Saturday, November 14, 2009

When Something of Great Value is Lost

I awoke this morning with a low grade case of the weepies - like a computer virus running in the background just waiting to make a break for it.

So strange, I was jolted awake at 3 am and instantly remembered 3 am five years ago.

Once all the tubes and machines were removed from Tom - his room got eerily quiet; compared to the preceding days and nights it was almost silent. No more millions of docs, nurses, respiratory therapists, neurologists, etc, etc, running in and out of the room at all times of day and night. The toughest decision I will ever have to make was done and we were waiting for something else now.

That last night the ICU nurses, who had become our little family, fixed everything so I could sleep in the same bed with Tom. There I was cradled against him like so many times before - his arm draped around me, my head on his chest.

I spent most of the night reliving the amazing things we had done together and telling Tom how much I loved him. I must have dozed off and at 3 am, Cheryl our night nurse came in to check on us. As she was leaving she said two things I will never forget - "I don't know what you are saying to him in here but every once in awhile the heart monitor really picks up :-)" and as she was walking out the door she said something that I came to understand so well in the months and years ahead - "enjoy his warmth."

Oh weeping shadows on the wall. Of course there are tears; we cry and feel terrible when something of value is lost.

I saw the Soul Reader yesterday and it was wonderfully amazing. I had a personal training session yesterday and I am having a massage at home this afternoon. I am happy that I have learned to take care of myself and have left the acute days of grief behind.

For those of you who are still in that agony - there is hope. I have been visiting a lot of widow blogs this week and I weep with you and hold you. Your raw pain resonates with me - I do remember and I will always remember those darkest of days. If you are reading this know that the widows' walk gets easier over time and different days are ahead. I wish I could sit quietly beside you and give you a hug, a tea, a glass of wine, a listening ear, a hand to hold. I send my heart across the miles between.

I am grateful for each of you, I am grateful for all my sisters and brothers who have been with me and I with them in these last five years - I am blessed beyond belief. I am grateful for the incredible transformation this grief journey has brought to my life and I am heartbroken that I had to lose the love of my life to get here.

I am sure there is more to come today................


  1. Suzann, I really needed to read this today. I am in abject darkness, wandering and lost.

    Thank you, thank you, thank you.


  2. Forgive me, my mind is not firing on all cylinders today ... I wish you peace on this anniversary ... and I too wish that you had not had to lose your world to grow into the beautiful person that you are today. I am so thankful that I have you in my life.

  3. I am grateful for the incredible transformation this grief journey has brought to my life and I am heartbroken that I had to lose the love of my life to get here.

    That surely summarizes it, doesn't it. Even though a huge part of me was ripped away when Nick died, even though that gaping hole will always be there, I am in some ways more whole because of that hole. How absurd.

  4. Suzann,
    when reading this post, I realise my lack of both english and norwegian of vocaburaty:
    I feel simply helpless to explain my emotions and sympathy.
    Never the less, I have a feeling you understand what I try to communicate.


  5. I do understand the difficulty of that hard decision you had to make. I am reminded of those choices all too frequently in my work, and am seeing the raw workings of a family in the midst of all this over these past couple of weeks.

    The experience you describe is truly a treasured memory, I'm sure -- the warmth and the opportunity to verbally express thoughts and feelings.

    I wish I could have shared my husband's last hours, minutes, but such was not to be. I did have that experience with my mother many years ago and am convinced of its meaningfulness for her and definitely for me.