Margm

I do not want to be a burden on my kids, someone they have to come see, someone who does not know them. My sister told me to be prepared for Mama not knowing me. That is ironic. My mom has had some mental disorder all her life. I think they would call it borderline personality disorder now. We did not know this when I was small, we just knew Mama did not have friends. She did not need friends, she had 6 brothers and sisters to fuss with, and a husband to fuss at, and two kids. Once when staying with Mama after she broke her hip, she started in on me. I told her "Mama, I am not one of your sisters, I am not going to fuss with you." She looked like I had slapped her. I was redheaded and freckle faced. I had naturally curly hair that Mama liked to put in a frizz permanent. With me and my dog, I looked like Little Orphan Annie. Mama had black hair, Daddy had black hair. My daddy's mama was my Mammaw, I lived close to her, and was the only grandchild for nearly nine years. Her grandparents had both been redheads so she doted on me. Yet, my mama looked at me my whole life like she did not know where I came from. Going to see her this Thanksgiving and her not knowing me might be somewhat of a shock, but maybe not as great a one as my sister thinks. Mama has always had a sharp tongue. When I was young people would ask her where I got my red hair. Mama in her caustic tongue would say "from her daddy." People would say, "but Elvie has not got red hair." Mama would say "no he doesn't."

When we were RVing, my cavalier attitude was, if death is following us, we will outrun it. My son, a navy disabled veteran was shot in the leg.. The rangers found us in the Gila Wilderness, against all odds. We were on the river, but in a campground off the beaten path. We came home and coming out of the mountains, it took us 19 hours of straight driving through to find our son so packed with many blood transfusions from our friends that we did not recognize him in the ICU. They had had to stop surgery and then later when stable they performed it and saved his life. He had an attitude after that, that when it is your time, you will go. Not me, we were going to outrun death. I have been brought to my knees. Indeed, when it is your time to go, you will go. My imaginative magic life has flat lined. All my miracles, all my magical life, looking for signs of Angels, those times of finding them for myself, they are no more. Maybe one day they will reappear just like the cardinal that just sat on my patio this cold morning and the crow cawing in one of the trees. The wax around my brain and heart has not melted yet. I hope it will in the future because this flat line existence is not living. My widow friends give me hope. Margaret, it has only been five weeks that he has been gone. Now I have to find myself...........somewhere, somehow. But, he is me, I am him. We said that so many times. I will drive myself the 170 miles to my daughters on Wednesday. My son and his girlfriend will come later so that they do not have to babysit me for a few days. My son is ever faithful to me, trying to protect me as he himself is grieving. I will go over and see my mother, who has Alzheimer's and my sister. I will see my granddaughter. I will go the route that Billy and I always took, and I will cry. I will miss him. But, like he said, the one who is left must stay. I have watched TV and I have laughed. Laughter is good medicine.

Brad, I have one of my widow friends (at my age, I have many widow friends), who lost her husband, a relative of mine some 17 years ago. He left suddenly, during his sleep, still a young man. They were not together as she was helping attend to their daughter at the surgery of their tiny grandchild. They left each other after an argument. The coroner had taken his body before she could come home. Still 17 years later, this beautiful woman has unsettled grief. All these years later, she owns her own business, meets people every day and still grieves unsettled grief. Yes, she has had counselors, yes we will have them or have had them. I think the Rumi poem I posted somewhere yesterday says it all. We can have people walking this road with us, but when it comes down to it, we still have to walk it alone. My widow friends offer me hope for the future. One has remarried and this husband of about 12 years is on his path out of this world too. So, again, she will go through and down this path none of us want to walk on. While I say that my widow friends offer me hope for the future and I mention one that has remarried, that is not the hope for the future I intended. My hope for the future is just to live a day without tears (and I think I may have had at least one day). My mama with Alzheimer's tells the tale of having had two husbands. My sister tells me that she tells this story with such conviction that it almost is believable.. But, knowing all of my mama's now deceased immediate family, their loud mouths would have let that secret be known to community, friends, relatives so long ago that we know it is not true. So, maybe if we live to our later years, we can live in a mind that remembers an imaginative life where grief is no more.

