I thought I was so smart

Tomorrow marks 3 months since Ed passed.  It feels like 3 days; it feels like 3 years...it all depends on the moment.  I miss him so much.  I think back to those days in the hospital when my focus was his care and when I knew his days here with me were coming to an end.  I was strong for him and provided the love and caring that he needed.  And when it was time to let him go, I told him it was okay because it was what he needed.

But never once did I think about today and how I could possibly live without him.  I thought about his dying and never about my living.  Even when he was first diagnosed with cancer, we knew and recognized that this meant his life was going to be cut short.  And at every event since that time, we celebrated the fact that he was still here.  But never did we think about what my life would be like without him.  Just typing this sounds so selfish.  I mean, he's dying, so how in the world can I think about what life would be like for those who get the privilege to live on.

But when the moments of grief come, it does not feel like a privilege.  It is painful and lonely and no one can prepare you for it.  As I recall those moments when I sat next to his bed and tears would form, they were tears for the loss that would be.  They were tears for the suffering Ed was enduring.  But they were never tears for what I might face.

I recall so clearly the day I signed Ed onto hospice and the social worker went through her checklist of all their services.  Someone to stay with Ed so I could get a break--nope, don't need that--I have family and besides, there was no place else I wanted or needed to be.  Clergy/religious support--nope, I've got three different priests visiting--don't need that.  Bereavement support for after Ed passes--nope, certainly don't need that--I'm strong and besides I've got family and friends.  All we needed was for Ed to be comfortable and for the insurance to cover whatever option we chose.

I thought I was so smart, knowing everything.  I knew Ed's blood pressure, temperature, pulse rate.  I knew what medications he was on and the timing of each of them.  I knew when he last ate and I knew both his input and output.  And I knew what insurance would cover and wouldn't.  And I knew it was about making Ed's last days as comfortable and pain free for him as possible.  And I would handle his death and any bereavement just as efficiently.  I thought I was so smart.

The social worker from hospice knew better and Ed knew better.  The hospice worker, she had years of experience.  That's how she knew.  I don't know how Ed knew, but he did.  He told his sister and he told Dan that this was going to be hard on me and they both, individually, needed to be there for me.  He acknowledged I was strong, but even so, he said, this would be difficult.  How did he know?  Neither of us had ever experienced this level of grief before.  And I scoffed at him too.  The man who knew me better than anyone else.  How could he think I was that weak.  I would deal with this the same way I dealt with everything--efficiently and matter-of-fact.

I thought I was so smart.  I now know I was so wrong...