Today is (would have been) my wife’s birthday (if she hadn’t died). It’s also the day, three years ago, that we made the decision to discontinue treatment for her metastasized lung cancer and called hospice.
I wish the date wasn’t burned into my memory.
In a few weeks it will be Thanksgiving. This used to be my favorite holiday. I’d have a 4 day weekend off. For the first 20 or so years of our marriage, my wife would make a feast with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing and gravy that I loved. She’d add jello mold, sweet potatoes with marshmallows and green bean casserole that everyone (but me) loved.
We’d drink wine. We’d putter round the kitchen together. I’d watch football and take the dogs on a long hike through the woods. We’d have family and friends over. Sometimes we’d build a fire. After a relaxing day and a huge meal, we’d wash and put away all the “good” dishes and send everyone home.
Then, we’d feast again on leftovers and pumpkin pie in front of the TV watching movies.
After 20 years, we changed our Thanksgiving tradition due to relocations to distance states and the deaths of family members. Instead of a big family feast, it was just the two of us. So we’d get Chinese takeout or grill steaks then eat together while watching a movie. It was still a wonderful and relaxing time.
A few times, her son Zack would join us for Thanksgiving. On those occasions, Ellen would make a traditional dinner so he could enjoy her traditional homemade cooking.
The last Thanksgiving we had was the worst of my life (and hers). Ellen was in terrible pain from the cancer that had spread to her bones. By this time, I was expecting she might die any night from the pain. I hoped she would to end her suffering.
Zack and his girlfriend came over.
I was unable to get anything together in advance and since Ellen was no longer eating, I figured we’d skip Thanksgiving dinner.
But somehow, my wife forced herself out of bed and said she wanted to eat with us. So I left in a freezing cold downpour to find food.
The only place open was Boston Market. I drove around for hours and then stood in line for an hour. Finally reaching the counter I ordered a plethora of cafeteria style food and returned home after several hours with cold, reheated food.
My wife pretended to eat, but had no appetite. Plus her pain had worsened to the point where she needed to go back to bed. But she insisted that the rest of us eat.
So the kids and I picked at our sad, crappy meals in front of the TV while my wife endured agony in the bedroom. After a few minutes, I threw everything out and went to be with her.
A week later was wife went to inpatient hospice because none of the pain medications we had at home were giving her any relief. She wanted to die at home. I promised to do this for her. But when the pain got so bad that she needed 24×7 IV morphine, our only option was inpatient care.
My wife spent a week there in a semi-comatose state brought about by medicine, pain and the dying process.
Then she died.
I spent that Christmas alone for the first time in 29 years. I don’t remember anything about it other than being wracked by crippling grief and waves of sadness 24/7.
It’s been 3 years since then. I have gone through grieving and am on the other side of the intense mourning process.
But I dread this time of the year.
To make matters worse, the pool closes for Veterans Day, 2 days for Thanksgiving and 2 days for Christmas. Just when I need to exorcise my demons with intense exercise, I’ll instead be spending a series of days at home, alone.
I’m not particularly despondent. I don’t feel fully of self pity or even grief. But I dread the flood of memories that November and December bring.
Of course I don’t look forward to this time of the year. How could I feel any different?