My body will not run around in senseless circles 24/7. Why does my wax laden brain and heart run around in circles? The first 18 years I spent wondering what I was going to do, what was I going to be, who was I going to marry. The next 54 were spent in a productive life, raising a family, being married, going around detours, over speed bumps and finally shifting into cruise in that precious life. Now, what is left? Who am I, what am I, where am I going, what am I going to do when I get there? My friend, also a widow, told me now I can find who I really am. I wonder if they serve alcoholic drinks at my pity party. No, wait, they won't let me drink alcohol. I have pills enough saved up. I do have alcohol left over from many years ago, but wait, I cannot drink it. No, I am not suicidal, I have grandchildren and two middle aged children that I cannot put them through what we are going through right now. Billy faced my death, but I had a miracle. We faced his death, we wanted a miracle, but we had used all our miracles up. Billy said, the one who is left must stay. Okay, here I am. He is me, I am him. We were one. Now we really are one. The wind is blowing furiously, it is a cold front coming in. The clouds are white and gray, but the sun has come out. In a mixture of words I have heard before "I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep." I think this is what we call "one of our bad days."

Debi, I tried writing last night. I just had to delete what I wrote. What could I say that hadn't been said. Yesterday, my son took his girlfriend to the cardiac clinic of the hospital my husband was in last. They had kept him in the ER, sitting in a corner, puking his guts out for 4-5 hours waiting. I kept going up to the desk. I kept telling them he needed in a room. Who the heck was I? I was just his wife. At one point I went up to them and told them he was getting comatose. He had been diagnosed as CA of colon. That was done in the major hospital of the state that kept us prisoner. Yes, I wrote them how the staff surgeon had told us we would not be accepted at another hospital, we had a workup in progress. They prepped him three days for a colonoscopy. He was in misery having female nurses give him enemas in his room, giving him chemicals to make him having BM's to try to clean him out. He was so exhausted. We had Blue Cross/Blue Shield insurance and Medicare. Yet the staff surgeon said no other hospital would take us. (Our hematologist at the cancer center, where he received only two treatments, he had said that was really not quite true. I felt we were prisoners. I wrote this hospital that did so much to advance his weakness. Yes, he had a disease that was going to take his life eventually. The night in question we were in the ER of one of the hospitals that I had retired from. I did get him out of the big hospital. His cancer treatment would be the same anywhere we went. This night though, those 4-5 hours without receiving the boluses of saline to save his life hastened his death. I could possibly have kept him "months" like one of the surgeons had given as a prognosis at the big hospital. He was in pain (they let me give him his own pain medicine and from the wheelchair he slept on my shoulder. Finally, after 4-5 hours they started a bolus of ice saline. He shivered with chills. Still, I did not know the end was minutes away, I thought months. I was angry with him when he turned those beautiful hands up to me in surrender. I should have been holding him instead of angry because he was giving up. He could not fight anymore.. Now, over a month later, I see that. He had thrown up so much, no food in his stomach for days, no liquids except the saline boluses he had had Monday and Tuesday of that week at the cancer center. No chemo, just the saline. Chemo should have been the week after he passed away. I think his heart, his strong heart gave way on him from the workups that had been done. Possibly the throwing up of his guts, nothing in his stomach for days, possibly it ruptured the aneurysm they had found in the back of his brain only a month before. Whatever the reason, whatever the death certificate said, whatever anger I expressed with him for giving up (and what wife expresses anger at a frail husband that she wanted a miracle to save?) I can blame myself. The outcome would have been the same. I could not save him. The miracles I had been granted were not to be for him, the most important person who had helped save me twice. The cardiac clinic of this hospital had made a woman about my age stand up at the door, they had called her to the door, no one would open it for her and she could not get in. She stood at that door for probably 10 minutes. My son saw this. His anger spilled out. He yelled at them to open the door. What kind of hospital was this that made people wait until they died. Yes, this hospital had hastened the death of his father just for the very thing of making patients wait so long needlessly. He used a few choice words that for his sake, I am happy they did not call security.. He took his frustrations out on the establishment that had hastened his father's death. He had his say. The outcome would have been the same. But, the fact that an ER will let a man expire in the ER from lack of help is unheard of. No, it is heard of, it happens. It just should not happen. I have typed patients who had an artery necessary to the liver cut during gallbladder surgery. Simple gallbladder. They had to replace the liver. How can they do that when people are waiting for liver transplants, but this patient gets a new liver. I don't know how long she actually lived and I often wonder if that head of surgery, the staff surgeon might not have taken the chief resident's own liver and replaced it. (Of course he did not do that, but I'll bet he wanted to.) One time a blood pressure cuff stayed on in surgery, malfunctioned and the limb had no blood supply, the patient lost that limb. In my 43 years I have typed so many mistakes that cost people their life. My last report was a simple colonoscopy on a 48-year-old woman. The gut was pierced. The daughter that was there to take her mom home had to take her mom as deceased. Hospitals are not infallible. Humans run them. My life was saved twice by humans that could not save Billy's, even for the few months he possibly had. My son got to express his rage at the system that hastened his precious father's life. No matter how much we second guess ourselves we cannot bring them back. I bathed Billy, I did wipe his behind. He was my baby. My mother's attitude was in the forefront. His man's attitude was that he wanted none of this. He did not want to be pushed in a wheelchair or bathed by his wife, or to lose any more of his dignity. No matter what we did, or did not do, no matter what the nurses or doctors did, or did not do, the results are the same. We become fellow travelers on this grief forum none of us wanted to join, but have had to, just to try to make sense of our endless suffering. I am so sorry my friend, my feeling and very humanly loved friend.

