My husband left this world 874 days ago. It is still unbelievable to me. I look back to those last few months of his life and see how sick he really was. God spared him so many times. It wasn't  his turn. I can see now, what I could not see then. 

I remember throwing Hospice out of our home one day because the Doctor suggested removing his feeding tube. Pete had so much  life in his face. He smiled, laughed and his face lit up when I came home from work. I clearly remember calling in  one day to work and sending the aide home. Pete could not speak but I saw that his face was curious. I told him that I wanted to spend the day with my husband like we used to. He squished up his face like he was trying to ask why? I told this man who I fell in love with over 20 years ago that he was as sexy as the first time i saw him in 1980. I pushed my bed as close to his hospital bed as I could. I crept up next to him and put my head on his chest. I pulled his arm around me and stroked his hair. I kissed him gently. When I opened my eyes I saw tears on his cheeks. Our eyes locked. I knew that this was one of our goodbyes. We both lay still. I clung to him, desperate for every second. I did my best to let him know how very much I loved this man. I KNEW he was dying but I would not accept it. My family and friends continued to ask how he was. My responses became "he slept all night" or " he smiled a lot, he is having a good day". I was clinging on to every little thing. It was almost like celebrating your babies first steps, crawling etc. There were some days when I was so thrilled because he was able to get a word out. I remember the last time he actually spoke my name. It was amazing. I came running from the kitchen when I heard it. He was sitting up in bed with the aide next to him. He was smiling ear to ear. It was such a small thing, but to  us it was huge.

Towards the end of his time on earth, he began to sleep more. I tried over and over to get him to stay up, look at photo albums, talk about memories or SKYPE with his family. He didn't have the strength. Every single day I made sure that he smiled. I dressed up like Elton John and sang to him. I made "prank" phone calls.. anything to get him to smile. Even if it was just for a minute.

The day Pete left was a normal day but I remember there was something calling to me. A reason I lingered. He was saying goodbye. He did not want me home. He knew I would not be able to take that. If I was supposed to be home i would have been. Pete's very last day on Earth was spent doing something for me. This was the kind of man he was. He knew that both my son and I would not be home until later. I truly believe that was his final act of love.

Just one more....

Becoming a widow at 47 was a turning point for me. Every single thing in my life changed. EVERYTHING. We was now Me. Us was I. My family of 3 was now a family of 2. My home seemed empty. Our bedroom once bustling like a small hospital was not eerily quiet. The spot where his hospital bed was is now empty. There was a huge stain on the carpet from the feeding tube. The Nurse never turned the machine off and it kept pumping out the formula all over the floor. She also never capped the catheter. All the supplies still on the shelf. The get well cards and posters still hanging up. His cologne still lingered in the air. I wanted to run after the funeral home vehicle and scream...

I found myself begging God, Allah, even Yoda to give me just one more minute with my husband. 60 seconds. Not much. I bargained. If I could just have that minute I would spread the word of goodness. Tithe. Volunteer more. Go to church every day. Whatever was needed, I would do it. I was so pissed that he was taken from me. Why?? What good will this do anyone? Yes, he suffered, but he seemed like he was ok. Stupid me. How dare I turn a blind eye on what my hubs was going through. It wasn't selfish, really. I just refused to see it because then I would have to believe that he was dying. I was not ready for that. No fricken way. Every emotion all jumbled together. It was horrible.

I had that minute planned out. Each night before going to sleep I pray. I have a "script" and then I add whatever else needs some extra help. I sort of expected that my minute would come in a dream. And I also knew that it probably would not be as I wanted it. I was open though. I never got to say goodbye to my husband the way I wanted to.

Four months almost to the day of his passing, I did have an amazing dream. I have to believe that it was a dream and didn't actually happen. I had my minute, not as I wanted it, but I have to believe it was as it needed to be. My husband's visit was not going to be on my terms. It provided me with such a great deal of comfort I still cry thinking about it. I can remember it vividly. I know that my husband is safe, whole and free of pain from that bitch Multiple Sclerosis. I also know that he did this for me because he saw how horribly sad I was.

I have come to realize that I will get what I need. It may not be what I pray for, what I wish for or what I want. It is not about that. It is, though, about being ok with my feelings. I have nothing, not an f'ing thing to feel guilty about. I was not supposed to be home when he passed. That wasn't the plan.

The anger is finally gone. It has been 2 years but it is gone. One victory for me on this journey.

