Quarterly Thoughts

I will probably make myself start crying by writing this. That seems to have been the norm for the last few days.

Today is 3 months since I lost Brian. I think about the 3 months before his death, starting back at Christmas. He was so sick, so much suffering...so I don't wish him back. He died on the first day of spring. It is an odd feeling to know that the seasons have already changed since he's been gone. Today is the first day of summer, unless you want to argue the fact that technically summer 2008 started at 11:59 last night on June 20...I read that it changes every year and fell the day before this year. Either way, spring came and went without him, and life continues.

I wouldn't want it not to. Brian sure wouldn't either. God bless him, part of what he hated was the limitations that his illness put on our family. For us, we didn't care, we did what we needed to do, we sacrificed to take care of him, just like he would have for us. But he wasn't the only one who was tired, both physically and emotionally. Our whole family was drained.

I've thought a lot about real love. What defines real love? A point of comfort for me right now is that I know that Brian and had that real love.

We knew we were tired, exhausted mostly from the taunting and beating that melanoma had inflicted on Brian, and the consequences of that. There were times that I think he just wanted it to be over so our suffering would end too. In the hospital that day, before we left to come home with hospice, I asked him to try to just cherish each day that God gave him, not to hurry things along. I told him I would never stop believing in a miracle that he would get better...I had promised him and God that I would always believe. We also talked that we knew what was happening here, we knew where this was likely leading. I told him we wanted as many days with him as God would allow, and I would take care of him each day.

I remember right when the doctor walked out. We were both quiet. He finally looked at me and said, well...you better call your dad to come get you. I was thinking...huh? I said...I can take you home by myself. He just shook his head and kind of laughed and said...I guess I was thinking for a minute that I wouldn't be going home.

From then on, I asked him to try to focus on himself, on the time he had left. If I was going to lose him, I wanted it to be when HIS body and soul was ready, not for us. I wanted him to be at peace with what was happening (easy to say) and I wanted him to trust that I would care for him to the end.

Brian had it in his head that he would die in May, coming from the 8 mo. prognosis. He said several times he hoped it wouldn't be on Mother's Day or anyone's birthday. During the last week of his life, he looked at me and said...what happened to me? I just said...I don't know, but I think you are getting sicker. He asked me what month it was, and then said...what happened to May? I told him we didn't know what was going on, maybe he would start to feel better. He was quiet with his eyes closed. Then he opened them and squeezed my hand and said...I'm not feeling better...

So in the end, I think he let go when it was the right time for him, not us. I wanted him to stay as long as he could, as long as his body would let him. He was devastated, he didn't want to go. But he would be the first to say that the suffering had become unbearable. He knew God's promise that his suffering would be over in Heaven, and in the end, I think he was able to focus on that.

And knowing that he is no longer suffering is seriously probably the only thing that keeps me sane right now.