Thank you Kay. I hated school. She loved school. Your right, I was a wife (sometimes not so great), and she never married. So, now she takes care of my 94-year-old mom and teaches part-time. Starting in January, my daughter and I will swap up helping take care of my mom. She has Alzheimer's and still smokes. Seems the smoking helps keep her calm. She is a medical marvel. She and her brother started picking up "shorts" on the church yard before she started school. No kidding. I remember her often calling cigarettes her friends. Now, my mom is the last of a very large family. Life is a total riddle sometimes isn't it? I worked for 43 years as a medical transcriptionist. I loved my job and learned something new every day. In school my favorite subject was typing. So, guess I got a little something from school. I am absolutely proud of my sister though. She is almost 9 years younger than I am.

I wrote my sister, the teacher, thinking I would be smart and let her know I had discovered an ancient poet. Now, she is the political one. She watches the news programs and I try to watch a comedy on Netflix to keep my wax wrapped brain intact. Here is what she wrote me. "Yes, once I discovered Rumi's poems, my first thought was that he must be some new contemporary poet. I did not explore him then, but when I began to teach World Literature and ran across him among the Medieval Troubadours, I was quite impressed. He has been popular for all the the 21st century now. There are others from his era, too, who write as if they might be walking among us today. I think we can thank new translators who do not feel they have to use a Shakespearean dialect to render the translations." Well, of course she knew of him. I barely scraped by in school but that girl was a failure if she made less than an A. I was proud of C's and B's. But, she writes poetry herself.

Karen, I'm so sorry. Today I got out in front of my house (dead end circle drive) and our houses are separated by hills and valleys. I walked from one big crack in the road to another big crack in the road, just walking and trying to talk to God. I wanted 54 more years with Billy, which of course would have been impossible. So, I thanked him for the 54 that I had with this wonderful father, grandfather and husband. Some of my friends did not have that long. I am so selfish though, I wanted more and more. One of my friends who had cancer of the lungs, she was a young woman, she and I were walking the stairs to another doctor's appointment. Her brother (a doctor) was my boss. She said she questioned God and said "why now? Why now that I have just got my two girls graduated from high school and married." Then, she said "Well, why not now, he could have taken me before I finished this job of raising them." I have asked God "why" so many times. Billy is the one who helped me with my faith. Now, I have to search for answers for myself. I sure don't have any answers to all your prayer and grief. I am not that good a person. I am like you, I would be questioning. My friend who took care of her invalid husband seven years, totally took care of everything, he had had a stroke. She said she would have done it for seven more if she could have kept him. She is such a good Christian woman, and I wish I were more like her. She has faith and trust in God. I wish we could all find answers to our questions. I pray each night for faith. I pray to stop the crying. It does not stop. But, I do have friends that are Christian women who have lost their husbands, one lost a four year old daughter (which I cannot even imagine her grief), and my aunts daughter, my cousin, died in her 16-year-old son's arms, a hopeless alcoholic. I thought today of all the people that were killed in these senseless terrorist acts. They all had families that grieve for them too. I think one man's son's, two of them were involved in the carnage, and he has a 15-year-old son that is missing. My understanding of all this could not help a gnat on the head of a straight pin. So, it is best if I shut up. I have lots of questions. I don't have answers.

