Life in progress

Tag Archives: grief


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AtoZ/What Day is it Anyway? Monday, April 27th, 2020 – My W Day

 

My day today so far–10:00pm: 

How do I start to explain my day?

I’m doing it without looking at the screen, because the words are so hard. Touch-typing for the win.

I’ve never talked about my relationship with my husband on this blog. I haven’t seen him since I started on WordPress. He moved to England eight years and one month ago. Back to England, I should say. He became a permanent resident after we got married. Between the time we were wed and the time he came back to stay, he contracted MS.

There were complications. I couldn’t work because of the kids, he couldn’t work because of his MS. The government didn’t want to support him and long story short, it came down to the possibility of me going to jail. It’s a really long story. Don’t ask.

So, though there was much much love lost, he left. His condition worsened.

And yesterday …

I got the phone call from his mother today while I was out walking with Alex.

May the angels care for you always, my love.

Why I’m writing this post:

Because if you’re like me and stuck at home already, or if you’re going to be like me soon, the days of the week are going to be hell to keep track of. We have a wonderful community here on WordPress and all over the Internet as well, and I’m sure many people are feeling nervous and/or isolated. I want to make sure every one of us has somewhere to congregate and someone to talk to.

I want everyone to know that you can start discussions with each other in the comments, and if you’d like to write your own “What Day is it Anyway?” post, you can link to this one. Hashtag #WDIIA.

Let’s keep in touch!


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#SoCS – Call

If I could call my dad, he’d be amazed that I was using a wireless phone, because he died in 1978. Or maybe he wouldn’t, if he’s really watching over me.

If I could call my dad, he’d say he wishes he could meet his grandkids. Though two of them are too big to dandle on his knee.

If I could call my dad, I think he’d be proud of me for continuing his love of telling stories.

If I could call my dad, he’d be happy that I kept my sense of humour, even through all the shit I’ve been through.

If I could call my dad, he might or might not think I’m doing enough for my mother. He may just acknowledge that I’ve got enough to do already.

If I could call my dad, I’d be grateful for one last chance to give him the opportunity to make me spit tea through my nose …

If I could call my dad, I’d tell him I’m doing my best.

If I could call my dad, I’d tell him I miss him.

This post is brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the link to find all the other posts in the comments, and join in! https://lindaghill.com/2018/08/03/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-august-4-18/


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154. Scenes from the Second Seat on the Right

Thursday, February 1st, 6:00pm
Brandy and Stewart (and Victoria)

 

Stewart: (crying) I WANT IT! I WANT THE SWITCH GAME!

Brandy: I told you, you have to wait for your birthday.

Stewart: (crying) BUT I WANT IT NOW!!!

Victoria: (sitting across the aisle) Can’t you shut that kid up?

Brandy: NO! I CAN’T! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM ANYWAY?

Victoria: MY HUSBAND JUST DIED OF CANCER!

Brandy: YEAH, WELL MINE WAS SHOT IN THE LINE OF DUTY LAST MONTH!!

Victoria: (stares quietly for a moment) Can I buy you a coffee?

 

Next stop: Friday, February 2nd, 9:00pm

Click here to learn all about this series, how it works, and where to find your favourite characters.


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Unparalleled grief

goes on

Flowers for Aaron

Down the street from me lives a lady. I see her often, sitting on her front porch, when I’m going by on my paper route. Occasionally I stop to talk to her – she has a grandmotherly attachment to Alex, my son. In the summer she gives him popsicles.  She never fails to ask me how he is if he’s not with me.

In early January she lost her husband quite suddenly. She has family, two daughters who live with their own families not too far away, who were very supportive, taking her where she needed to go since the driver in the household passed away. When I talked to her about the passing of her husband she seemed to have made peace with the idea that he was in a better place. He left her to live alone with her disabled son.

Today, when I came to her house I stopped to talk and she asked me, ‘Did you hear?’

‘Hear what?’ I asked.

‘My son passed away last week…’ she told me.

Tears came to my eyes before I could stop them, causing hers to flow as well.

Her son was an adult. He had been sick for the past two weeks and was unable to fight it off.  His heart gave out. He was born with a heart defect much like my Alex was.

No parent should outlive their child. I’ve said this again and again and yet, it happens.  How can life go on after that?

How?