I read a post from a dear friend today about how this time last year, her husband was fighting for his life. She was so afraid she was going to loose him, and how the doctors were amazed that he lived through the ordeal. I love her and her family, and so I was trying in my head to be supportive of the fact that her husband is doing well and they are thriving as a family. Then I started reading the comments. I should not have done that. One person said how that experience was the perfect example of the power of prayer and fasting...
And I lost it. If I had had something to throw, I would have. I have a hard time reading about or seeing people who's stories go on because of recovery where mine and Daryl's story had to end. And statements like that totally innocent and supportive comment make me feel like our prayers and our fasting weren't good enough, as though we weren't doing enough, or living well enough, or that we didn't have enough faith. Even now, three years later, I'm still alone, struggling to raise and support a family all on my own, not to mention the effect it has had on the girls. Is it because I don't have enough faith? Or that my prayers don't work? Or that I don't deserve a companion or that I didn't deserve a miracle?
I really am glad, really, that her prayers were answered the way she wanted. I'd never wish the loss of a loved one on anybody. I just don't understand why it had to be me, why we didn't get a miracle, why I have to do this all alone...
I'll probably never know, so I should stop asking. It never makes me feel better.
I do know, and you should remember too, to be grateful for what you have. And hold your spouse close. And get dressed up for date night. And make him breakfast. And offer to help him with the drywall or fixing the kitchen sink. Or ask him to help you fix the sink :) Then put his laundry away, even if he leaves it on the floor...it really is just the little things. Don't forget the little things.
I've typed enough for school tonight, but I feel like I need to keep typing something. It's been a while...too long.
I'm listening to a song on repeat right now, and it's come up quite frequently on my playlist lately, bringing back so many memories, I guess I need to write it down...When this song came out, Daryl was in the ICU, in a coma, intubated, and the doctors were trying to figure out a new tumor and if it was pressing on his spinal cord or pharynx. He was in a drug-induced coma for over a week. All I could do was sit by his bed. I started crocheting a baby blanket to pass the time...and listening to music. This song, "I won't give up," (Jason Mraz), one of the only songs I like by this artist, helped me find strength and understanding even I didn't know I had. This song made me change my attitude about Daryl and his cancer. I spent so much time trying to not be resentful toward him; it was taking a toll on our relationship, and I knew it, but I had a hard time getting past it. But that week in the ICU, being literally totally alone, just me watching him sleep...how could I be angry and resentful toward him...just a big teddy bear? Yes, he could be difficult and stubborn, but I was proving to be the same. More often than not, he just wanted to hug me, and I'm not proud to say more than a few times, I pushed him away, trying to deal with my own issues...alone instead of together.
But that week, listening to this song (among others), something changed...I saw him as someone just trying to fight...fight for himself, fighting for us, fighting for everyone telling him what an inspiration he was to them...I started wanting to fight for us, for our relationship. I was tired of all the fighting, all the nights alone, all the heated words for nothing. That was March 2012, while in the ICU the doctors found a brain tumor. We had 15 months of a relationship that I never knew existed, unconditional love and service...for both of us. We had that in the beginning, then life happened and we lost it in the negativity and selfishness of being stressed beyond belief. But I will always remember the answer to a prayer in a beeping ICU room, and the inspiration I was able to feel. I'm so grateful I had those last 15 months and still sad they passed so quickly.