I added one of his sayings to another page and I hope I did not blow it up. I don't know how to add things, but I sure added this one. I am enjoying this very much. I would have liked to hear it in Farsi. One of our transplant surgeons came from northern Iran, cannot remember the place. I used to know. He would dictate 3-4 pages of surgery and honestly, I would just try to keep the anatomy close to the place he was operating on. I think he is still in Shreveport.

I have been reading Rumi. Some of his works are inspirational. I don't think I uploaded the picture correctly. I am computer challenged. (A few others too).

I have never read Rumi, but I will search now. You, my sweet girl, you know so much more about the world than I do. I was raised in a paper mill town, small, went to the same school 12 years, and my generations upon generations are all buried within a probable 100 mile or less radius. My mama told me not to search our genealogy. Oh, I wanted to find some famous outlaw. Well, my granddaddy's brother did go to jail for stealing a pig. Billy's relatives, one was married to Jessie James. Mine have been traced to Henry VIII's wife Anne Boleyn and to also Meriwether Lewis. I think Anne's only child was Elizabeth the First, so I don't know where the others were. I saw my great grandmother's picture and at last, I knew my people were the settlers of this great land that the white man came and stole all our land from us. Alas, she was not Pocahontas or Geronimo's wife. She was an Irish woman who was making the bed one day and her son-in-law's pistol hit the floor and discharged killing her and her unborn baby. Also, have learned most were actually German from something called Pennsylvania Dutch, or something like that. I doubt that any Native American tribe would have accepted a carrot topped, freckled child into their company anyhow. I am going to read Rumi now. Thank you so much. My sister teaches college writing/English courses. I know she knows of Rumi. She is our political person in the family. Again, I am just brain numb right now, but I wish everyone could be safe. Wars have been fought because of religion. I just wonder why. You can tell, I am a child of the early 1960's, but I certainly had reverence and pride in our Vietnam boys when they returned. I hated how our country treated our boys that had to fight that war. Disgraceful then and now too. I wish you peace and safety, and love.

Thank you Debi. I used to believe in a lot of things that my dead brain does not recognize right now. If my heart and brain are just enveloped in wax, maybe the heat of the furnace this winter will melt them. If it is rock enveloping them.................well, let's just hope it is not rock. I have heard this about cardinals. My cousin, who lost her husband a year or so before Billy, she sent me about the cardinals. Knowing Billy though, he will appear as a black crow, as that was his favorite bird. That's okay, I like crows too. The author Edward Abbey said he wanted to come back as a buzzard. I think I have seen him a few times. I hope things are easing up for you all in Brussels. Seems the whole world is having a crisis. On my Facebook there are some saying do not take any of them into this country. Then some of them are saying Jesus, Joseph and Mary were from this area. But, I remember reading recently that in about 1939, they were voting to not let Jewish people in. Gosh knows, the Irish sure got a bad lot of it when we/they first got off the boat years and years ago. Myself, I have no opinion, gotta melt this wax around my brain and heart first. I just want people to be safe everywhere. My mama used to say "if wishes were horses, beggars would ride." I loved that in my magic fairy tale childhood. I got married and Billy's mama said "wish in one hand and s__t in the other and see which one fills up the fastest." By that age, I understood my mother-in-law's saying the most.

Actually crows are very intelligent. I don't know where you live, but traveling through the Gila Wilderness in NM once we saw a cougar. Was not afraid of us at all. Turned around and disappeared like a ghost. I think you must be in Canada, maybe BC or in one of the northern states. We had planned on Idaho as our next RV journey, and I cannot see it without him right beside me. Where ever you live, it sounds very interesting to a southern flatlander. I nearly fell yesterday by just not picking my shoes up high enough. It is an easy thing to do. Kay, I admire your courage in the woods. Right now I am even just afraid of the dark in my room at night. I hope this disappears. I lived in an RV one time that was 19 feet long. Billy and I were separated for a month in the early 1990s. I never was afraid in that tiny space. It is these big houses with all these big rooms that scare me, and an imagination that needs sedating.

Billy could talk to them and they would talk back. He called them one time with a call that meant one was in trouble and when they saw they were fooled by humans, i am kind of glad I did not know what they said back to us. I knew crows were very intelligent and associate Billy with crows more than cardinals. I don't think it has chosen my spirit as its totem animal, I think probably the little country mouse is my totem.

