Why is it that the times you desperately need sleep, it eludes you like a dollar in a tornado? Since Mike has been gone these three weeks, I can’t sleep more than a couple of hours at a time. I can’t think, I’ve lost my drivers license, my wallet twice, my phone a dozen times and I have no clue where my husbands phone is….. I JUST had it….
I’m supposed to be starting a new job next week and my employer needs my social security card. I, AGAIN forgot to take it to him. I fell asleep again. For two hours. I posted on Facebook and went back to sleep… Three hours that time. I’ve been awake since midnight this time. It’s now 1:30 AM.
Yesterday I ate KFC for the first time in a while. That’s ALL I ate. Now I’m nauseous but not hungry. I ate a couple of those toaster hash browns about an hour ago after fixing youngest something to eat. I forgot to make dinner last night…again. I swear the kids are cooking only out of self preservation! Thank Heavens they are old enough to do that.
I think I need to go see my doctor and see if he can give me something to help me sleep. I can’t go on much longer like this….
There is so much to so today. Yesterday the autopsy was done. I struggled to breathe all day. It was like the life had been completely sucked out of me. I was supposed to make a million calls but only called his eye doctor so they would stop texting appointment reminders. I need to call the dentist, the bank, the bills are all in his name, Social security I’ll call Friday, when I get the death certificate…. I called the insurance company today only to find out there is no insurance on him. Only me and my son. Not any on our son. Tomorrow I have to go to the coroner’s office to pick up his things and the death certificate. Today I’m in contact with victim services to see about getting rental assistance and things like that.
Today, I’m crying as I pack away his clothing. I found his wedding ring and just bawled for half an hour. I’m not even sure why it’s not on his finger. I’m wearing it with my ring now. It feels right. At this moment, I am laying down, writing and crying. I feel so empty inside. I feel sick to my stomach and so God awful tired. It’s been three days since he died and everything feels so WRONG. Why did he have to be taken from me?
Today, at 3:30 AM, I found my husband dead, laying in the bed beside me. He was 57 years old. After struggling with dementia, heart issues, stomach issues… He’s finally at rest.
Now, I have to help my 14 year old, type 1 diabetic, son through the process of grieving his father. In 10 days he will turn 15. How do I help him understand? Husband was very sick. This my son knew but I don’t think any of us expected him to be gone…. not yet…
Damnit it’s not fair. My son should be hugging his father, not burying him. I’m not supposed to be a widow, for the second fucking time, before I’m 50. We don’t even know what killed him!
So far I know of no insurance, no burial plots, no money to bury him and his name was on ALL the bills AND the bank account. No will. NOTHING.
The only good thing is: The last thing we said to eachother was “I love you”
via Daily Prompt: Adrift
Today the storm has swelled. I am overwhelmed with the very thought of taking care of my family, my husband in particular. With tears in my eyes, I’ve watched him struggle all day. The dementia washes over him deeply today and he doesn’t understand what’s going on. It’s like he’s adrift at sea, tossed by the thoughts that have no rhyme or reason. Where will he land? Will tomorrow see the storm calmed? I can see him drowning and there’s no life preserver in sight. I’m losing him and there’s nothing I can do.
He asked when middle son had to leave for prom. Middle son is homeschooled. There is no prom. He is so lost and I don’t know what I can do to help him. He asks when eldest is getting home as he takes the 2 hour old dinner from the microwave and starts to toss it in the trash because he thinks it’s left over from last night. Eldest is in her room, talking to middle and hasn’t left the house all day. It’s 8 P.M. He thinks it’s morning. He doesn’t realise it’s the youngest child’s dinner, keeping warm till he awakens from his slumber.
I try to get him to go back to the bed he’s lain in all day. He argues and fusses that he’s not tired. He stumbles from the kitchen as I make him scrambled eggs and hash browns with a bit of bacon chopped up in it. I give him his plate and he spills half on the floor. He tries to clean it up but the dogs beat him to it. They have grown accustomed to cleaning up after him I think.
I wonder, briefly, if he’s had a stroke as I watch him eat. He chokes, momentarily, on the food and my breath catches. Will I have to put him in the hospital again with aspiration pneumonia or should I just let him go? I have to walk away, feigning a bathroom break, so I can allow the tears to stream freely down my cheeks for a few minutes. Waves of grief wash over me as I’m tossed about, emotionally, like driftwood in a hurricane.
I’m adrift on the sea of emotion. Alone in my torment. I have noone to talk to. The one person I had to talk to is adrift in a different part of the storm. Lost to me. Drowning.