4 Impossible Weeks Later

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It has been 4 weeks now since Dave died, and I am still no further along with the whole acceptance aspect. Disbelief still seems to be the prevalent stage in which I am stuck. I imagine there will come a time when I stop measuring time in this way, but I am not sure when that might be.

The older kids met with a counselor last week who deals specifically with cancer. He seems to feel that they are grieving normally, and he saw no big causes for concern. This is a relief. Parker meets with her counselor next week. I haven’t set up a time for myself yet. I know that I should, and that I need to, but I am not ready to face head on all of these feelings. (Although this is exactly what I told Sam that she needed to do.)

The sadness comes and goes. (Actually I am not sure it ever really goes.) Sometimes it washes over in an overwhelming wave seemingly out of nowhere. Other times there is an obvious trigger. A friend observed that there is a sadness/weightiness that I am carrying with me now that wasn’t there before. This makes sense. I have never been too good at hiding my feelings.

I still feel that everything went so quickly at the end, and there wasn’t enough time. I am not sure what I would have done differently, if anything, but I just wanted more time. When we called hospice (who were almost useless, by the way), I thought we would spend many weeks or even months at home. Even when we went to the hospital, I thought we would be there longer.

My head knows that everything went the way it was supposed to and that he didn’t needlessly linger or suffer. And I know in time that my heart will get on board with that too. I often wonder if I knew exactly when the last time he would be able to communicate with me if I would have done or said anything differently. We said everything that we needed to say to each other in the days and weeks preceding his death. I know without a doubt that he knows how very loved he was. But I think I would have said it all again. Just one more time. So I could have heard it back. Just one more time.

I have been seeing friends, doing things around the house, working on Dave’s party and generally staying busy. And that is fine until the silence and stillness settles back in around me. The feelings that return can leave me reeling. I know there will come a day when I stop measuring time from diagnosis (2 years, 11 months, 11 days) or since he died (4 endless weeks), but it is not today.

I wish I could say I feel him watching over me. My friends of faith turn to God during these times. But that is not where I live. Not right now. I am questioning and challenging a lot of beliefs that I have carried with me for most of my life. It could be argued that I might feel less alone. I guess this is part of the process.

4 weeks of missing you and over half a lifetime of loving you. I wish you were here.

xoxo,

Robyn

5 thoughts on “4 Impossible Weeks Later

  1. I am so sorry that you and the kids are going through so much pain and suffering Robyn, but I guess if Dave wasn’t such a great guy and father, and you all didn’t have such an amazing relationship you wouldn’t be feeling this way. So I guess if there is anything positive about it, I hope you find comfort in the fact that everything you are going through is because of the incredible love and life you had together. I am not sure if this helps at all, but I sure hope you don’t regret anything because I bet you and the kids (and Dave) gave it your all…and that is all you can expect. Sending you a big comfort hug.

    ~ Susan Weiglein

  2. To paraphrase incredibly special words spoken by your husband…Relax, one day at a time, you are loved. Remind me to show something to you the next time we see one another. Love, Theresa

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