I have always been a thinker with imagination. The biggest irony is that I always asked my hubby many "what-ifs" questions. Death was something I constantly asked him about. What if I passed on, would he be sad? Would I ever sacrifice myself if he and I were in danger? If something ever happened to him, would I be able to pull myself together like many heroines I have read in novels. My hubby always mocked me for my wild imagination. He never would answer my silly what-ifs.
The day he died, all these what-ifs have now been my daily thoughts.
What if he went to see doctors earlier, would he be able to pull through? What if his spirit were around, would he be sad to see me in such a great distress? What if I were the one who got cancer, would he be strong enough to tackle all the day-to-day task without having me around? And etc. and etc. Questions looping in my head constantly, I am close to going insane and my friends have been asking me to STOP THINKING.
But I can't stop thinking. All I have been able to do the past month is to stay in bed and cry. Lately I have developed a liking to wrap myself up in our walk-in closet to sit and think. When I get tired, I sleep in that vast space with all of our garments surrounding me, it's dark and quiet in there; I could find peace. Even my 2yo knows if mammy is not in her room, mammy must be in the closet. Instead of taking my baby out or spending time playing in the living room, his mammy retreats into a dark abyss looking for some quiet time, sinking deeper in her thoughts of remembering her last husband, looking for pieces of love they both used to share, and then breaking down with sad tears.
Our house used to be filled with music. As soon as baby got up in the morning, I would pop in either some jazz, classical or fun music for our 2yo. I would spend hours on piano practicing or trying to teach my son some basics on music theory. Since hubby passed on, our house has no more of such. The only sound that we get are either my parents in the kitchen preparing meals for us, or my innocent child laughs at whatever he finds are amusing. May God bless my son as his innocence is so priceless. Does he even comprehend his dad, someone my son adores, will no longer coming back to hug him?
I used to read every day. I embarked my reading journey on Charlotte Bronte's "Villette" before my husband was admitted into the hospital. I was on p.94 the day he was on his way to ER which I did not know of until later that afternoon. I haven't been able to pick up my reading habits since that day. For that one short month in December, all I could read was anything to do with cancers or spiritual books to keep our faith up high . The day he passed, I stopped reading. I tucked all the books on cancers into our entertainment room. Friends and family gifted me grieving books, but the reading process has been difficult. Nothing makes any sense to me. Day by day, I have tried to resume my reading habits again. Making baby steps, yet my mind does not engage.
I have always been a clean freak. I used to be obsessed in keeping our house tidy and neat, I needed to clean myself very well before going to bed. Since my husband went to see our Lord, I have stopped cleaning. My floor is not spotless anymore. The counters have not been wiped. I care very less about how I look. I have hit a record high of not taking shower, not cleaning myself, not changing my clothes for 6 days. I have been so lost in time that I didn't notice my days have been wasted. My sister-in-law who came to stay with me said I have had the same PJ on for 3 weeks straight. If my husband were still alive, he would mock me by saying, "Ewww, you're gross."
I always needed my 8-hour of beauty sleep. I needed to take naps in the afternoon. I'd be surprised these day if I could sleep more than 4 hours at night. Regardless how tired I am at night, I simply can't fall asleep. I have given up naps because I want to spare all the time I could find so I could cry in my bed.
I used to hate talking on the phone. Lately, I'd go insane if I can't find anyone to talk to me and listen to my ranting.
I never spoke ill of my husband. I do now as I am at the angry stage during my grieving process. I resent his negligence on his health, his virtues to keep all his coworkers happy (and so he stayed up late answering his work emails until wee hours.) I have been angry as he had always been a stoic. If he had spoken enough maybe he would not have to put all the burdens on himself. If he insisted to keep his daily exercises, maybe he wouldn't get sick.
I have always loved to laugh and smile. Simply. Not. Anymore. Since the night I gave him the last kiss on that cold hospital bed, my dead husband took away my happiness. It has only been a month, but I have forgotten what it is like to be full of life. Let alone wanting to smile and to laugh. Will I be able to relax my facial muscle again? I honestly do not see the possibilities of being happy again. Life without my love of my life means nothing but sadness. I miss my husband.
I constantly forget to eat or to drink. When was the last time I got a sip of water? That was 4 days ago already when a sister at church dragged me out for a lunch date.
There are some other changes... What are they? I don't know anymore. I just know I am a compete different person. I am surprised just a month time I could become a person pretty much an opposite of my old self. I hate being somber and depressed. I always wonder will I stay like this for the rest of my life. For my late husband is now resting with God, I have no reason to believe I will ever be happy again until the day I die. Did I mention my loving husband has been my soulmate, my best friend, my rock and my support for the last 15 years? He stole my heart that thanksgiving in 2001, and now he took my entire all in 2016. 15 years of happiness, I am now left with a body with no soul. What's left are the aching heart, tears and sadness, and that forever void that I will have for as long as I shall live. I pray God will take me away soon. I really do not want to live anymore.