…But not it is not really the alone part that bothers me, it’s the being without him, without my soulmate and life partner.
I started to feel sorry for myself last night as I sat in a bed in the Emergency Department of the same hospital where my beloved died a little over a month ago.
I was being seen for a bronchial infection and an aspiration, that was causing severe and violent bouts of coughing. After two lung/respiratory treatments, some other medications, lab work and a chest X-ray, I was finally discharged home, six hours after arriving.
Exhausted and medicated, I finally slept better than I have since David was admitted through that very ED, back at the end of October.
I puttered around the apartment today, starting one project but moving on to another before finishing the first, overwhelmed at the amount of work there is to do. And this is just household work, as I took a break from all of the “work” work.
I so want this part of it to be over so that I can just focus on my grief, the immensity of my loss of the person who meant the most to me in my life and who made me feel safe.
Where do I go from here?! What am I supposed to do? I know that I have a lot to do to close out David’s work, it could be a year or two before all is settled. And I can honor him by carrying on with his mission to make the world a more equitable place for all people.
And then, there is his story/our story. So many people have asked me to write about it in a book. His story alone would make for a very long and fascinating book. Our story, picking up when we met, is a beautiful story of deep and unconditional love and of the saving of each other by one another.
We would often lament the fact that we hadn’t met sooner, yet we both acknowledged that we met at the perfect time in our lives. And while we each wished that we could have saved the other from some of the misery of our lives before we met, perhaps we had to go through what we did separately in order to more appreciate our togetherness.
I thought that I had experienced love before, and I suppose that I had, but not like this. Not love of this intensity that grew stronger every day. Not an all-consuming love that I was so in need of that it felt as though David was my oxygen and when I was away from him I could scarcely breathe. We loved being together. All of the time.
We loved this life we had created together, and though there were health challenges for both of us, we just never imagined the end…we did not want to. There were nights when I laid in bed in his arms and I would start silently weeping. He would ask what the matter was, and I would tell him that I was just imagining that this would come to an end, that one of us would die, to which he responded by holding me tighter and telling me he “wasn’t going anywhere.”
He came back from near death so many times that I started to believe that he would never die. He would never leave me. And he wouldn’t. Intentionally. But he had gone through so much with each hospitalization that it took its toll on him. He was very tired at the end, unusual for this guy that got up every day with a sense of eagerness to seize the day. No one else besides me realized how difficult just getting out of bed was for him, not to mention getting his functionality back after waking up nearly blind and paralyzed every morning.
I believed in our Fairy Tale 100%. It took me 52 years to find him, I could not let myself believe that I could lose him. And yet I did…