husband’s death

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The Firsts

I really hate the firsts.

My first day back at work since my husband died. The first night coming home from work without him here. The first doctor’s appointment without him here to find out what my doctor said and if I was ok. The first time I had to fill out paperwork and mark “widowed” instead of “married.” Even the first oil change on my car left me missing him.

Each one of these events left me either crying or angry or just…empty.

That first night I came home from work, I impulsively changed the message on our answering machine to just list our number. Another first. A message with no names, no joking, just our number. But immediately after I changed the message, I felt like I had erased my husband from existence. It was never his voice on our machine, but his name. With my name. With our son’s name. It’s like I erased our family in 10 seconds. I cried so hard I started to hyperventilate. I had to walk around the house and focus on my breathing so I wouldn’t pass out.

These “firsts” are things I had never thought about before. When my brother and parents died, I became very familiar with death dates and first holidays and birthdays without each of them. But this? It is vastly different when your spouse or partner dies. Our lives were so intertwined that anything I used to typically do, seems wrong now. Going to the grocery store is like trying to walk in a fucking minefield. I go through the aisles and try to pick up items I would buy for Wally, things I can’t even eat or drink, but it’s so ingrained in me to make sure I take care of his needs, too, that I feel bereft each damned time I walk through the store. I’ve even tried different stores, but it doesn’t matter. My brain can’t quite compute that Wally isn’t here for me to buy for, to take care of. So typically I wander in the store a bit, wonder why I’m even there, and leave with very little.

Lima sitting in Wally’s chair with some of his cremains

But this weekend, I had my first “not completely horrible day.” I still cried a few times, but I didn’t feel quite as heavy as I had the day before. Much of that heaviness has already returned, but that’s ok. I don’t want it to completely go away. I want to keep carrying this grief, this love, this pain, around with me because I want to stay connected to Wally somehow. Sometimes talking out loud to him or looking at photos or watching videos with him in them—it’s not enough. Everything just feels…off. Wrong. Disconnected.

And yet at the same time, I’m canceling his credit card and trying to get his life insurance and shutting off his cell phone. And I feel horrible about it!! I know I need to do it all but jesus fucking christ, it’s like I just continue to try and erase him when all I really want to do is talk to him and kiss him and hold him again.

In Wally’s eulogy, I said that I know that no one will ever love me again like my husband did. It’s true. I was so lucky to have his love for over 30 years. But my god, the hole that it left when he died seems infinite.

I know I have only just begun all the “firsts” and although I shouldn’t be, I’m still surprised at how exhausting they are. His birthday is coming up, along with all the damn holidays. I’m about to go to my first conference since he’s been gone. We used to talk each night of my conferences and I’d tell him what I learned, who I saw, what cable tv I was able to watch in the hotel room. He’d always say how much he missed me and loved me and to make sure I stayed safe. I’m really going to miss those conversations. All of our conversations. Everything.

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The Love Won’t Die

Many of you who read this blog are people that I know personally or through social media. For those of you who do not fit in those categories, you know about my life, my joy, and my struggles through my writing. I’m having difficulty writing much down these days, but wanted you to know that my husband died on October 2nd. Although he had been in hospice care for 7 months, I really thought we had at least a few more weeks. But I was wrong.

Our son and I wrote Walter’s obituary while he was laid out in the living room with his mother, sister and niece hanging out with him. I kept Wally’s body for 8 hours after he died, and probably would have kept him longer. But I needed to let go at some point, I guess.

I wonder if I’ll feel any relief that the caregiving part of my life is over. Right now I don’t. I just want to talk to my husband. I want to hear him laugh. I want him to make me laugh.

Instead I just talk to his chair. In my head I can hear him responding to me. Each night and morning, I carry the pillow he died on and hold it to my chest like a teddy bear. I’m not sure why I thought I wouldn’t hurt as much and as deeply as I do. Denial, I suppose? This is more horrible than I ever imagined. There were times when I didn’t want to be married, times when I wanted to live alone. But when your spouse of nearly three decades is no longer on the planet, it doesn’t matter what I wanted before. I just want him here for a little bit longer.

But I don’t get that. Our son doesn’t get that either.

I miss you, Wally. I love you.