– two days, it’s only been two days.
Today was the day he stopped responding. Today was the day the swell of his brain took over what was left of him.
Tomorrow was the day they told us his life support would be shut off.
And Friday would be the day he died.
And there’s more, a hundred more (“I’m not dreaming, am I?” “No dear” the nurse with tears in her eyes as she responded, “No dear, I’m sorry, you’re not.”) but typing them out makes me cry and my eyes are red and sore and all I’ve done all day is cry.
The Most Amazing Man just lets me cry. He cuddles me and tells me it’s okay, cry if I need to. That he’s a good listener, he says, and sometimes he thinks that’s why he was sent to me.
We pack up our camping gear, clean the house. He makes me laugh.
Life…it goes on.