September 21, 2010

‘Mine Daddy and I . . . ‘

Posted in Uncategorized tagged , , , at 12:41 am by letterstoelias

C has so many stories to tell these days.  She has become almost as much of a chatterbox as her big sister (which is no small task).  Geez, I wonder where they get that from???

The interesting thing is, most of her stories involve you in some way.  The majority of the time it will start out with you throwing her in the air, and often from in the pool.  From there they can get rather ‘creative’.  I wish I could remember more to share, but at this time I’m drawing blanks.  It’s very cute.  But it’s hard to take as well, because they aren’t true.  And, she has no opportunity to create ‘real’ stories with you.

I’m glad that you are on her mind so often.  In bed tonight she was playing with her locket and told me that you are in her heart and that she is in yours.  The other morning at breakfast she said to E  that she wishes you could come back, but you can’t.  She is almost 3.  Another birthday approaching, without you here.

Her birthday was the worst ‘first’ for me last year to that date.  And, while I don’t have the same intense dread for it this year, it is not easier.  You are still not here.  I don’t have any plans as of yet, and I feel badly for it, but I’m sure it will be a small event once again.

I sit here tonight and think back three years ago to this very night, when I was two days overdue with C.  E was in our bed as she was sick, and I had just returned to bed after giving her some tylenol.  You had woken up, and as she and I lay back down to sleep, I thought I heard you say something, but wasn’t sure what.  Then, you suddenly sat up straight in bed.  Next thing I knew, you dropped to the foot of the bed and were having a seizure.  I didn’t know what to do, but I somehow managed to stay fairly calm, even though it was 2am and E was screaming (I think I tried to remain as calm as possible for her).  You had had seizures previously of course, but it was the first time for me to be present for one.  I really got scared when I saw blood in your mouth (finding out later it was from biting your tongue), and I dialled 911.

You came to as the ambulance attendants arrived, and it was almost equally as frightening to see what it had done to your short term memory as you asked the same questions over and over, often only seconds apart.  The ambulance attendants were extremely kind – rather worried about me as well, considering. I think we tried to make a few jokes about them sticking around for my labour to start.  I remember how hard it was for me to go back to sleep that night.  I don’t know if I did – I wanted to keep an eye on you.  I was so angry when you decided to try and go to work the next day.  And, you wanted to walk to work.  I always admired your work ethic, but seriously!  I was glad when they sent you home.

I hated you walking to work each morning after that.  I had terrible fears of you collapsing on the trail and not being found for hours, or you coming to and getting lost.  But of course, the main fear was the tumour.  By this point, we knew it was back and it would not be good.  Months earlier we were told that the ‘small something’ on a scan was most likely scar tissue from radiation.  We now knew that was not likely the case.  Almost as if this night, three years ago, was the beginning of the end.

Perhaps this was the cause for my dream the other night.  As usual, I don’t remember much of it.  You were in it and things seemed ok for the most part, but things started to change.  I remember a feeling of dread, and though I don’t recall why, I know it wasn’t initially about your death.  But, you had gone upstairs and I was trying to do something with a sense of urgency downstairs (I have no idea what house we were in . . .), when suddenly I could hear you upstairs, struggling for breath.  I ran up the stairs as fast as I could.  You were lying on the floor, dying.  I got to you just ‘in time’ to tell you how much I loved you, I was there for you, and that it was ok – just as I did the night you died (though in the dream it was much quicker).  I woke up, as usual, with my heart racing.  In the dream your body felt cold, and as I woke I could even feel that same, cold feeling.

In some ways I am happy(?) that I was able to reach you in time even in just a dream, but I think it was the first time that I actually dreamed of your death as such – and it was hard.  I didn’t want to go back to sleep.

It’s just yet another thing on the list that widows and widowers must endure I suppose.  Some form of post traumatic stress syndrome I’m sure.  One of those things that I write about here to get it off my chest, as it’s not exactly fun conversation on the playground. . . .

As for day to day life – E has her first cold of the season already and missed kindergarten and tap today, but at least it made the day a bit easier for me.  I was supposed to have my first dance class the other night – and though I managed to get there and start the class, through a series of events leading up to it, I wasn’t able to get the girls ‘set up’ as I had hoped and spent much of the class attending to them.  Half way through I gave up and left – apologizing to the teacher – and made it to the car just in time before the tears came.  I cried the whole way home and a good while afterwards.

I felt badly for the girls though.  While it was, in part, due to them – really it’s not their fault and I don’t want them to feel the weight of my emotions on their shoulders.  The whole thing just magnifies my ‘situation’ and the fact that I get so little time to myself.  I had SO been looking forward to this one hour of dance so that was disappointing, but then just everything hit me all over again.  I can’t even feel mad at you though.  I know that would be perfectly normal, and I know many widow/ers who at times feel angry at their spouse for deserting them – but that one hasn’t hit me (yet).

I read a great article on grief the other day that spoke of just how normal many reactions to grief are, that other people may find rather odd.  Including writing letters to the person who died.  I want to keep writing.  And, I want to keep writing letters.  But I’m feeling somewhat stuck.  I want to continue writing ‘to you’.  But as time passes (17 months now) you are feeling so very far away.  Does it make sense any more??  I don’t know what I really want to do here these days.  I know I need to ‘do what feels right’, but I don’t know what that is.  I’m torn.  I suppose it’s no different than the issue of rings, your clothes, dating.  I know you aren’t coming back, but yet here I am keeping you informed of our day to day life, and waiting.


P.S.  I Love You



  1. bridie said,

    I guessing that part of the problem in determining what feels right is that what feels right probably differs from day to day. I wonder what it would look like, if you wrote letters on the days you really felt moved to, and on other days wrote what ever the hell you felt like writing, not in letter form, not to anyone in particular (unless you wanted to, of course!)

    More to say, but gotta get M to kindy!

  2. meg said,

    thank you for sharing. I stumbled across your blog. And your words are my truths too. ❤

  3. Shannon said,

    I think writing exactly what you’re writing is right for you. Were there enough writes/rights in that sentence? ARG! 🙂 Sorry.

    You have to ask yourself such tough questions and you ask them on this forum with us lurkers dropping in to read and see how you’re fairing and thank-you for that. I’ve been enjoying your good news and sending you virtual hugs and prayers through the tough posts. I haven’t felt like I had anything of worth to write for a while that would be helpful and decided companionable, silent, reader support was best.

    You don’t know what to write about so write about that like you kind of just did. That ambivalence is genuine and worth talking about. And eventually you will move onto writing about something else when the time is right for it, but whether they are letters to Elias, about Elias or not to or about him at all, he is still woven into the stories. He is always in there somewhere, in the texture of your lives.

    I hope you get to dance this week!

  4. Mandy said,

    TAG!! You’re it!!! Go to my blog for the details!! I hope you keep this going!! HUGS!!

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