What the fuck?

No, I’m not adjusting well to being widowed, in case you were wondering.

Mostly, during the limited time that I was awake yesterday, I was just stunned, wondering what the fuck just happened.

I mean, I know my husband suddenly got really sick and died. From the time of his last hospitalization until he was dead was 12 days. And I can’t even wrap my head around that. It just makes no sense at all.

Five days before he was hospitalized, I went a little crazy at a store on my way down to pick up Dylan for the semester break at A&M. I spent a little too much on Aggie gear and I told my husband about it. He said it was okay because I was just showing how proud I was of my Aggie and that was justifiable.

And now, a little over a month later, J’s dead and Dyl has dropped out of A&M, most likely forever.

It’s not even just that things changed but that it all happened so fast. My mind can’t even catch up with what has happened.

Interestingly, my MIL says she’s still so angry at God for taking her only son. And I know everyone grieves in their own way and her usual reaction to death is to be angry with the person for dying. (Hence, her belief that J wouldn’t have died if only he’d listened to her and hadn’t taken chemo.)

I’m not angry, though—I’m relentlessly sad and heartbroken.

Amy told me a couple of interesting things I hadn’t known about J, though. One was just the day before he died and he said he had Bauhaus’ “In the Flat Field” going through his head. And I know he really liked that album so it didn’t necessarily mean his thoughts were dark. Maybe it brought him comfort. But I went back and listened to that album again after she told me that and it just seemed so dark and ominous to me.

I’ll never know if that album going through his head was comforting to him or if it was ominous and not knowing bothers me a lot.

The other thing was a couple of months ago. Amy had a good-paying job but she was absolutely miserable there. Her boyfriend was telling her to quit but she still wasn’t sure. She felt that she should “tough it out” because that’s what she thought J would do.

Apparently, J told her to quit and not to use him as an example of how to be a good employee. He told her that if he ever got to retire, he would be spending most of his time in retirement in therapy because of all the things he went through.

And that just breaks my heart more than I can even put into words. I know that he did all of that for us and I also know that his mom and stepdad were so proud of him for his “work ethic.”

But I can’t help but feel really responsible for how hard he had to work. In many respects, I can even see it that his whole life was sacrificed for us. I wonder if he felt that it was worth it. Was it okay, especially if it shortened his life or didn’t give him enough to live for?

Maybe that’s why he was so resistant to going to therapy—maybe the therapist would have told him to make a change, like to choose himself over taking care of us. He knew that would have been pretty much impossible and he felt like he was between a rock and a hard place.

It nags at me, not knowing. I will likely be thinking about this for a long, long time.

I hope that at the very least he knew how much we appreciated him and his efforts. I think he did. But what if he always wanted to stop and just felt like he couldn’t?

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