I just stumbled upon an idea. At some point when things stop being so crazy, I'm going to make a photo book for JD about his Daddy. Because I can design this book online, I'll be able add little blurbs about Jeff. So, if you have a favorite memory or just something you really liked about Jeff, that you would like me to share with JD one day, please post a comment here. If you're shy about posting publicly, you can send an e-mail to jmw280@gmail.com.
Thanks!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Chugging Along
After being really healthy for quite some time, my body sort of crashed on me. I'm two weeks into a head and chest cold, and I am finally starting to feel some relief. I think that the stress of the past two years accumulated into something that was bound to end in a bit of a meltdown. I'm still having some trouble sleeping, but hopefully, things will start to resolve themselves soon. I figure that it's all part of the grieving process, and I have no other choice but to endure it.
I just spent some time looking at pictures of Jeff before he got sick. His smile was SO big. It easily lit up his entire face, including his beautiful blue eyes. When I look at pre-leukemia photos, I can just hear him laughing at SpongeBob or singing "4th of July." It is refreshing and healing to remember Jeff before he got sick.
Now that I can do so without crying, I think I'll let some of our good memories flood my brain.
I just spent some time looking at pictures of Jeff before he got sick. His smile was SO big. It easily lit up his entire face, including his beautiful blue eyes. When I look at pre-leukemia photos, I can just hear him laughing at SpongeBob or singing "4th of July." It is refreshing and healing to remember Jeff before he got sick.
Now that I can do so without crying, I think I'll let some of our good memories flood my brain.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
"Strength"
You may have noticed that a lot of people comment about how "strong" I seem to be. Really, I'm not much different than most people. I'm just playing the cards that I was dealt in the best way that I know how. I cry and I sob and I ask, "why me?," and I really ask, "why Jeff?" But guess what? There are no answers to those questions, and it does me no good to sit and contemplate them.
Back in July after Jeff was released from the hospital after his first round of "Relapse #2 Chemo", I hit a very low point. I felt like I could not move...like I couldn't possibly go on for another day. I didn't know how I would attend one more Day Hospital visit, or watch Jeff get one more biopsy taken from his bone, or his lung, or skin, or his where-ever. I did not want to hear the doctor say that it would be reasonable for Jeff to forgo treatment and go on a vacation in the South Pacific before he gets too ill....before palliative treatments would have to start. (We did hear those exact sentiments from his doctor back in July, after finding out the disease had infiltrated his spinal fluid. Jeff decided that giving up was not an option, regardless of the odds. Despite my mantra that Jeff was a lover, not a fighter, he fought like hell to the bitter end.)
To combat this near depression, I started coming home every week to work and take a break from hospital life. I didn't like leaving Jeff, because I knew that he preferred JD and me to be there, but I wasn't going to do much good anywhere if I didn't take regular breaks. I was, and am, only human. There were times when the stress of it all was eating me alive. Like one of my AML-widow friends (yes, I now have widow friends) says, "it was like living with a gun to your husband's head for two years." The indefinite anxiety-ridden state of not knowing is a very hard place to be.
These trips home saved my sanity. Yes, traveling for 8 hours every week with a toddler was sometimes a challenge, but every trip home helped me to help Jeff.
Back in July after Jeff was released from the hospital after his first round of "Relapse #2 Chemo", I hit a very low point. I felt like I could not move...like I couldn't possibly go on for another day. I didn't know how I would attend one more Day Hospital visit, or watch Jeff get one more biopsy taken from his bone, or his lung, or skin, or his where-ever. I did not want to hear the doctor say that it would be reasonable for Jeff to forgo treatment and go on a vacation in the South Pacific before he gets too ill....before palliative treatments would have to start. (We did hear those exact sentiments from his doctor back in July, after finding out the disease had infiltrated his spinal fluid. Jeff decided that giving up was not an option, regardless of the odds. Despite my mantra that Jeff was a lover, not a fighter, he fought like hell to the bitter end.)
To combat this near depression, I started coming home every week to work and take a break from hospital life. I didn't like leaving Jeff, because I knew that he preferred JD and me to be there, but I wasn't going to do much good anywhere if I didn't take regular breaks. I was, and am, only human. There were times when the stress of it all was eating me alive. Like one of my AML-widow friends (yes, I now have widow friends) says, "it was like living with a gun to your husband's head for two years." The indefinite anxiety-ridden state of not knowing is a very hard place to be.
These trips home saved my sanity. Yes, traveling for 8 hours every week with a toddler was sometimes a challenge, but every trip home helped me to help Jeff.
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