Brad, with all my heart, I believe God understands. My son told me today that almost two years ago when only some miracle saved me, that at my worse his dad said he would just take the RV and head for the woods. I knew that. But, he was me. I was him. I cannot go to the woods alone, they scare me at night. They did not scare him. He would use his varmint calls and we would go to these vast woods in Arkansas. He did this for pleasure. There was no gun involved. He was not going to shoot anything. I would stand out beside him until I heard something running through the underbrush in those dark woods, then I headed for my side of the truck and locked my door. Billy was at home in the woods, and I was too (in the daylight). I should have gone first, he could have put all my stuff in the RV. There is no way I could put all of his fishing equipment, his gun cabinet, and this desk that was the only piece of furniture he ever picked out. Billy did not believe in the supernatural, but I saw vampires and werewolves behind every tree. Since "the one that is left must live" then that is what I will have to do. The RV was going to be if either one of us left, and I agreed. Only, I did not realize at that time that I was going alone.

Debi, I think, like you think, we are just impatient. I still have hope. Some people think that the appearance of a cardinal is our loved ones. I know that sounds outlandish to some people. The sun is out here. I had to conduct some business this morning on the phone, business that should have been finished in person yesterday on my trip to the "big city." I just had a red cardinal sit on my porch by my patio window. I stood up and it flew into the woods behind my house. I would have been comforted by that if my heart did not have a shell around it. I hope that shell is made of wax and will melt when my blood runs warm again. Billy loved crows, and could talk to them with his calls. Strange to associate Billy with a black crow, but I have lots of crows. We feed them our scraps, always have. Someone told me God is standing right beside me waiting for me to reach out my hand. I pray at night, and sometimes I feel it going further than the ceiling. Then in an instant the ceiling throws it back at me. I think some got through though.

Cami, I am so sorry. This has to be terrible on you. Justice won't bring him back but I hope it brings a small relief to see the dirt bag put away for taking something so precious. And, the "I should have been there" happens in all our minds. My own guilt envelopes me more times a day than I care to explain. And, I was there. I just was not holding him when I should have been. I hope you can find some small moment of solace from this group. Just a moment helps. Again, I am so sorry.

Symbolism is no more idle fancy or corrupt egerneration; it is inherent in the very texture of human life: Alfred Whitehead When I was so very ill, both times over the past 33 years, I leaned upon my religion, my faith. I admit, I saw things during this time that gave me hope. This was during the time that the Christian religion was predominant in the south, and I watched for "signs." The M.D. Anderson community of hospitals was a vast complex with heart hospitals and other big hospitals in Houston. I felt bereft of my faith and Billy reminded me of the Bible story of the shepherd who would leave his 99 sheep in search of that one lost sheep. And, Billy was not a man who preached religion, but at a time I needed my faith, he brought it back to me and I was comforted. On the way for my final results of all the tests, one of the many modes of transportation in this big city had a billboard on the side that said "I am Jesus Christ, I will give you health." This passed directly in front of us and made us slow down. At the time Billy did see it, but in later years he would not remember seeing it. Ghosts, supernatural things, Angels, they were not part of Billy's belief system. A very long story, and mine are long enough anyhow. This has always been a part of my life. And now, when I want to see "signs" of Billy possibly communicating to me, it just won't happen. Maybe later. I had Billy cremated, as I want to be myself. Everyone has their own belief in how to handle these things. Just like Frank Gifford did not want a funeral service, neither do we. I have been to too many of them. Right now I have his urn next to his brothers, who passed away in 2001. My girlfriend takes her husband's urn to family gatherings and sometimes in the car to talk to him. In reality, in some people's reality, they are gone. In our reality, we take some comfort in this symbolism. But, I am still waiting for him to speak to me, to make me feel him. I know in reality that cannot happen, but imagination was such a part of my childhood and sometimes in adulthood. I believed in Angels. I want to believe again. Maybe, and I know God understands, when I get rid of my, perhaps anger, with God for taking Billy, maybe then. Maybe when I least expect it. I realize not everyone's religion is the same, or even if a person has religion, but mine has been important to me and I am waiting, watching, and praying I can find my faith again. Billy always could help me, but "the one left must stay" and I am the one left.