The first few weeks after my husband was called home to Heaven were the hardest. My son had surgery the week after his death and they had a very hard time waking him up. I literally was a walking zombie.
Here I was a 47 year old widow. What the hell??? I was angry. Dammit I was pissed- at everyone and everything. Mostly at God. Yes, I yelled at the Big Man, called him names and even challenged him to give me ONE MORE FUCKING thing to deal with. Come on, I shouted- show me what  you are made of. Give me all that you got. It was during this time that I came to the realization that this was part of the process. I had stopped mourning and began to grieve.

I remember picking up my husbands' ashes at the Funeral Home. He had never been in my car because he couldn't transfer from the wheelchair and didn't want anyone to pick him up. We had a handicapped van that the wheelchair went right into if we needed to go somewhere. Here I was taking an urn in a bag of what was my husband. This was the first time I had ever dealt with  "remains" or "cremains" as they are called. I had to honor his wishes and have him cremated. It was surreal to me. I held it together until I got into the vehicle and then I lost it. I had my husband, in an urn, in a bag in the seat next to me. I said out loud A" Hey Pete, this is your first ride in my car." I began to laugh hysterically. I had to pull over in a parking lot. Here I am laughing like a maniac with tears just pouring out of my face. People drove past, some stopping to see what the heck this crazy lady was doing. I wanted everyone to know... I HAVE MY CREMATED HUSBAND IN THE SEAT OF MY CAR. It was nuts.

Somehow I got it together and made it home. My son carried the urn into the house and we put it in the "shrine". I have a beautiful hand made wooden cabinet that my husband had his Elvis Presley collection in. It has now become his place. Two years later, I still have not touched it. I just cannot bring myself to do that. I am learning that this is ok.

My story begins in 1980. I met and fell in love with a young man whom I would marry 25 years later. 
Pete and I had the type of love many people will never know. I truly believe every setp of our lives; both together and apart were planned. 
On September 25 2012, my world changed forever. My soulmate was called home to Heaven after a crippling battle with Multiple Sclerosis. Everything I knew in my life stopped existing. I went from we to me in a matter of one minute. I had no warning.
Death IS a part of life. We grow up experiencing backyard funerals, We equate these times with relatives we rarely see, cold cut platters, Entemanns cakes and lots of other goodies. We all have that Aunt or Uncle who volunteers to run to 7-11 for milk or soda and they take the kids with them.  Once there we took full advantage of the trip and got whatever we wanted. Tears, phone calls, hushed conversations and lots of head pats. That is what I remember. As I got older it was the same except I was included in those hushed conversations.

Now my husband is gone. I do not understand. I make the obligatory phone calls. Hug strangers and let them tell me what to do and how to feel. I sit on the couch tissues in my lap, pictures scattered around totally stunned. The phone ringing in the background. I let the machine pick it up just to hear Pete's voice. I thought of my Mom who was a widow for 5 years before she was called home to Heaven. I had just lost my sister suddenly 5 months earlier. Pete and I were married 7 1/2 years. 5 of them he required some level of care. His last year with us we had in home Hospice.

As teens, Pete and I had a pretty adult relationship. We were very serious and marriage had been discussed. The Big Man upstairs had other plans that needed to happen.  When Pete and I got back together it was meant to happen at that exact time. There were many times over the years apart that our paths crossed we learned. It was pretty amazing how many times we were at the same place at the same time. 

The next couple of days are still vivid. I try to find a sensible reason for reliving those days. Part of this process for me is to remember. I experienced such profound guilt. Did I do enough? Did I try every possible thing to make him comfortable? I had set up our bedroom like a mini Emergency Room. We had a feeding pump, oxygen, a 6 foot tall cabinet filled with lotions, bed sore supplies, antibiotic creams and sprays, syringes..you name it, we had it. I wanted my Husband to be in our home. We had full time care paid for through a state waiver program. We accidentially found out about that. I decorated our room with the cards from relatives and friends and pictures from my nieces and nephew. 
I dressed up like Elton John and sang to Pete. I would set up Skype with family and friends so he could stay in touch. With some help from his family we made sure he felt loved and valued. We never allowed his illness to define him. He left this Big Blue marble with a smile on his face.

Climbing Grief Mountain

I am not an expert on grief and loss. I have experienced death the same way millions of us have who live on this big blue marble. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. We are all different. All the books by "experts" can offer lots of friendly advice. Sometimes reading how others handle their own grief can be very helpful. This is my journey and I thank you for sharing it with me while I continue to climb Grief Mountain.

 Please share your own thoughts and comments.