Like A Thief In The Night...

Well, last night completely sucked.

No matter what I do, it's always there.  This... waiting grief.  It's so frustrating, and so.... time wasting.

I mean, he's here.  He's alive.  He's fighting.  He's actually doing pretty well on the treatment front.

But every once in a while, it sneaks up on me and sucker-punches me when I least expect it.  I can hear my mother's voice.  Don't borrow grief.  Well, I'm not borrowing it.  But it's very hard to live in the moment when your husband's having a rough chemo treatment, when he's cramping and going through diarrhea and spending hours in the tub, completely miserable, and you find yourself wondering how much he can take before it's too much?

Please let that day be far, far away.  Please.

I can't bear the thought of him not being here.

I can't bear the thought of him suffering.

I'm so... torn up and ... last night, I couldn't stop crying.

I hate this.  I hate what he's going through.  And I hate being so selfish.

Last night was full of dreams I only half remember, but I would wake up crying.  Not sobbing, just, I'd wake up with in tears, my face and pillow soaked.

Today is going to totally suck.  I hate letting him see how much this upsets me.  But I can't... I can't let him see this... I mean, I'm trying to be strong, dammit, not a child!

How do I do this?

It's Worst at Night...

Nighttime is the worst.  There are nights when I just can't sleep. 

I worry.  I worry a lot. 

I worry about my kids.  Granted, my oldest is an adult, and will soon be graduating with her BFA, possibly by next fall, and my youngest will be 18 in a month.  But I still worry. 

I worry about our finances.  I worry that we'll lose our insurance.  I worry that the Husbandly One will get worse, or he'll give up.  There are times, when he's asleep, that I will lay there and cry, dreading the inevitable.  I still have no clue how to deal with that.  He's 54.  I thought we'd be in our 80's or 90's before that became an issue.

But, unless some radical new miracle treatment comes along... I can't even think about it, even though I do.

I wonder, sometimes, if this ridiculous lingering illness I can't seem to shake off is really just extended broken heart syndrome.

During the day, we go along as always, trying to come up with enough energy between the two of us to get basic chores done.  Clean the kitchen, do the laundry, vacuum the house, hack back the bamboo that's trying to take over the back and front yards because the people who owned the house before us were idiots who really though they could keep the bamboo confined to one tiny spot in the yard.  We run errands, feed the cats, putter among the plants, watch the ducks, talk to the kids, you know, all the things you do during the course of the day.  And it's so much easier to push back the fear and anguish, the worry... I can focus on other things and do stuff.

But at night?  So much harder.  The house gets quiet.  I'm tired.  I lay down, turn out the light, wrap my arm around him and think, "He's thinner today." And then it starts.

It's so hard.  I lay there, my eyes burn, my face stretches as I force myself to breathe normally, fighting back tears as I think desperately, Please, please, don't take him away from me.  Don't take my husband, the love of my life, my best friend... don't take him away from me...

Sometimes, he just... knows, and he'll turn over, asking me if I'm okay. 

"I'm fine," I lie.  "Just... hurting a little, that's all."

No need to tell him that it's not my joints hurting.  Then we'd both be awake for the rest of the night.

Sometimes, I'm able to calm myself down and finally relax into sleep.

But some nights... some nights, I can't.  Some nights, I have to get up and go sit in the living room, or out on the back porch if the weather is nice.  Somewhere I can sit and cry my heart out, because... while I know the chemo is working NOW... I know that one day, hopefully years from now, but one day, he'll be done.  He'll have had enough, he'll be tired, and he'll say, "Enough."

Quality of life over quantity.

I can't even think about that right now.  It's really selfish of me, I know.  But I can't even bear to think about it.  The selfish, immature part of me wants to scream out, "DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!!"

The selfless mature part of me is yelling it, too.

I just... can't even think of sleeping in that bed without him in it.  I can't think of being in that room without him.  In this house.  This life.

On the 16th, we'll have been married for 28 years.  I'm hoping for 28 more, but you know what?  I'll take every damn second I can get.

Tonight is one of those sleepless, full of worry, terror, and grief nights.  My focus for the last two years has been so narrow, just... getting through, day by day. 

Seriously, I am barely coping with any of this.  And I hate that about myself.

Day by day.

Now, if I can just get through tonight...