Moving on

I often get asked by friends how am I doing and how are the kids doing. They are concerned about my well-being. They are concerned about how I am emotionally. How I am coping with losing Scott. I think they are somewhat surprised to hear that I am doing just fine. And truthfully, I am doing just fine and part of me feels somewhat guilty for feeling ‘just fine’.
A month and a half has passed since Scott died. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him. But am I so broken hearted that life stops and I can’t go on? No, of course not. And that’s not what Scott would have wanted me to do. Be depressed, unproductive, and not in the present for our children or in my life.
I’ve been told that everyone copes with loss in many different ways. Some handle loss much better than others. I believe I fall into that category. But in my defense, I have been grieving for over a year. Our cancer journey began February 18th, 2014. It was during that time, that I had to cope with the news that my husband had cancer. I refused to look up Glioblastoma right away. I didn’t want to know the truth. Not until I was ready. When Scott had surgery and was then faced with disability, I began grieving in a different way. I grieved over losing what my husband used to be. A strong, independent, protector to a broken, dependent, and depressed man. Scott had a hard time coping with his disability. At first he was in denial. As the reality of it sank in and the difficulty he had with overcoming his disability proved to be a much harder task than he had anticipated; he became depressed. He hated himself and what he had become. Furthermore, as we learned about the extent of his cancer and what life expectancy he might have, he really became depressed about missing out on the children growing up and growing old with me. Initially, I grieved over what Scott once was. Tall, strong, capable. I missed it so much. I hoped and wished that Scott would regain mobility on his left side fully, so we could resume our ‘normal’ lives. It took me a long time to finally accept that Scott wasn’t going to regain all of his mobility and that he was a changed man due to it and his cancer diagnosis. Once I came to accept our new ‘norm’, I finally could let the old Scott go. This newer version of him, though, was still great. Despite feeling defeated at times, he still managed to rock out physical therapy and start walking with the use of a walker and ankle-foot orthotic device. He still found joy in life – not all the time, but most of it. And, of course, I still loved him.
When we found out about the metastasis to his spine and brain stem and learned that his life expectancy had been significantly shortened, the grieving process for losing him completely went into overdrive. Up to this point, I knew that he had a terminal cancer. I knew that the average life expectancy was 15 months, but I also knew that some people live longer. I held on to that hope. His scan in September came back good. No new growth they said. In October, the spinal MRI was a game changer. At that point, I had to finally accept that he was going to fall short of the 15 month average. We’d have to settle for about a year. It was depressing. I remember we went for a walk that night we found out. I pushed him in his wheelchair. The evening air was cool and crisp. We cried. We mourned for his life.
Fortunately, Scott didn’t suffer too long. He entered hospice care January 21st and died February 3rd. He deteriorated fast. But that meant he didn’t feel much pain and discomfort. We had him on round the clock morphine and other medications to ease the swelling and pain. And while I was deeply saddened to see him go, I was glad he was no longer suffering.
In short, I’ve mourned my husband in two different ways and both over a long period of time. We’ve had the chance to talk about my future and what he hoped for me. He wanted me to be happy. He wanted me to live life for him. He wanted me to move on. He did not want me to dwell on the past. He did not want me to be depressed and completely heartbroken. I appreciate that he expressed these feelings and thoughts with me. That is what gives me hope. That is what makes me feel better about moving forward in life.
I will always remember him. I will always love him. He will forever be a part of me.
I plan to honor him by continuing his bucket list and finishing as much as I can. I plan to honor him by doing the Spartan Race in his honor (we have a team called Hooperpalooza) and by signing up for the B Strong Ride in Boulder, Colorado, which benefits cancer patients at the local hospital. I plan to honor Scott, by continuing to run Star Trek: Attack Wing tournaments at a local game store. I plan to honor him by teaching our children to be geeks just like him and me. I plan to honor him by raising our children in a way that would have made him proud. I plan to honor him by eventually moving on and opening my heart to another person, allowing them to care for me and love me like he would have done. I plan to honor him by reminding my children what an amazing husband, father, and man he was.
Life has been keeping me busy and I’ve been challenging myself in so many ways. I recently started kickboxing and I’ve been going regularly to Zumba. I plan to start spinning class to train for the 24 mile bike ride in August. I go for evening jogs and try to maintain my fitness and nutrition goals everyday. I am trying to make positive changes in my life. I want to get in shape, not only for the races, but to lose weight, feel good, and ensure that I will live a long, healthy life (at least what I can control, that is). I want to be a good role model for my children as well. And, of course, I need to ensure that I can keep up with them since it is now just me raising them.
Besides being active, I have lots of plans for me and the kids. This weekend is Colorado Cosmic Con. It’ll be our first convention and I’m very excited. Next month, I get to see LeVar Burton speak. In May, I have the Spartan Race, the Inflatable 5k, Denver Comic Con, and a Lindsey Stirling concert. And I have much more planned for the future.
For anyone reading this, remember, that we all cope in different ways. But also remember, that life can and does go on. It is a tough pill to swallow, but ultimately, your heart will heal and the pain will become less and less over time. I am still fresh into my loss, but I have been feeling really good. I am sad at times, but otherwise, I’m productive, happy, and enjoying life. Guilt over moving on is also absolutely normal. You will feel like you are betraying your loved one by moving on. The fact of the matter is that most people, when they are about to leave a spouse behind, would want their spouse to not be alone and to hopefully find someone that can fill that void. So many feelings encompass you as you cope with your loss, but however you do cope, remember it is normal, so long as it isn’t destructive (to oneself or to others). Just remember, there is hope and you have the strength within you.

