My life is now measured in two parts: ‘Before my husband died’ and ‘After my husband died.’ It is difficult to realize that people entering my life now only know me as the widow. They are unable to meet the amazing man who provided love and growth and also rightfully put me in my place. Those that did not meet me before are not meeting the same woman today. My experience has changed my thoughts and visions, my perceptions, my level of empathy, my level of patience, my own level of ignorance, my level of tolerance of others, my desires and my needs.
As time continues to tick by people are becoming bolder with the questions they ask me. I have said before the fog has lifted and indeed it mostly has. Do not however be confused in assuming there has been clarity. I still walk around this house in search of the one person I cannot have. I cannot remove the tears. I cannot alleviate my own pain. I cannot catch my breath. My strength wavers daily.
We are all searching for the same answers, the whys and the hows? Therefore I fully understand the desire to ask your questions. “Did you know he was going to die? How did he contract Mesothelioma? Have you contacted as many resources as you can? What would you do differently? When did you know he was sick? What did it look like?"
For the longest time my answer to the last question was that he still looked good. You might not have known he was sick if you didn’t know him I would say. I felt at the time that the change seemed gradual or maybe because I was his wife I just told myself that because it was easier.
Our last family photos we had taken were phenomenal. They are enlarged and spread around our home. I have proudly displayed them since the day I received them. However I am once again reminded that the fog is lifting. I stare at these huge photos that once brought peace and happiness because they were taken less than two weeks before we lost Daniel. Now, what I see when I look at them is death. They are screaming from the walls. They remind me of his last breath. The shapes and hard ridges. The swelling. The shortness of breath. The inability to get around.
What does death look like? It is staring me in the face every day.
Meet the Author (me)
Driven by a need to help others. I have known from a young age that this is what I wanted to do. This is my very real, somewhat sarcastic, look into my newfound widowhood. I hope this site will help you as much as it helps me.