electricgardener14 said:My husband closed his eyes for the last time on November 18th, after six months of agonizing pain, suffering, and fear. I couldn't help him—nobody could. This illness progressed with such terrifying speed that it was always one step ahead of us. I don't even know what I'm feeling right now; it's a mixture of numbness, helplessness, and then a sudden surge of anger toward God, and toward myself for not being able to save him. And yet, he wanted to live so badly. Even when he became immobile, unable to move even his hands or legs, that spark of desire for life never left his eyes. Sometimes I feel like I gave up before he did, like I should have fought harder or tried one more thing. Like I let him go too soon. It’s incredibly heavy, and I don't think I will ever forget that final conscious look in his eyes. It held all the sorrow in the world. Does it always have to be this hard?!
electricgardener14
My deepest condolences; may he rest in peace. I pray that God grants you the strength and patience for everything that lies ahead.
I truly believe there is nothing more grueling in this life than spending months by the side of someone precious and close to your heart who is dying—someone who knows they are dying while you stand there, powerless to intervene. And then there is the daily ritual of lying to them, telling them things will get better when they won't...
Personally, I fought an uphill battle helping my late parents, giving everything I had—mentally, physically, and financially. I gave more than enough. Even now, nearly three months later, there isn't a night where I don't toss and turn, obsessing over what else I could have done or how I might have eased her burden. Why did God intend it this way? But once the relapse hit, everything moved with such lightning speed that no one could have hoped we would lose her so quickly. I keep trying to convince myself that none of it makes sense and that it simply had to happen this way. You have to accept certain realities in life, especially the transience of everything. You have to focus on what remains: your children, your family, and yourself. Please take care of yourself; you have children to raise, and you need to work on your own immunity because you are utterly exhausted—even if you don't realize the extent of it yet. Be present for your kids; they are going to struggle significantly. When my mother passed away, my son, who was not even six at the time (and whom my late mother had helped raise for years), went through a terrible crisis. I had to watch him so closely, trying to help his little mind process everything. Things are much better and easier now. Diana dear, I am truly sorry; at the same time, we were both fighting such impossible battles while trying to work, manage children, and handle family responsibilities...
Even as I write this, I am weeping because I empathize so deeply with you. I am reliving all of this in my mind. I know how mentally and physically shattered you are. Just give it time; believe me, in a month or two, it will start to feel slightly lighter. Please, take something to help you stay calm and look after yourself and the children, because they need you more than ever right now. Diana dear, you must not blame yourself; you did everything you could. I wish you and your children all the happiness and health in the world.
As for me, I am still filled with anger and resentment, and I can't shake certain thoughts, nor that eternal question: Did it really have to end this way?!