I visited some other sites also. These people make you feel at home. We are all going on this long journey together. Just say what you feel. You might find sometimes I might say a little too much, but so far they have not kicked me off. But I do Facebook. Some of the girls that I graduated with in 1960 (and yes, they are still girls to me), they have lost their husbands and they have been very supportive of me. One of my friends lost her husband last December. I had started to reach on Billy's side of the bed and say "your not there and you never will be again" and it hurt like heck. She told me never to do that, she told me to tell him how much I love him and he will always be with me. Just that simple little thing helped me so much. Of course he will be with me. I think I was trying to work on the "acceptance" part of grief but somehow it hurt worse. Also, she pulled up his chair that he always lay in (after he passed away) and she told him all the terrible things he had done against her during their marriage and then she told him all the wonderful things he had done and they far outweighed anything bad. She just sat and talked to that chair until she was exhausted, and it helped her. I did this on one of my trips to the "big city" that is 40 miles away from where I live. I talked to four of his hats all the way to town and all the way home. I thought it had really helped me but when I got out in the car and saw his hats just going to our little town I live in I cried all the way home. So, the water works come on at any time. I just cried all the way home today from the "big city" because I spent money that he should have been getting enjoyment from. My neighbor Hettie told me those times will come. Her husband has been gone two years and she has been my grief counselor extraordinaire since October 17th. We have to have someone. I mentioned that I would just be walking in circles anywhere if I did not have someone to talk to. They say grief is not a mental illness, but sometimes I feel certifiable. (See, sometimes I just go on and on.)

We just pour out our feelings Suzanne, just like you just did. We will all have an empty chair at Thanksgiving. Some people will have more than one empty chair. Please know that we all share your pain. All we can do is express it as best we can and everyone understands. And sometimes, maybe not often, but sometimes we receive some solace for just a second, but even one second is precious to us all. Please keep posting. Billy passed away October 17th. We were married July 3, 1961.

I know how much things can mean. You see, I went and bought a new purse today from J.C. Penney's. I would never buy any purse except from the thrift store. But, my daughter and sister gave me two purses one Christmas, both came from Penney's. I wore both purses out because I hate buying purses. I have some precious things to carry in the many pockets of this purse, and maybe you will smile, but the last things Billy handed me were his teeth. I have had his billfold since the first doctor's visit along with the $1 bill it had in it. I had to have a new purse, one that I bought, to carry his precious items in. I know how precious all these things are to us. And, there are so many things I cannot let go of, things that make no sense at all. My friend wrote me today telling me that now I had a chance to find myself. Right now I feel like an orphan in my second childhood.

Kay, my mom came from a large family and they used to fight over who ate the squirrel brains. My dad had goats. Mama was always tricking me. I would not drink goats milk but she put it in the regular milk bottle and it was great, but still would not drink it. Then, she fixed steak one time that was outstanding. Then she told me it was deer steak. I was a stupid teenager. Most everyone I know eats deer. They even let the kids have a day off school here for deer hunting. I have four in my backyard most always, woods behind me but it is posted. Billy has lots of pictures of them.

Hollowheart, I don't know how anyone like myself can give comfort to anyone. In March of 2014, I was so ill that I ran fever to 101 nearly every day for two weeks. My daughter, a former nurse, tried to get me to go to the doctor. I did, I went to our country clinic and they could feel a mass in my stomach and took an x-ray. There was definitely something. In the meantime, they sent me for an MRI and had me pick a surgeon to go to. They had picked Dr. Webb for me, a surgeon at St. Vincent. I had worked around him in that hospital before it changed its ownership and name. He was very arrogant and I disliked him very much so I picked another doctor who looked at my MRI and thought it was a urachal cyst, a remnant from our umbilical cords that happens sometimes and thought nothing needed done. I was satisfied. Then over the next couple of weeks the mass shifted around, I went back to my country physician, again was given sulfa drugs for kidney infection. That night, with the fever keeping on, I just did something I had never done. I totally passed smooth out and do not remember anything for a full week. Two weeks in the hospital. Could not eat. Doctor came in and told me what am I going to do with you, you need nutrients, your lab work is out of whack. Not exactly her words. I already had a cut down for a PICC line because I had overall sepsis from my colon rupture. The man that saved my life when the ambulance brought me into the hospital was my same arrogant Dr. Webb. His personality did not change, but the things he did to keep me from having a colostomy was not approved of by interventional radiology. They had to perform the procedure. In fact, they did not believe in this procedure with such a force that they had to call me when I got home to see if it was working. This same wonderful arrogant doctor had saved my life against all odds. And the doc that was worried about my out of control electrolytes, I told her to hook me up to TPN. She did. I lived on Ensure and Boost for awhile. Maybe it was during this illness, this close call to death that Billy came to the realization that "the one left must stay." I don't know. I just know I was supposed to be the one to go, not him. Now, I have to live for my kids, for my grandkids, for my sister, and for Billy also. Who could have known the amount of radiation that I had in 1982 would come back and bite me in the behind 32 years later. The one left must stay. And, it ain't no fun.

