I have been putting off writing this entry for over three months now. Yes, because it’s going to be painful to write but mostly because I want it to be perfect. And, as I’m human, the following blog is going to be anything BUT perfect.
As most of my readers already know, my husband, Mark, passed away in February after a long four year battle with cancer. Was it horrible? Yes. Were there awful decisions with dire consequences to be made? Yes. Was I terrified? Yes. Was Mark aware of what was happening around him those last ten days? I don’t know.
Which leads me to wonder, dear reader, how much do YOU want to know?
Will my writing about Mark bring honor to him? Can I capably and succinctly convey to you how strong and courageous he was? How positive? He always said, “I’m not f’ing dying of cancer.” He’d made up his mind when things got real two years ago during the first chemo sessions. He was strong, stubborn, a quiet fighter with nerves of steel.
Will my writing about Mark make you sad? Will my grief touch your heart or bring you down? Will you judge me for my own unique suffering and intrusive thoughts? Will being raw and real connect us or open an unbridgeable chasm?
These are all concerns that have been swirling in my mind and holding me back from being here on the blog. But at the same time, I’ve been longing to reach out to you, to draw you close and comfort you with my words… communicating with you through prose because writing is my heart’s connection to the world. I have discovered in therapy over the past year that I am neurodivergent-HSP and all that really means to me is I don’t have to worry anymore about trying to be something I’m not. I can write to you with openness and honesty and not feel ashamed of being overly sensitive. No amount of toughening up will make any difference. Oh sure, I can mask and pretend, but on the inside I’m still hurting. My soul is bleeding for Mark right now. Because I miss him. Because I constantly wonder if we did everything possible to get him better. Because I hate the doctors for not saving him. Because my mind races over every action or word that could have caused him pain. All marriages have elements of guilt and regret, but when one of the partners disappears the survivor is left to wonder if they did anything and everything to make their spouse happy. I ruminate. I brood. Do I emotionally self-flagellate? Oh hell yes! People often ask me if I feel lonely and my answer is always: No. I have so many voices in my head I’m never alone. It’s a real circus up there.
But am I lonely for Mark? Yes.
That’s an entirely different thing.
Will my blogs moving forward be messy and all over the place? Yes. Much like this one. Because grief is messy. But so too is life. As much as I want my words to be polished and perfect and full of poignant nuance, it’s just not possible right now. I don’t have the emotional capacity. But I’m not going to let that stop me from trying to connect with you. I’m just going to keep writing. I don’t know how else to be. I don’t know WHO else to be. I had to break through and write this first post; I had to say those painful words of introduction: My husband passed away.
Sending so much love to each of you. Thank you for being here. I know a lot of you are struggling with your own sadnesses. I don’t wish to add to them. May we not take on each other’s burdens, but rather find comfort knowing we’re not alone in our individual pain. I hope you can feel me hugging you right now. And I hope you’re doing ok today.