I Luv Brian

Josh Kell died tonight. I wonder sometimes what you all think when you are checking my blog, reading over and over again about people dying of melanoma. I guess my hope is to bring awareness to this disease, to help others know it is not that rare really, that precious lives are lost each hour. Still, I find myself struggling with following these journeys and knowing all too well how many of them end. I can't seem to pull myself away. I'm not sure why...

Am I trying to relive the pain and suffering I saw in Brian? In a way, I think so. As crazy as it sounds (and I have long ago admitted that losing Brian has indeed made me crazy)...I do seem to be drawn to the stories that relate to his dying. It is my brain's way of trying to wrap itself around what happened. Each story I read, each tear I shed for someone else's loved one, brings repeated tears for Brian.

Or am I trying to remind myself how I love him so much that I wanted something better for him? I know there is a lot to this. I read the suffering, and it brings up the thoughts of his moments of suffering. Each sound, each breath, each tear seems to be etched in my mind as if it has just happened. So reliving that can sometimes be a slap in the face to remind me that I love him selflessly, that I was at a breaking point, that my heart was overflowing with love for him. I remember one of the many nights I didn't sleep before his death. The house would be quiet, my moments only filled with his breathing. I would sit and watch his chest rise and fall, thinking how blessed I was that he was still alive. Then a few nights before his death, he cried out in obvious pain. I stroked his head and tried to comfort him, and I was very aware that as incoherent as he was, he knew I was there. I cried, I sobbed, I cursed God for bringing our lives to this. I laid my head on his chest, and I could hear the faint throbbing of his heart, so strong and healthy, working so hard to keep him alive, while the rest of his body was shutting down. I started kissing him over and over, on the face and head and hand and cheek. I told him I loved him over and over. And then it came, a feeling that washed over me. I had been spending each moment of everyday showing him how much I love him by comforting him, by dressing his wounds and being his caretaker. I had been giving back to him in return for the joy and love he brought into my life, for sharing a love with me that most people only dream of, a love that many will never know. I was exhausted, but the feelings stayed. How could I keep doing this? How could I keep showing him I love him? How could I surround him with this intense love we had shared?

And that was the feeling...one of deep and profound love, a love that I am so blessed to have been on the receiving end of, that unconditional and powerful love I felt so strongly from Brian. It came back around, and I lifted my head and looked at him. He fluttered his eyes, and I thought, somewhat with anger and desperation, that melanoma was NOT going to take this love affair away from me. I told him I loved him so much that I was willing to do anything for him. I think I knew all along, from when I first fell in love with him. I just didn't know I would end up backed against a wall. It felt almost like in a romance novel, when one sacrifices their life for another. I sort of felt like I threw myself off a cliff or into the dragon's lair to save him, in exchange for how much I love him. I know I wasn't being asked to shed my own blood, but I would have done it for him, the feeling was that strong. And that is when I realized that I loved him enough to let him die...that I was willing to do anything, to be dealt any pain in order to save him from this affliction. The suffering he endured, especially in the last months, slowing killed him; and a part of me died too, watching him suffer, seeing his spirit crushed, watching him beg God for more time with me, with our family.

And even now, and I hope always, I am filled with the knowledge that I was capable of that kind of love, that I was willing to give it all up so that he could be healed.

Now I know I didn't command any of it...his death was coming whether I was willing to give him up or not. But there has always been that deep feeling inside of me since that night, as if it was the ultimate way to show someone you love them, to put their needs before yours. It was the moment I stopped praying for him to get better and prayed for him to have peace. And I meant it, at any expense. I guess I knew the pain would be this bad, I knew I had a lifetime ahead of me of missing him.

Everyone has their own take on grief. Mine is this...I do not think that time heals. I think that time helps you learn to cope, learn to deal with situations. I'm not on my firsts of many things...there already have been many nights without him, many family outings without him, many Daddy moments lost, many new memories made that he was but an angel looking down. Time has made me long for the feeling of Brian loving me. I caught a good dose of it with my mom, and I've mentioned before, I more feel abandoned. I long for dreams of Brian, moments of feeling him close to me, hoping for a connection between Heaven and earth that might make me feel like what I had with him is not gone. I even find myself wishing that night back, wishing back the prayer I asked for God to take him. I feel resentful that so many of my prayers went seemingly unanswered, yet this one caught God's attention and he answered right away. I often feel so blessed to have loved and been loved by Brian, and that what I felt with him was so great that it was enough for a whole lifetime; then I find myself feeling angry again at the thought of knowing that we could have been a love story that went on for decades.

Hence, the rollercoaster effect! Am I sad, am I happy? Am I thankful or royally ticked off? Was I blessed or robbed? Probably all of the above.

I miss Brian so much that I can hardly begin to tell you. I have to remind myself sometimes that any of this even happened, it all seems so surreal. The pain feels just as deep as it has all along, as it did that moment he died.

Gosh, my fingers have just been dancing across the keyboard, apparently trying to keep up with the thoughts that are flooding my brain. My head was clear for a while, but is now back in that funk that seems to linger over many who have lost someone they love.

I guess I'm done for tonight...

It doesn't make me a saint. It just means that our marriage is what we had hoped and prayed it would be, that our commitment was true, that I upheld my vows and loved him as God would have wanted.

I means that each of the gazillion and a half times I told him I loved him...I meant it.