Guilt is part of this grief process. I know Billy knew I loved him more than life. I would tell him every night that I could not live without him. Yet, when he turned those beautiful hands to me, palms up in surrender, I got angry with him for giving up. The doctor had said we had months. I needed sleep. Billy needed me to hold him those last few moments and I was angry. How can I ever forgive myself for failing him when he needed me most. I turned my back on him. My chair was right up against his bed, but he passed away in those moments and I know I should have been holding him. He was not supposed to die. We were in the hospital. My last emotion to him was anger when I loved him and miss him so much. The only signs we had of illness was his back, which he had had trouble with for 30 or more years. Herniated disks, pinched nerves from this. He did not want big surgery. So, we got it seen about. They discovered the aneurysm in the back of his brain. They were to do surgery October 2nd. Then other things were discovered.. He was not supposed to go so fast. And my last emotion was anger. How can I ever forgive myself? After 54 years, I should have been holding him. And this guilt I have to put to the back of my brain, just like his aneurysm. The death certificate said "CA of colon" and no investigation by me will bring him back. I won't try. I just tell him how much I love him and I hope he can hear me. Okay, on edit the tears turned into a full guilt laden pity party and I even lost my breath. I went to get the mail in this rain and Billy's insurance information, the payoff and how I can get it was in the mail. I was crying so hard I could hardly see or walk. No amount of money will ever take his place. It gave me instructions on how I can take it all or take a draft at a time and have interest put into what I don't draw. Money is the least of my concerns. I succumbed to the terrible hysterical panic attack and I took a Xanax. Right now, addiction is the least of my concerns. Money is the least of my concerns. I have to take Billy off our joint account. Another nail, so to speak. Am I just feeling sorry for myself, or is it the weather, is it guilt, is it that I am going certifiably mad? I will let the Xanax take ahold. We have torrential rains, heavy winds. Our dry bed stream at the bottom of our hill is one of the little fast running rivers. Someone said seven inches of rains. Limbs are down. So am I. I know I have to get ahold of myself. Billy would tell me "Margaret you blame yourself for everything." I do. My own daddy used to question me if Billy and I fussed, he would say "what did you do?" I was usually doing something that was not approved of by my dad, but Billy did not care, he approved of me. I cannot go crying to Hettie. Hettie lost her own husband of many, many years and this weather brings her down also. Hence, I am writing this "book." Xanax taking hold. I cannot drink because of colon rupture. They told me not to drink. Hey, I did not drink to begin with. Made my feet itch. I know how to get off the Xanax. I took them seven years straight during the cancer and I coasted off them on my own. No residual harm. I can do it again. Right now though, I just plain don't want to. It is like the money or no money, I just don't care. I know eventually I will have to care about both. Not now though. My pity party is slowing down. Thank God for small favors.

Like my friend who lost her husband a few years ago, (he was an invalid for seven years, and she said she would have kept him for seven more, if she had been allowed),she is very health conscious, is actually prettier now all these many years after high school graduation, has been an administrative secretary for a church, other than her own faith, for close to 40 years. She is also deaf, although she once could hear. She is such a wonderful Christian woman, her husband was a deacon and that is when she misses him the most, when she is in church. Misses sitting shoulder to shoulder. I think my odd thing is I reach over to Billy's side of the bed each morning and for just an instant, just a small segment of time, I reach for him. Then, I realize he is not there and I do not linger in bed another moment. We are having straight line winds and a tornado watch this morning. I have to think for myself now. I have business that I need to attend to in "the big city" 40 miles away. I have to use my own common sense (which has been beaten to a pulp), about whether to go now or wait until tomorrow, when the sun is supposed to be abundant. Billy, over these past few years had decided he needed to drive me everywhere. I would get agitated because I was perfectly capable of driving myself. I still am. But, I will use what little common sense I have left and stick to the house today. I think of the childhood story of the little engine that could, and like that little engine climbing that hill, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." Knees are still shaking though. Today, I will stay at home. This second childhood growing up an orphan is hard.