Wednesdays are my counting day. Today makes 12. I want to pull the covers over my head and stay in bed…have to go to work. Another day. Seven more before 13.
When Jason was on hospice the last few days of his life my neighbors gathered in our driveway…to support us and say their “goodbyes” to Jason. They gave me a windchime. I love it so much. I can hear it from anywhere in the house. It reminds me of Jason and also that I have “people”. Today it’s going like crazy. Love that.
Today I had my first appointment with the Grief Counselor who is available as part of the hospice program that Jason was in. I was not looking forward to it…actively dreading it…almost cancelled it numerous times. Grief counseling is not something I want to have to take advantage of. I don’t want to need it.
Here’s the thing though. I spend a lot of time feeling nothing how I anticipated I would feel…nothing how I think I should feel…nothing how I think other people think I should feel. I thought I would be spending all my time crying…not wanting to get out of bed…not able to function. People tell me I’m so strong because I’m back at work…taking care of my kids and dogs…functioning pretty well. I cry sometimes, but I can also go days without crying. They tell me “I don’t think I could do that”…which by the way makes me feel like shit because I feel like I am not feeling “bad enough”.
My takeaway from the Grief Counselor–I am only functioning well because I am in shock. And my shock has been compounded by the fact that we did at-home hospice…there were many aspects of his end-of-life care and death that were shocking and horrifying and have been impossible to put to the back of my mind. When I close my eyes at night those days are on repeat in my head…over and over and over.
Once she pointed it out to me and explained it to me it was a huge “ah ha moment”. After she left, I found this article published by the Hospice Foundation of America titled “The Shock of Loss“. Several parts of it really hit home for me:
People in shock often appear to be behaving normally without a lot of emotion because the news hasn’t fully sunk in yet.
Detached from the reality of the loss, you may be able to function pretty well at first. This can be confusing to the people around you, when they expect full-blown grief and suffering that you don’t yet feel.
Staying awake late at night obsessing or falling asleep only to wake suddenly in the middle of the night are both normal reactions.
Yes. That is it exactly.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret our decision to do at-home hospice one iota. It was the least that I could do for Jason…to make sure his last days were comfortable and that he was surrounded by the people who loved him with his dogs looking over him.
I just wish I could stop re-living it in my head.
When Jason was battling Glioblastoma I faithfully kept up his Caring Bridge site. Although I had never written much of anything in the past, I found that many people enjoyed my writing style…loved being able to keep up with our journey…learn more about us through my posts…and that the writing was therapeutic for me. Now I hope that with this blog I can continue to reflect on the past…mourn in the present…and maybe find some hope for the future.
Love was the building block upon which Jason and I built our whole entire lives around. We loved each other and our children with everything we had. I’m not sure yet what my life looks like without the love of my life in it. It is hard to look forward to a future of loneliness. I am grateful that he left me with three beautiful children to live for.
Tennis has been a big part of our lives from the very beginning. It is what brought Jason to UW-Eau Claire where we met. Jason played tennis for many, many years and we made numerous fantastic friends through tennis. Many of our trips and great memories are tennis-related. Our children have all been involved in tennis…playing and coaching. I work at a local fitness club in the Tennis Center and have a great support system there.
Cancer is a word that you never, ever want to hear in relation to someone you love. Glioblastoma in particular is not something I would wish upon my worst enemy. It is a brutal disease….stealing away bits and pieces of its victim little by little, day by day. For 15 months cancer consumed our whole entire lives…and now our lives are irreparable changed because of it.
Love, Tennis, and Cancer 