Tag Archives: Loss

Seven

The passage of time seems surreal.
Has it really been that long?
Has it really only been that long?
The pain is less,
but the memories of you are still fresh
I don’t cry as much anymore,
but my tears still threaten.
I think sometimes,
that I am ready to move forward.
Then a memory hits me hard,
and I retreat once more, into my sorrow.

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Filed under Poems

Abstract Thoughts

She sits in her car, waiting for the light to change, her depression all around her like a fog. It thickens as her thoughts become darker. She’s not really thinking suicide; it’s more an abstract thought. But, she still reaches across with her right hand, as if holding a sharp object, and runs her hand down the inside of her arm. Not across the wrist, but down her arm. She’s seen enough movies, heard enough about it to know that if you’re really going to take your life, you don’t slash cross the wrist, you run the knife down the arm, following your veins.

The light changes, and her car moves forward. Tears roll down her cheeks. Too often, she feels like this. Friends say she has the right to feel this way. Losing someone you’ve spent the last 19 years with is not an easy thing, by any stretch of the imagination. Even if she hated him, she didn’t, not even a little; it would probably be a hard thing. But she didn’t hate him. She loved him. He annoyed her, he loved her, he made her understand who she really was. And now he was gone.

Traffic flowed around her; she kept up with it, but tears still streamed. Suicide was not the answer. It wouldn’t solve anything.

Then she realized, that was bullshit. Suicide would solve all her problems. She would no longer feel. No pain, no love, no tears, nothing. No emotions, no thoughts. Nothing. Not even emptiness. Just nothing.

It was everyone else that would have to deal with it. Just like she had to deal with his death.

The thought was still abstract; she wasn’t going to take her own life. She was too young and there were too many things she had yet to do. She wasn’t done yet. But it was still bullshit that suicide would solve nothing.

She wiped away more tears, trying hard no to allow the pain to interfere with her driving. The box of tissues is, of course, in the back seat, nowhere close enough to grab. She still wipes her fingers across her eyes, catching the wetness, wanting to be able to wipe away her pain just as easily.

Suddenly, a question pops into her mind: Is this worth it? Was 19 years with him worth the past 6 months of pain? Yes.

The answer is immediate, but not a surprise. The pain is overwhelming sometimes, overbearing and feels never ending, but yes, it’s worth it.

Even the abstract thoughts of suicide are probably worth it. He was a wonderful person, and he was loved. As was she.

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Filed under Short Stories

Jason

This is long and may be depressing. If you read it thank you, if not, I understand. It is non fiction. I was going to post this in a widow’s page on Facebook, then couldn’t as someone else had just posted something I felt was in direct contradiction to what I am trying to get across. Then I realized, I could post it here, as this is my page and I can do with it what I want. So here it is:

For the past three days, I’ve felt relatively ok. Not good, but ok. And I can live with ok. Sunday was 7 weeks since Jason passed and I didn’t think the ok feeling would last this long. I thought for sure I would crash on Monday. Didn’t. Then I thought I would crash on Tuesday. Didn’t. Now, it’s after midnight Tuesday to Wednesday and I can’t sleep. Really need to not drink caffeine like that, but I might have had a restless night anyway. Not convinced caffeine does that to me, but whatever.

So here’s my story. In 1994 I met Jason. He asked me to marry him almost right away. We stayed engaged for a while, but that’s jumping ahead. In 1996, after only 2 years together, Jason’s kidney failed. He only had one, we found out, and it was no longer doing its job. At the time, it was the scariest thing I’d ever gone through.

Jason decided on treatment. He had 6 years of peritoneal dialysis. (7 peritoneal infections.) It was a tough time for both of us, but we made it through. Not going into the details of that, just want to write out the basics. In 2002, Jason’s dad gave him a kidney. Though he did feel better, he wasn’t 100%. He never would be after his kidney failed in ’96.

In 2004, we were married. Yep, 10 years later. Didn’t matter to us that we weren’t married. We just wanted to be together. A piece of paper couldn’t change what we felt for each other.

In late 2012, Jason found out the transplant was failing. He had three choices: hemo dialysis, kidney transplant, or refuse treatment. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but figured it out in his own time.

In April of 2013, Jason told me that he had decided not to continue treatment. He was done. I cannot tell you how much that hurt. I wanted to be able to fix him, but there was no fixing him. It wasn’t just the kidney issues any more. He felt that his mind was slipping.

Jason had in incredible mind, was creative and seemed to relish in telling people, “Sure, I can do that,” even when he didn’t know how. If he didn’t know how to do something he was asked to do, he would figure it out. And often did things better because of it.

I loved that man. I wish we had had more time together, but we knew it wasn’t forever. After his kidney failed in ’96, we would talk about the fact that he would probably die before I did. It was never a scary conversation, just matter of fact. I felt we would have longer than 19 years, 2 months, but I’ll take it.

I feel that since we knew it wasn’t forever, part of my mind was ready for it, my emotions as well, and perhaps that’s why I’m ok.

I know that I’ll probably continue having some bad days, but I don’t know if I’ll have too many more. I am reluctant to tell too many people this, as I don’t want to come off as cold. I am hoping that this committee, or at least a few of you, (maybe even one?) will understand what I am going through and let me know. I feel kind of alone on this and don’t want to be.

I hope that all of you have good days, and I hope that if you don’t, you have someone that understands.

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Filed under Non Fiction