A Bad Day

I feel like I have been on the verge of tears all day.

Every time I have a moment of time, to myself, I picture Mitch during those last few days. He was coughing, and was really down about having a cold. He needed cough drops, so I picked some up for him, on my way home from work. I keep picturing him in pain, and not knowing that it was something more. (there’s more about his last few weeks, here, in a previous blog)

It hurts so bad.

All I want is for this to not be real. It isn’t fair!

I know, it’s just a bad day.

I will get through it.

But, it still hurts.

I picture him the way they say he was found. Peaceful. And even that hurts! He may not have known he was dying, but we are here, living, without him, and it hurts.

I worry that he was mad at me for not knowing that something was wrong. What if his last thought was “Damnit, Tabbie!”

Hell, that Tuesday night, his employee said he was feeling unwell, and was worried that he caught a “stomach bug” and revealed that one of his parents was in the hospital with C-Diff. I told Mitch to tell him not to come in, until he is cleared, because if he has it, it is no joke and HIGHLY contagious.

Mitch planned on wiping his truck down with bleach wipes, just in case, that Wednesday.

He was going to check the tires, to make sure they were all up to code, Wednesday morning.

He wasn’t feeling well.

Why didn’t we SEE it?!

I miss him so much.

This isn’t fair!

But, life, nor death are fair. We don’t get to pick our genetic makeup, or the illnesses that we succumb to.

But. It. Still. Hurts.

I can’t change the fact that he is gone, and I know that. I wish it were possible to reverse time, and save him, but I can’t.

How did we not catch this?! My god!

Aside from the pain, I feel ashamed. Guilty. I feel like we SHOULD have known!

Fuck.

I know, it isn’t my fault. I know it isn’t his fault. I know it is the fault of no-one.

But I still feel it.

And it really fucking hurts.

And I think Wednesdays are my worst days.

Today marks 6 weeks without the love of my life.

Tomorrow is a new day. 17098659_1645371092146040_1498079249884706989_n

 

I Dreamed of Him, Last Night

Last night was the first dream I’ve had of my husband, since he passed. I woke up wishing it to be real.

I dreamed that he never sprained his wrist, never caught that cold, and that he never had the gout flare-up. I dreamed that he still had the crampy legs, and the chest pain.

I dreamed that I MADE him go to the hospital. I dreamed that he was going to be just fine.

Why did he have to have  a sore throat before the cough started? Without the sore throat, it wouldn’t have seemed like he caught my cold, and the chest pain couldn’t have been attributed to the cough.

Why did he have to fall and sprain his wrist? Why did he have to have a gout flare-up?

I am angry! I am so mad that he had all of these things that would point the heart symptoms away from the heart. I am so sad, because I am SURE we, even him, would have taken it more seriously, if he didn’t have something to blame each symptom for. My heart aches, because I know, there’s nothing I can do about it now, but help spread the word, and pray no-one else suffers what we are all suffering.

I thought about Mitch all day, at work yesterday. I found myself “dazing off” multiple times. I was between surgeries, and lost it. I cried, out loud, body shaking with each sob. There were a few unfamiliar faces in the OR, who didn’t know my story, that I am SURE I scared the piss out of. I am sorry if I scared you. I am sorry if I ever scare anyone with my body wracking sobs. Sometimes, it just comes, and I don’t even try to control it.

I miss him terribly, and every morning, when I wake up, I wish I was waking up in that crappy house, with my big stinky dogs, and my big teddy bear husband, with his arms around me, or with him trying to press his morning boner into my thigh, because that’s more like something he would do.

So, today, I will wear his Gray Seattle Seahawks hoodie, that I stole from him, long before he passed, and think about him more.

 111wwmdbracelet

This is a bracelet stands for “What Would Mitch Do?” It means, if you feel like dancing, dance, because that’s what he would do. He wouldn’t care who was watching. He would also keep calm in any event. (Unless the Seattle Seahawks were involved. He was never calm about football.) My friend had them made, and is selling them for $5 each, so we can put money into savings for my 12  year old daughter. Friends are the best, but I wear my bracelet, every day, as does Meg. ❤ If you are interested in one, just message Lisa. She will take care of everything! If you’re not interested, that’s fine too.

You can still ask yourself, “WWMD?”