In March of 2017, my husband, Scott, and I received the unwelcome news that he had a large mass in his abdomen. It was confirmed a week later that he had Stage 4 colon cancer. He’d had stomach issues for the months leading up to his diagnosis, but he had recently started a new job and feared it would look bad if he was out sick so quickly. Plus, when the symptoms occurred, they would subside as quickly as they would hit. In mid-March, he had been with his new company for a few months and I finally talked him into getting checked when the symptoms became severe. We suspected he was having issues with his gallbladder. We were shocked to discover how wrong we were. We had two small toddlers and were just starting out as a family together. The diagnosis of Stage 4 cancer at the age of 40 was beyond our comprehension.
Scott proceeded to endure horrible surgeries and procedures and battled his way thru aggressive chemotherapy treatments. We had great faith in a loving God and hope in medical science. The whole time I kept thinking that he HAD to recover, because this isn’t something that happens to us. It’s something that happens to other people. Surely not to us. Throughout the summer of 2017, we never talked about or even hinted at the possibility that he wasn’t going to recover. Although by the fall of 2017, the signs were there that his fight was not going well. We ignored them. I hated the doctors who were the most honestly with me. How insensitive I thought they were!! They didn’t know my husband well enough to know how amazingly he would fight this. And maybe they didn’t get the memo that this wasn’t something that was supposed to happen to us?
About a week before Christmas 2017, it became too obvious to deny that this would be the last Christmas we would spend together. I was not sure how to cope with knowing something so awful. I had two little kids I had to hold it together for. And I had a holiday season coming up that I needed to try my best to make special, amid the horrible situation. We unexpectedly had Christmas at our house. Scott was too ill to travel by then and his family was wonderful to change plans in order to be with us. It was a beautiful, yet haunting day.
By the New Year’s time frame, we had family members staying at our house to help with our kids. I was glad to have more time to be with Scott, but was frustrated with being so helpless to stop his cancer from taking him. He had one remaining medical appointment with his doctor in NYC on January 2, 2018. He clung desperately to the idea that they would suddenly offer him an experimental treatment. The appointment did not go as we had hoped. It was decided that he should no longer eat, since that seemed to make things worse and that he should start with hospice care. He chose to stay at home. I spent most of the next week trying to help keep him comfortable and not leave him alone. Our family members were angels for helping with our kids in order to make that happen.
On January 10, 2018, my darling husband lost his battle. Life doesn’t prepare you for things that terrible. Most understand that life isn’t always fair and bad things are going to happen. But nothing prepares you for the unthinkable. When couples make the promise, “for death do us part,” I’m sure I’m not the only one who pictured death happening after years of us sitting in our rocking chairs on the porch together. It wasn’t SUPPOSED to happen when we were finally getting on our feet as a family.
Here I am now, suck trying to come to terms with what happened. In the early days, I was merely living day to day and waiting to “feel better.” When would it get easier? When would memories of my husband not make me cry? When would the idea of living the rest of my life without being able to talk to my husband not shatter me? When would there be relief?
As the months go by, there are days that seem easier. But it’s not because life is suddenly easier, or that the circumstances are less terrible. I just started realizing that this is who I am now, without him. The sadness with always be there. But I have to find a way to be roommates with grief. We are in a prison cell together and the only way to make the situation less terrible is to be on good terms with my new roommate. I don’t have to like grief or agree with why it’s there, but it’s not going away. I will have to learn to deal with every fun family activity, holiday, and special occasion being peppered with sadness. I must learn to make decisions on my own without having Scott’s input. I started this blog in hopes to bring dialogue about living with grief and hopefully to bring some sort of comfort to those also suffering.