This is the first time I have posted on this part of the forum. Before, it was resource-seeking, and fight! fight! fight! It breaks my heart where I am today. I just got up from trying to nap, but started to cry instead. I think I need to do something else instead, maybe see if I can get this story out of me.
I am 24. My boyfriend died about 2 1/2 months ago. He was 30. For the previous 10 months before his death. I was at his side almost every day. He was diagnosed while we were living in France together, we were to get married in the next year or so. We were as in love as anyone can be.
After his diagnosis and return to the US, I moved in with his family in NJ. My family is in GA. It was so hard. There was so much suffering. In John's case, there was no hope, no cure, just the understanding that each day was precious-- most days were not precious as he endured so much pain, so much sadness, so much disappointment.
The treatments were a nightmare, and he hated to look at himself and the way cancer changed his appearance. He once told me that he hated being himself. How horrible. Someone that had always been so confident and even slightly arrogant for his entire life. It seems as though we spent nearly every other week in the hospital for about 10 months. Me and his mom, together, trying to help our John. Utterly, unspeakably heartbroken, at every turn. There were moments where all I could do was lay on the floor. As though life were leaving my body as well. I wonder, looking back, how could I endure so much suffering? How could he? How could his mother and father? I am sure that we had angels by our side, there was something stronger than human will walking us through that tremendous pain.
It was a cruel nightmare that lasted almost a year. I lived facing his death for so long, that his actual death felt almost like a release from the hell. For a short while. A day maybe. And then like all of you, anticipatory grief became real grief. It went from numbness to reality, to deep and dark despair. Deeper and darker than I knew was possible. During his illness there was so much panic, fear, nervousness... the treatments, the fevers, the ER, the tubes, the oxygen tank, the pain, all the physical changes, what did this mean? What could that mean? What would happen if the doctors couldn't do this or that for him?
And then it was over.
Now I am left with so many horrendous memories, what feels like a lifetime of pain, bottled up and condensed into one nauseous, depleted body. Still, the worst part, is remembering his sadness. How horribly disappointed in what had befallen himself and his loved ones. How terribly heartbroken he was. The night he cried out to me, "I don't want to die!" I will never, never forget it.
I feel as though my heart and soul have been so transformed by suffering, that I can't see straight. I feel as though I dealt with so much pain before his death, that I have no more reserves to handle the loss. Is it possible to run out of your coping mechanisms? Your ability to deal? I guess that I will find out, maybe one day I will be able to answer that question myself. Today I don't know the answer but have to just believe that it is no- just keep going.
I continue to hope for the best, knowing that this will stay with me forever. Even though it is sadness I talk of, I can honestly say that I wouldn't have it any other way, because its all I have left that keeps him around. One day I hope that sadness turns into a state of profound remembrance, that will guide me and help me heal. It is oh so hard.
I know you all understand me, thank you for being there.