It's okay, I will be okay

My beautiful angel gained his wings on March 3rd, 2018 at 3pm. He was 30. It was a beautiful and peaceful passing. At around noon that day, the CNA pulled me aside and said "I'm not entirely sure, but I think he won't make it to tonight." She knew. I knew. I looked at him and just knew. His breathing had started slowing down and the death rattle had settled in. My heart ached. In that moment I wanted nothing more than to erase the cancer. To shake it out of him. To cure him. I wanted my husband back. Not my husband with cancer, my husband that I knew. But I looked at him and he looked so peaceful. He wasn't in pain. He was just slowing down. At 2:45, I told my mom to run across the street and get our neighbor. We have known our neighbor maybe...six months? They had just moved in and we met them and exchanged hellos whenever we were outside, but truth be told, I didn't know him. Not well enough anyway to ask him to do what I was going to ask of him. He's a pastor and I just wanted someone there praying with us. Josh and I are not religious, but we have our faith in other shapes and forms. So at 2:45 I turned to my mom and said "Go get Warren." She ran across the street and angels were looking out because he was home (they are usually never home) and she came running back with him. We prayed. We all held hands and prayed. He asked for protection of me and told Josh that it was okay, he can leave this life. At 3:00 he took his last breath. I know this because my alarm on my phone went off. We had been doing morphine every three hours and he was due for a dose at 3pm. After he passed and we all said our final goodbyes, the CNA bathed him. It was a beautiful moment. They then asked me for some clothes so they could dress him before he left the house. My heart swelled with happiness because I did have clothes for him, but more importantly I had underwear for him! He had been without underwear for....close to two months! He always hated wearing underwear but when he was forced to not wear it, he really missed it.

We had to wait for the funeral home to come, so in the mean time we all took turns saying goodbye to him and then I sat right next to him and held his hand. I wasn't going to leave his side until I knew he was okay. When they came to get him, we had a small ceremony where they covered him with a flag. That imagine will forever be burned in my mind. It was peaceful and yet so patriotic. When they loaded him into the van to be driven away, I looked at my mom and said "this is the first time he's going somewhere and I can't go with him." It broke my heart to watch them drive away. My job was done. I had fulfilled our vows above and beyond. I had taken care of my husband when he desperately needed it. I had been his wife and caregiver. The next few days were a complete blur. We went and set up everything for the service. When we arrived to the funeral home, they told me that Josh was located at plot number three. Every time I think of that, I still get chills down my spine and goose bumps on my arms. His cousin introduced me to the meaning of number three the day after he passed away. The number 3 refers to the Trinity, and means that you are receiving divine protection, help, and guidance. In most cases if you are seeing a lot of 3's, it is considered to be the Angel Number and is a sign that you have a close connection to Jesus, the son in the Holy Trinity. But I have said it before, we are no where near religious. BUT the number three isn't just a coincidence. He passed at 3pm, on March 3rd (3-3), he was 30, and his plot is number 3. Mind blown. I am seeing three's everywhere and I am experiencing signs from him now.  I have started to keep them to myself. Mainly because I like the thought that Josh is constantly around me and it's just a secret between me and him. It's personal. But also too, I'm trying to keep myself sane and sounding sane, haha.

His service was absolutely beautiful. I wanted to plan everything and only accepted opinions and input from certain people. I wanted it to be authentically Josh. Everything from the music, to the pictures, to the food served to the decorations placed; it was all Josh. We had heavy metal playing, funny and inappropriate pictures placed, fish all over the room and I buried him with a packet of twizzlers. When I walked in to the viewing the night before the service, I was adamant that I went in by myself. I wanted a little time alone with him. When I walked in and saw him, I broke down. I haven't experienced much death in my lifetime and the ones that hit me the hardest have all be cremated or I was to young to remember. Fortunately, he looked so natural. They kept his beard. He had on clothes that I had picked out for him. Months prior to all of this I had found his suit in the back of a closet and brought it out to him. He had bought it up in Maryland for some military class that required him to dress for job interviews. I brought it out to him and told him to try it on. He grumbled at my request but did it anyway. The jacket was huge on him but I told him we should keep it for when "you know what" happens. He looked at me and said "Don't you dare put me in a suit." He was right. I could probably count how many times I have actually seen him wearing a suit and tie, twice being in high school for prom and homecoming. He wasn't a suit and tie kinda guy. He never told me what he actually wanted to wear, but I knew him. I didn't put him in his blues or any dress uniform like many who attended had expected. Nope, he was placed in a fishing shirt, khaki shorts, and his boat shoes. He was going fishing. Or, wearing his normal clothes, haha.

