I spend a lot of time with ALC/LTC patients and residents lately.
Helping them with body care, helping them eat, helping them walk, helping their lives have meaning.
Some of them talk.
Some of them don’t.
The ones that don’t, I try to have “conversations” with them… but I’m not super good and it leaves me with time to think.
Would this have been my life if he’d lived? Or would he have recovered to be independent again? Or would it have been, no matter what, the beginning of the end?
The what if’s get me.
What if he’d lived? What if he’d pushed that one more time? What if?
And WHY THE FUCK DID HE HAVE TO DIE?
Why do I have to navigate this world without him who understood me so well? Why do I (as much as I do love him) have to navigate everything with my new husband who doesn’t *quite* get it? Who I have to work at having good communication with?
Why did other people get to survive what he went through and he didn’t?
Why did I have to be a widow?
Why the fuck?
I’ll never have the answers and this will never be a thing I’m *over* because how do you get over losing someone you love so deeply?
Lately it’s been super freaking hard managing the grief. It hits me out of no where and I always feel like crying. 7 years gone. That’s half the time I had with him. I want more.