Who’s Going to Remember?

Besides me?

Who’s going to remember that he was doing SO well today 3 years ago.

Who’s going to remember that the doctor got the bleed and things were going in the right direction?

Who’s going to remember how tomorrow night I would call after blowing off my visit only to be told that the doctor’s needed to talk to me tomorrow?

Who’s going remember how guilty I felt that out of the last 4 days of his life, I only was there for him 1 of those?

Who’s going to remember that I was in a panick, and that Jeanne showed up to help me stay calm after that call tomorrow?

Who’s going to remember that tonight, 3 years ago, I was NSO’ing a derby game, oblivious that this would be my husband’s last few days?

Who’s going to remember how awful I felt for stealing a tiny bit of joy for my week only to discover that it was his last few?

Who’s going to remember besides me?

Who’s going to care besides me?

Who hurts because of what they missed besides me?

Who, besides me, hurts so much they can barely breathe this week because the angelversary is coming up in 3 days?

I don’t want to be the only one who remembers him.  I know for some, it’s a birthday or just another day, but for me… this is the day my life changed.

Who cares about that besides me?



3 thoughts on “Who’s Going to Remember?

  1. I know how you feel all too well. I fight the memories of the last few weeks before barb died, the regrets, missed moments, busy-ness, decisions and lost chances to discuss matters.
    I still write in my blog because I worry that barb will be forgotten.
    We’re all on our own timelines. Be patient with your grief. I’ll do the same.
    Thanks as always for your important writings.

  2. patricepdx says:

    Your piece moved me. I can relate. Thank you.

  3. me says:

    Who’s going to care? I care, that’s who. I know how you feel. I loved my husband and miss him severely, but because he tended to act childish, needy, and possessive even when his health was excellent, I didn’t believe him when he called from the hospital and said, “Please be here. I’m dying.” Would you believe what an ass I was—I thought he was just feeling sorry for himself. He died one month later. Near the end, I was sleeping in his hospital room, but I DEEPLY regret not having spent even more time with him. The guilt is KILLING me. He died from cancer, and recently I went for a mammogram, and I find myself hoping that the results are bad, that I have cancer too, so that I can join him in death. Sounds crazy, maybe pathetic, but there it is. Anyway, my dear, you are not alone. I do care very much.

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