Signs??

I was sitting on the staircase tonight waiting for Blake to brush his teeth before I tucked him in to bed. As I sat there staring at the bookshelf, my eyes fixated upon this metal sculpture we have of a person riding a bicycle. I had a flashback of a picture of it that Bill had taken right after we unpacked all of our stuff after our move out here from California. He captioned it something like, "The Only Thing that Broke During the Move." It was literally the only thing that had gotten damaged during the 3 day trek out here. The person's head had broken off at the neck, so of course Bill did what any engineer would do and grabbed his epoxy and glued it back together.

I immediately felt sick to my stomach and had to stop myself from retching. Was that a sign? A foreshadowing of things to come? I certainly hope not, but I also cannot ignore the coincidence.

For almost the entire year before his death I had an overwhelming sense of anxiety and at times, dread. I had never been an anxious person in the past. I couldn't figure out what was going on inside of me and I even had a few panic attacks that scared the crap out of me. This went on for so long, that shortly before Bill died I began researching psychiatrists in our area. I have heard many other widows and widowers say the same, that for months or sometimes even years before their loved ones had passed they too, had developed those same feelings. Was that coincidence? Or did I have a sixth sense about this?

A few years ago, Bill and Landon were wrestling on the couch and Landon fell off and cracked the top of his head open on the end table. Off to urgent care we went, where he got six stitches. While we were waiting for the numbing medication to take effect, the nurse and I were chatting and discovered we both had 3 boys, although hers were now all high school and college age. At some point in the conversation she mentioned that when her boys were around the ages of my boys, her husband was out running and he had a heart attack and died. I was, of course, horrified. He had been very healthy and athletic most of his life so there was no reason for the them to suspect he ever had anything wrong with his heart. Years later she met and re-married another man, who also had three boys but she made it clear that it was a long, rough road to get there. After I got home I immediately told Bill and he was just as shocked as I was. I told him if anything like that ever happened to him I'd be a wreck and would surely have to be medicated. I think about this story now and wonder if this experience was some kind of warning.

And here we are. He is dead and I'm on medication.

As a nurse, I am aware that there is a time and a place for pharmaceutical intervention. This is most definitely that time and that place. I felt like I owed it to myself and my kids to not be so miserable all the time. It makes me feel like I can function, without having that cloud of depression hanging over me all the time. I feel lighter. I am more patient with my kids. I am more present in my daily life. I can find joy in things again. I no longer feel like I constantly want to crawl out of my own skin. I am still grieving very much and I miss Bill with every breath I take, but I no longer hate the whole world. There are still things I hate, but I don't hate my life anymore. I hate that my kids only have one parent now. I hate how lonely this is, and my God is it lonely. I hate that I have to go to parties without a date now. I hate that instead of listening to the sound of typing after the kids go to bed, I'm left in total silence by myself on the couch. I hate that there are only four people sitting at our dinner table now, instead of five. I hate that there is less laundry. I hate that he isn't down in the bike shop tinkering around anymore. Ok, I guess I hate a lot of things but I feel a little more human now and I smile a little more now and that's something.