One month ago

I cannot believe that a month has gone by since Scott passed away. His presence in our lives, absent for 28 days, is dearly missed. A month ago they took his body away and I utterly broke down, throwing myself on his hospital bed. There are times where I forget he is no longer alive. A brief moment where I think: I have to show Scott this. As quickly as the thought would come, it fades away into emptiness and sadness. I remind myself that I cannot show him anything. I cannot tell him anything. He is gone.
I sometimes find it hard to believe that he is not here any longer. That I will not get to feel his hand caressing my cheek. I will never feel his lips against mine. I will never be able to curl up in his arms with my head upon his chest, rising with each breath.
I got lucky with him. Being a larger woman, my opinions about how I look are not exactly positive. Scott, however, never made me feel ugly. He never made me feel unloved. He always reminded me of how beautiful, smart, wonderful, and amazing I was to him. He would brag about me to his friends. He would boast about what an awesome mother I was. He told me many times that he was the luckiest man alive to have found me and to have my love in return for his. I have no doubt that he loved me more than anything in the world. We were meant for each other. Soul mates.
But now he’s gone. I feel as if my soul were ripped in two. My essence and being forever changed by the mark he left in my heart and mind. The love of my life, gone and never to return.
It hurts. So much. But I am good at hiding it. I am really good at distracting myself. I keep telling myself and others that Scott would not want me to be depressed and to live in misery. He would want me to move on, to live life, to live for him, and to be happy. I have definitely had happy moments. But at times, these moments are filled with a little bit of guilt. Should I be more depressed and sad? Am I not grieving in the right way? Do I appear too happy? Can some see through the façade that I have put on display? Do I cry too much? Do I cry too little?
I do not know the answers to all these questions. I have heard that everyone grieves in their own ways. So, what may be right for one person, may be too much or too little for another. I have been told that I have been coping extremely well. Which is fairly true. While in the presence of others, I tend to keep a positive demeanor and be my normal “bubbly” self. Every once in a while, someone will throw me off guard and I talk about Scott, the kids, and other aspects of our cancer journey and losing him. I am usually skilled at holding back tears, which linger at the surface ready to explode at any moment.
Sometimes, I feel like I have cried so much over the last year, that I cannot cry anymore. My tear ducts have run on overdrive and they are quite tired. Instead of tears, I have noticed that I get aches in my chest. A real pain sears through my heart causing me to gasp and choke. I feel that this is something that will take quite some time to fade away. The intensity diminishing over time. It is not something that will suddenly go away.
One month ago, Scott took his final breath and left this world. The first of many months to come. I know what it feels like to lose someone. I know the pain will never go away. I know that it lessens over time, but a hole will remain for as long as I shall live.
I leave you with a poem. This is modified from the original version, which was printed in the memorial folders (service programs).

When I come to the end of my journey
And I travel my last weary mile
Just forget if you can, that I ever frowned
And remember only the smile

 

Forget unkind words I have spoken
Remember some good I have done
Forget that I ever had heartache
And remember I've had loads of fun

 

Forget that I've stumbled and blundered
And sometimes fell by the way
Remember I have fought some hard battles
And won, ere the close of the day

 

Then forget to grieve for my going
I would not have you sad for a day
Lay out a good board game
And remember a time we played

 

And come in the shade of evening
When the sun paints the sky in the west
Stand for a few moments beside me
And remember only my best