He has moments where he has no idea who I am. You want to break your heart over and over again? Have your husband forget who you are. Every time it knocks the breath right out of me and my eyes swell up with tears. I always point to my wedding ring and tell him "you see that? That's a wedding ring. You gave it to me on our wedding day." Without fail, he looks at his hand and notices that his isn't there. To him, that means he's not actually married to me. I'm lying because his isn't there. Every time I tell him "oh, you have one too! It's just in the other room." And I run and get it. Tears running down my face. The man that promised to commit his life to me can't even remember my name.
He sleeps a lot now. In the beginning I tried to keep his normal routine. I was annoyed with the nurses when they wanted to keep him doped up. I wanted to still have his moments with him. I wanted him awake during the day, asleep at night, eat meals with me and watch tv shows alongside of him. I was angry with them that they were taking these moments away from me. Then I looked at Josh. He was tired. Not just sleepy, but tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being poked with needles. Tired of doctor visits. Tired of nurses bothering him. Tired of being bald. Tired of chemotherapy and a slew of pills. Just, tired. I finally came to my senses and reality set in. My life will never be the same again.
My therapist told me that I have already gone through the grieving process. I can almost pin point in my mind the moment I think that started. After he was diagnosed in October of last year, I felt different types of emotions all in different stages. I think I might have bypassed a few stages. I always use the example - if this was a car accident, my entire thought process and emotional being would be different. If it was a quick and unexpected death, I don't think I would have been able to process the way I am now. But he was given a timeline the day he was diagnosed. We were told he was terminal in that appointment. So in a way, I've had three years to prepare myself. Right now as I look at him, I feel at peace. Does it kill me that my husband is passing? Of course. But a bigger part of me knows that it is okay. He lived an amazing life and I gave him three amazing years after his diagnosis. I have no regrets. The pain hits me in waves. I didn't cry when they told me he was declining. I didn't cry when they counted how many days he's gone without food or drink. I didn't cry when they told me he probably wouldn't make it to the end of the weekend. I did however break down when I walked into my closet and stood next to his clothes. The smell of him. The softness of his t-shirts. I hugged them, putting myself in the mindset of it's him I'm hugging. I actually can't remember the last time I hugged him. In that moment tears came streaming down my face. I couldn't control it. It was a good, deep and ugly cry. It was needed.
I still have no idea why this has happened to us and quite frankly, I probably never will. It's not a question I tend to dwell on anymore. It happened. It made us stronger, not only personally but also as a couple. It taught us real true genuine love. It taught us to be raw and real with each other. It taught us fear and compassion. It taught us to not worry about the things we can not control, life will happen and it will move on. People will come and go. The ones you thought will be there, well, they won't be and the ones who you never thought would, will surprise you. It taught me the importance of late night chats with my best friend. It taught me to hold the ones I love so closely. It taught me to see beauty in everything and to kiss my husband as often as I possibly could.