2 Years Later

2 Years Later

It’s been two years since I wrote on this message.  I can’t read thru it without feeling pain.  I usually use this blog to indirectly communicate with her, but I felt it fitting to tell her that I miss her tonight.  I never wrote a text message to her again while she was alive.  The night before, she was in distress and having trouble even typing.  Her neighbor was sort of a lunatic, and that wasn’t helping her either.

She was getting back to being stable, so the plan was to get her to feel good enough to go home and find a hospice care place who could help manage her care from here on out.  8 years in, and it became too dangerous for her to stay home.  I felt like a failure.  I went home to get some sleep so that I could coordinate finding a place that was right for her.  The amount of incompetent shits in the medical field is criminal, but what industry isn’t filled with useless fucks?

She had been in the hospital since Sunday, but it wasn’t till I went in that Tuesday that I realized that she wasn’t coming home.  That Tuesday was the last day I would get to tell her that I love her.  44 hours in a morphine coma and she was gone.

That morning, I came in and her heart rate was back up.  What happened next has been documented in this blog, and frankly, it is hard to repeat it even in text.

I have always felt guilty that I didn’t stay more Monday.  But I didn’t know then what I knew that Tuesday morning.

I tell myself that.  But I don’t allow myself to forgive.  Still don’t. I wanted to give everything I had.  I wanted to die when she died.   Go with her spirit.  I didn’t want to face having to start over.  I didn’t want to start over.  I didn’t want to play this terrible game anymore.  A large part of me still doesn’t.  I’m terrified of my entire life becoming a series of tragedies.  It’s fucked, but there it is.

I still feel guilty for being alive while she is dead.  She deserved more out of life and frankly, I never really enjoyed it as much as she did.  I feel like in many cases, the time I still have would have been better spent if it was given to her and I was the one who died.

I feel guilty now for having good days.  For being in a relationship and learning to be happy again.  Every time I feel that there is some hope, I feel guilty for not being miserable.  It’s like there is a part of me that needs to tone down my enjoyment of life.  Like I’m fucking responsible for Cancer?  But there it is.

I feel like I owe it to her to try to slow down a bit and enjoy life a bit.  But it all doesn’t give as much happiness as it did when I was younger.  When I was ignorant of what pain was.  To enjoy life, you have to go live it.  But bad things happen when we peek out of our protective shell.  I know it’s irrational.  But there it is.

In spite of still having these feelings, I try to live.  I accept that I have this pain, and I don’t try to fight it.  When I need to cry, I do.  But then I go back to living.  Not reckless.  Not self-destructive.  Just a boring average existence.  What anyone expects is within reach in life.  Go to work, get shit done, get paid, and enjoy the weekend.  But I still feel guilty, even though I shouldn’t.

I wish I could say that I appreciate how lucky I’ve been, but honestly, I wish I didn’t know what this pain feels like.  I wish I had the luxury of bitching about the ball-n-chain and how the kids drive me nuts.  I wish I still looked forward to Christmas or my own birthday.  But I am sort of numb to happy.  I don’t look forward to anything, even when I am happy.  I’m also numb to sad too.  It’s like my brain decided that it has had enough of feeling a strong emotion and it is in this mode where it mutes the color of life.  It’s a daily struggle to rise above this.  Being happy requires me to work at it.

Dumb and ignorant people would say that I am depressed.  Well, my first love and wife died.  You want me to feel what exactly?  But I’m not depressed.  I am in a promising relationship.  I’d say I am in love.  I have a good job.  I have my own place.  I’m comfortable.

But I have survivor’s remorse.   I’m mad that God decided that her eternal kindness, happiness, and optimism needs to go while my brooding calculating self gets to stay.  What kind of fucking diety does that?  Seriously, where did this guy learn to “God” anyway?

I’m scared to have kids.  I always figured I would have them, but here I am past the point where I felt I wanted to sign on to 20 years of indentured servitude to a rug rat.  I don’t know if I have it in me to take the risk of creating a life that could be taken from me.  Or the energy to give that kid the time and attention it will need to become a self-actualized adult.

I am not sure that after all that time caring for Felecci that I have the energy to give, even though I feel it is one of the most important things we do in life as human beings.  How fucked is that really?  I’m not saying I don’t want kids.  In fact, I’m very certain I want the option on the table still.  But I’m scared that I will never be ready to pull that trigger.  No pun intended.

2 years later, I am still trying to move forward.  I owe it to Felecci to do so.  She wanted me to, and she can’t live life for me so the job is mine regardless if I want it or not.  But even though I seem better, I really am still just starting to figure out how to live again.   I am flying by the seat of my pants.  Trying not to feel guilty for every good feeling and emotion I find.  Not letting the pressures of life bother me like it did.  In fact, I have never been so balanced in my life.

Normally I try to edit these posts a bit to tell a story to the reader so that they get some message.   I’m not going to do much editing here.  If you are in a similar position to mine and you still feel like you are lost and drifting thru life aimlessly, then you are normal.  See my words, and realize that I’m still nearly as fucked as I was 2 years ago.

I am not sure I will ever get over this.  Like a scar, I think I will carry this forever.  Hopefully, we learn to feel good in life and get excited about the opportunity.  I’m still trying to find that, and I think Felecci would be nagging me to do better.  So, I try to every day.

I love you babe.  I wish it was me and not you.  I know you always hated when I said that, but it is still true. Not because I want to die, but because I feel you deserved life more than I did.  I hope I do better in year 3.  But I’m trying.  For you, if not for myself.

Say hi to Nana and Artie for me.  I still think about them every time I think about our marriage.  Also, say hi to your Lola for me.  I was sad to hear that she went.  I hope her spirit keeps you company till we meet again.

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