So….here we are. Two years later. (Last year’s post told the whole story.)
I am in an empty house tonight. The littles are with my aunt (God bless her up and down) because I will be working crazy people hours for the next four days.
Empty houses are quiet. My mind? Is not.
Two years ago, right about now, my sister was taking me back to the hospital after a big bowl of broccoli and cheddar soup at Panera. I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to sleep at home.
I hear it gets better after the two year mark. I am a wreck at the moment. I have the remnants of the creepy cruddy snot disease. I am physically tired beyond belief. I am trying to mentally prepare for difficult few days of work. My children are not here and, well, they too are okay with that. Which makes me…not.
This isn’t fair.
I have spent the last few nights going over the years we were together. I know. Not helpful. But I am so very, very grateful that we exchanged very few angry words. And that we always kissed goodnight and good morning. But I’m trying to figure out the purpose.
I was a really good wife. He was an excellent husband. Together, we were great parents. I just don’t understand…why it had to end. There doesn’t seem to be any significance.
There are no words. I know that. And when the words come out of somebody’s mouth…
“We just never know God’s plan, do we?” I’d like to request a new plan. I’ve put it in writing several times and it would seem that I am getting ignored.
“God only gives us what we can handle.” I’m just going to go ahead a call ‘bullshit’ on that one. Seriously.
“You made some beautiful children.” Yes. And I could have stood about two more. But I didn’t get the chance.
“You’re young. You never know what will happen.” Although I am equally intrigued and squigged out by the thought of another meaningful relationship. But get some business and mind it.
“I don’t know how you do it. I would just fall apart and not be of use to anyone.” Know what? You just do what has to be done. Meals need to be made, children must be tended and loved, and quite honestly, if I don’t do it…it doesn’t get done. So I don’t know how I do it either but falling apart is not an option.
How many times have I said, out loud and to myself, “I can’t do this”? And then I do. Over and over and over. And I’m tired. And now I’m rambling.
I miss him so much that it hurts. And then I get angry. And jealous of all the good marriages. And upset when people talk mean or spiteful to their spouses. Or about them. I am not cut out to be a 24/7 parent. Nobody is.
I keep going back to the WHY? What purpose? What good can come from this?
How does this story end?
Because two years ago, I thought the hard part was over. The sickness. The interventions. The fright. The smells. The sounds. Waking up, clutching the phone and wearing shoes. I thought that when the heart monitor was clicked off and the oxygen pump stopped that the worst was behind me.
I was wrong.
Really, really wrong.
And there are no words.