Three months... Something about the threes. I lost my husband on January 4th of this year after he was diagnosed with glioblastoma, the serious brain cancer that took John McCain, Ed Kennedy and Beau Biden. We found out in early August, and a few days later he had surgery that left him paralyzed on his left side and only some use of his right. They gave him a year. He got COVID, and as we now know, it likes to go to brain tissue in many people. It did not manifest so much as a cough, but sped up the cancer. I only had 4 months with him.
My brother and his wife have been wonderful; work, so understanding. My friends, so nice.
His side of the family, mixed bag. His stepbrother is convinced my husband stole money from his mom (he didn't). He's been adding to my grief and stress.
Last week we finally got some small items and my husband's old Jeep over to the stepbrother. I wasn't expecting the void of the empty driveway.. My husband is gone. His belongings are also going, slowly.
I felt very hopeless and unable to cope this week. Now I get why. I've been seeing a therapist, my doctor, gone to a grief group, meditating, playing music, eating healthfully sometimes, less healthy other times. Doing mostly the right things. And damn if I didn't feel right back at the beginning and hopeless and unable to deal with the trauma of it all.
Thank you, all, for reminding me this is a long saunter, and not a 100 yard dash.
💞💞