I had made it a point from then on out to make sure this service wasn't a funeral. It was a celebration of life and I strived to make it just that. Everyone wore fish shirts or hawaiian shirts, the uglier the better or the color green. There was to be no suits, ties, or formal wear. I wore a black dress the day of service, mainly because I literally own only three dresses but the black dress was Josh's favorite and as silly as it sounds, I wanted to look pretty for him just one last time. The service was perfect, but the entire time he was laying in front of me, I couldn't touch him. Even though his death was a devastating blow to me, the entire time all I kept thinking about was the last time I kissed my husband. We started dating in high school, when hormones were flying and we were constantly tangled up in each other, like typical teenagers but standing here now,  I couldn't remember the last time we kissed. It was driving me absolutely crazy. But then I remembered the last time he kissed me. My heart filled with joy and that will forever be one of my favorite memories from his last week on earth. The Wednesday before he passed, he woke up in the best mood. I'm talking old Josh was there for at least an hour or so. He woke me up out of a deep sleep by saying "Archie shut up!" I was floored! Typically he couldn't remember Archie and when I put him in bed with him, Josh acted scared of him. So leading up to his death, interaction with him was limited. But there he was, barking at something and as clear as day, Josh told him to shut up. I sat up and said "Good Morning Josh" expecting a grumble or unclear mumbling, but instead I got "hi babe". My heart swelled with joy, he was back! In that time, I was able to feed him, give him his pills, and even brushed his teeth. I didn't want to push much, so I kept very quiet while I was doing all of this. I put chapstick on him and for some reason, the instinct of the kissing face reminded me that I couldn't remember the last time he gave me a kiss. I was nervous to ask. Butterflies were forming in my stomach because I couldn't stand the rejection. Somehow I mustered up the courage to ask him for a kiss. He let out a deep sign and then stuck his lips out, typical Josh. I walked over and leaned down and he gave me my last kiss from him. I was flying high on cloud nine the entire day.  Now standing in front of him in his casket, I couldn't bring myself to even hold his hand. It didn't scare me. I just didn't want my last memory of me touching him to be so cold. He was never cold. Even when it was freezing in Maryland, he was always so warm. But kissing him was something that I had done a million times over so right then and there I made it a point to be his last kiss.

Afterwards, they loaded him in the herse and he was to be taken to his resting spot. Everyone had walked down to the gravesite. I stayed by his side. I wanted that one last moment with him. I told the driver to go slow, and I talked to him. I talked to him about our life together. I talked to him about the weather. I talked to him about the moments we shared. I talked to him about how much I loved him. When we finally arrived to the gravesite, I was an emotional wreck. All of my make-up had been rubbed off of my face. My waterproof mascara was stained under my eyes. They unloaded him and then loaded him into his grave. There was only one thing Josh planned for his own funeral, he wanted a song played. It had become popular again on the Guardian of the Galaxy sound track. I remember him telling me "I want this played at my funeral." He never said when, but I knew I had to incorporate it some how. I played Spirit in the Sky graveside. After that, he was honored with full military honors. They played taps and it was the most heart wrenching thing to witness. I have seen it depicted in movies and always told myself that will never be me. But, here I was getting a flag presented to me by some Sailor I didn't know thanking me for my husband's service to his country. After he presented it to me, I hugged it. I held it so close to me. It offered me comfort when I desperately needed it.

I don't look at this as a defeat. Cancer did not win. Josh put up and amazing fight, but his body just got tired. As much as it breaks my heart, I am also calm in knowing he will no longer be suffering.  He will no longer experience seizures. Brain swelling. An MRI every three months offering no good news. The saying in our house is, "it's okay." My husband, as much as I loved him, wasn't good in situations that made him vulnerable. Whenever we got bad news, he had seizures, experienced pain or I was an emotional wreck, he would hold me and tell me "it's okay." When I had to calm him down, when I had to comfort him - I would say "it's okay." The Thursday night before he passed away I held his hand and told him "it's okay. I will be okay." In reality, it's not okay. My life will never be the same. I will not bare children with this man. I will not experience life with him. I will not grow old with him. He won't be there at my major accomplishments. I won't be able to snuggle up next to him on the couch and binge watch tv. There will be moments my heart will ache for him. But I find comfort in telling myself, "it's okay." He will always be with me.

