Not yet the official one month mark, but four Thursdays ago….
The past two days have been rockier, emotionally. Not with the great bursts of weeping that occur, but a growing sense of the great, dark, terrible chasm that’s opened up at my feet. Becoming aware of it, that’s what’s terrible.
Mark died on Thursday, March 22nd, at a Dallas hospital. Time of death was called at around 8:30 a.m., but the nurse had come in at around 7:50 a.m. and called the code. (I was enroute to work when I got a phone call at about 8:11 a.m. to “Come right away. Your husband isn’t doing very well.”)
How many times did I sit at Mark’s bedside in that hospital and hear the call over the P.A. system, “Rapid Response, Eighth Floor, Rapid Response, Eighth Floor” or “Code Blue, Third Floor,” and wonder what was happening, was it anything like on television. I wondered if it was a recorded voice, it was so even and dispassionate.
My mind slides back and forth between what was and what is. Just now, it’s very difficult to remember a happy time. Whether it’s depression or some kind of coping mechanism, I am having a hard time remembering the good.
I miss his voice. I miss his hands, reaching for me, reaching for my hands. The notion that he will never call me, or text me, that I will never again receive one of his sweet and romantic little notes – it’s unbelievable, only until it suddenly rings true, and then it’s unbearable.
When will a Thursday morning just be a Thursday morning again? How many Thursdays will go by before it’s just another day of the week? I am stuck between a desire to move this grief thing along, and the fear that in the healing process also comes the letting go; I will lose more and more of Mark as the days go on by.
After 26 months of continuous reminders that life must be – can only be – lived for this moment and this moment only, how could I wish for a fast-forward button?
Right now, I am functioning really well. I am so busy, I don’t have time for my time-wasting standbys like Facebook, games online, email. I barely have time to sleep. It’s a blessing and a saving grace. I am “pre-dreading” the days beyond, the hot summer, with too much time stretched out before me.
If having inklings of real awareness hurt this much, I don’t want to feel the brunt of it, not anytime soon.