Wendy Saint-Onge

Twenty six days after my husband's 46th birthday he sat in the doctor's office alone expecting to hear that he needed a cortisone injection in his back.  Instead, he was told he was dying of cancer.  Two days later, he told me.  Two hundred and seventy eight days after he told me, he died at home.  

During the time that Ben was sick we began writing a blog.  It started as a way to keep family and friends updated, but ended up being the only thing that kept me sane. I use blogging as a way to purge myself of pain, as a way to connect to others who get it, and as a way to offer help and receive help when I need it.  Mostly, I blog to remember Ben.


Grief Is A Funny Thing

Just when I find myself moving along a little more effortlessly and thinking, "I'll be damned.  I think I've got this handled" ... it happens.  WHAM!  Grief jumps out of nowhere and slams me so hard in the chest that I find myself gasping for breath and thinking, "What the fuck just happened there?" (Or, "what the heck just happened there?"  Depends on how much you curse, I suppose.  I enjoy the "F" word at times.  It has more oomph.)

That's what happened to me this past week.  I had a few really good days, in part because my friend Mary (who I met in San Diego at Camp Widow) came to visit.  It was so nice to have adult company around who just "gets it."  No explaining required.  And it's not as though we spent our days sitting around crying about the fact that our husbands oh-so-rudely decided to up and die on us.  On the contrary.  We toured Vancouver and did the ride over Canada that I have been wanting to do for quite some time.  We ate out (a lot) and watched a movie and just breathed.  I loved it. 

The nightmare in Vegas happened while Mary was here (did I mention that Mary is from Vegas?) and instead of losing my shit and thinking about all the terrible things that could happen in the future without Ben here, which I would normally do, I just sat with her while she made sure her loved ones were safe.  They were.  Thank God.

Eventually our visit came to an end and I took Mary to the airport and then drove myself back home.  Alone.  And that's when Grief came back to pay me another unexpected visit.

 

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