I know it’s not healthy to think about what could have been. But sometimes I let my mind wander and take a peek of the life we could have had if you had never had your accident. I know this can’t ever exist, but I will always wonder.
I will always wonder if we would have grown old together. If we truly would have decorated our wheelchairs together, like we wanted to. I wonder if we would have gone to Rome, New York, and Hawaii like we said we would.
I wonder if we would buy our cabin up North. I wonder if we would have had more children together. I wonder how you would have grown as a man and as a father to our children. I would have liked to have seen your face, as our little girl continues to hit her milestones and experiences new things. I wonder if you would have held my hand throughout the years, as we would walk beside each other.Read more
To my beloved husband, Chuck D, as we approach the 6th anniversary of your memorial service, which we held 6 months out from your death…
I know I did everything as perfectly as I could in those few short weeks between finding the cancer, our hospice time, and your death.
I know this more than I know anything else in my life.
Doubt lingers in the corners of my mind and pops out in my most vulnerable moments, such as now. Such as everyday of living without you.
Just one doubt.
Was I at your side enough in our hospice time? Should I have moved into that hospice room with you and not moved until I had to? Did I err in going, every so often, back to our rented condo, to sleep…even though I never slept when I was there. Shadows of your impending death were ever on my mind. I knew I was a widow in waiting, no matter where I was. I didn’t need to hear a clock ticking away the time: my heart was more of a reminder than any clock.
I didn’t stay with you every night, and that thought has more power over me than I want it to.
There were many nights that I did, and I was there every day, but I wasn’t there every minute, even though I wanted to be. What I wanted was to lay down beside you and never move. Hold onto you for every breath. Breathe with you and for you. Take your place in that bed, with cancer attacking my body relentlessly.Read more
This new world of widowhood and what is different now, besides everything:Read more