God saw you were getting tired / and a cure was not to be

I am currently sitting in a makeshift hospital room located in my dining room. Our table has been removed and in its place sits a hospital bed. In that bed lays my courageous and lovable husband. Next to that bed is stacks and stacks of medical supplies. You name it, we probably have it here. On the other side of him is his oxygen machine, that occasionally runs when he has trouble breathing. I have placed a bed next to him, so he is never alone, especially at night. I have grown accustomed having a complete stranger take over the medical needs of my husband. It was a surreal moment when they walked in and my caregiving days were over. Granted, I still care for him, but it's in a different way now. He is no longer solely dependent on me. I can breathe again. I can take a shower lasting longer than five minutes. I don't have to constantly panic whenever I leave the room, wondering if he's going to seize and I'm not going to be there. It gives me comfort when I leave, but I still rush home to him whenever I get done doing whatever it is that caused me to leave in the first place. I don't panic when he starts showing signs of distress. I am no longer fighting these battles alone.

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's combative. He has moments when he yells, cusses me out. tells me he's going to fight me and even tries multiple times to get out of bed. He tells me he hates me, that he is in this situation because of me. Everyone tells me "Oh don't take it to heart, he doesn't mean it." But it still goes straight to the heart. I came to realization that I lost my husband a long time ago. The body of my husband is currently laying next to me, but my husbands mind is gone. Every fiber that makes Josh who he is, is gone. He has moments, very slight and fleeting moments when he is there. You can see it in his eyes, almost a twinkle of light. One day a few weeks ago I said I was going to feed him. I didn't tell him that I had just bought his favorite food, spaghettios (he's a simple man) and I had planned on giving it to him for lunch. He was weak and weary when I went to sit him up. I scooped up a spoon full and brought it to him. He opened his mouth and took a bite and his eye lit up so bright. He raised his eyebrows and let out a "mmmm". There it was, it was a small glimmer of Josh. A shooting star across his face. My husband was back, even for just a second. I fed him the entire bowl and he enjoyed every bite. I turned to grab him a drink and in that moment, he faded. He closed his eyes and was back to sleep.

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.

When we first got home, a nurse told me to go into his closet and get him a stack of old t-shirts. We were going to cut them up so he could wear one and be comfortable. I walked into his closet in search of t-shirts. I immediately went to his drawer that he has for the old shirts he doesn't care about and grabbed the two in there. When I walked back into the room, she said we would need more than that. She said "any shirt will do." So I walked back into the closet and by passed all of his favorite t shirts. Every one I pulled out, I put back. I couldn't bare the thought of cutting it up because in my mind it was his favorite shirt and he will want to wear it again. Then it hit me, like a thousand bricks, he will never wear these shirts again. Even now as I type this, my eyes are swelling with tears. Something so small is breaking my heart. Everything I do now, I think about the last time we did it. Rode in a car. Went to the beach. Sat on a bench. Held hands. Hugged each other.  Danced in the kitchen to no music. Think about that. Truly think about the last time you did those things with your spouse. Was it recent? Or in my case, could you not remember? I wanted so desperately to do them right then and there.

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.

Everyone keeps asking how I am doing. Sometimes I want to literally tell them to fuck off. What a stupid question. Why ask it when you already know the answer. What am I supposed to say? "Well my husband is dying of cancer, it's just sunshine and rainbows over here!!!" No. You know the answer. Don't ask the stupid question. But then there are moments when people ask that I feel thankful they did. Often times I forget to ask myself that. I think I am currently angry. I am mad that's a question people have to ask. I'm mad that people even ask the question. Often times I want to just be left alone. But then I think, if they are asking me this, I wonder if it's because they want me to ask them. I often times forget how much Josh impacted so many lives. How many people he touched and how many people loved him.

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.