Hi Everyone
I hope this finds you all doing well. In my last post I put how I have been asked to write a piece on my final thoughts before Ben passed away to give to alcoholics to show what can really happen to anyone who doesn't take the warning signs seriously. I am sorry to ask but anyone who is up to it could you please have a read over what I have done. I can't really ask family to look at it as they get to upset and really don't know if I should submit it or leave it for a while as emotions are still running high. If you don't want to read it I totally understand as I know it is a bit close to home for some of you however your opinions will be greatly appreciated. Thanks again
Take Care
Krista x
A JOURNEY LESS TRAVELED.
How did I get here? Yes, how did we go from being a happy family, full of love and life, with a blank road in front of us to fill as our lives traveled together, to watching you fade away right in front of me from this horrific illness?
I would never wish this on my worst enemy. Days turn into nights full of pain and suffering. We had plans for our life together with our beautiful children, but now I am washing your clammy body trying to make you as comfortable as possible, because the fluid has caused an infection in your legs and stomach. Yes. "What do we do babe?" you would often ask me. How do I answer that? Yes, we both know that your body is shutting down. Yes, it doesn’t matter anymore about
the lawns being mowed or the shopping, as I try and carry you to the toilet and then to the couch so I can clean you up before the kids come to talk to you.
Now you can no longer see, your vision is gone, so I touch your face with our baby’s hand. Can you feel her? She is rubbing your face, trying to give you strength through her touch. Yes. How did we get here? This is not what our life was supposed to be like. Yes, the groans of pain as I look on helplessly, alone, in the middle of the night. Yes. Too scared to fall asleep, in case I don’t hear you call out in pain or that you need more ice to suck on because you can no longer swallow or the fear that you will try and stand and get to the toilet on your own because you don’t want to be a burden, and you fall and get another bleed. Yes. So I will lie awake and drift in and out of sleep that is really not sleep at all. Yes. Often I find myself asking God, "Why?" Yes. Why is this happening to him, why are my children living this nightmare, why are you trying to take him from me? Yes. Why don’t you answer me? Yes. Why do you need him? I need him more, so do the kids. Yes. I know I am being selfish, but surely another person could do the job you want him for. Why? Please?
The sun has risen again. Yes Will today be the day or will I be blessed and be able to hold him again tonight? Yes. We spend time crying and talking and crying more. Yes. Maybe I should cook him his favourite foods. Yes. That way I could maybe get him to eat a spoonful or two. Yes. He does not eat; I need to get him to eat. Yes. Please eat, even just a bite.
Crap! His kidneys must be failing. This cannot be a good thing. Yes. Golden syrup is thinner and brighter. Yes. Don't cry love, I will call the doctor; it will be okay. Yes. What can be done? Not much apparently, part of the process. Yes. When does life become a process? A process to me used to be having a shower, putting on the washing, cooking tea. Yes. Now monitoring urine output to fluid intake is a process. Yes. No longer being able to take a deep breath is a process. Yes. I have decided today that I hate that word. Yes. This is not a process, this is a life. Yes. This is my husband’s life. Yes. This is my children’s father, this is my whole world here, right now, in front of me going through the "‘process." The process to what?
He is losing too much blood. Yes. Where is it all coming from and how do I stop it? His breathing is terrible and why is he staring into space? Yes. I love you more, please just keep fighting. I know you're tired, but please. Yes. I’m not ready yet, please just fight. Yes. I promise if you get through this again, next time I won’t ask you, but please just keep fighting. Yes. His temp is 40 degrees; I’ll call the doctor again.
Hospice, doctors, the works have come to the house. Yes. This can’t be good. He has done this before though, and pulled through it, so he will do it again; it’ll be right. Yes. Make another coffee, pull yourself together, do not cry in front of the kids, and be strong. Yes. I am numb now, it’s like I have gone cold from feeling.
He is not good? Yes. Prepare for the worst? Yes. How do I do that? He has done this before and pulled out of it. Why do you think this time is different? Yes. His organs have shut down, crap. Okay, pull yourself together. Yes. Make some calls. Yes. Talk to him; tell him that you love him and how he made my life. Yes. Tears rolling down my cheeks as I watch him unable to talk, but a tear rolls down his cheek as a sign he can hear me. Yes. Does he believe that it is time I let him go? Yes. Is he mad at me for calling the doctor? Yes. Have I done the right thing in leaving him home where he wanted to be? Yes, Or should I get him to the hospital? Yes. Nothing they can do there to help. Keep him home then. Yes. Give him that right as so many others have been taken from him, from us.
Morphine drip? Yes. This is not good. What? I have to administer morphine when he is pain? Yes. I can’t do this, I can’t, how can this be happening? Yes. I feel like I am a robot now: Doing what I have to and not really absorbing what I am doing. Yes.
Tell Dad you love him sweetheart, give him lots of kisses. I know it’s hard, but he is very sick this time mate, so take the time in case…. Yes.
Three years ago we were getting married; it was one of the happiest days of my life. Yes. We were meant to grow old together; this was not part of the plan…
I only left you for a second, babe, to grab the baby out of her cot. I ran straight back. How could your breathing change so fast? Yes. I was only gone for 3 seconds tops! Yes. Ben, don’t do this, bloody fight! Yes. I am so scared, don’t you leave us.
That’s it, he has gone. Yes. Just like that he has gone. Yes. I needed more time, I wasn’t ready. Yes. He has gone. Yes. Comfort the kids now. They need me to be strong. Yes. Stop crying and be strong.
This is what a broken heart feels like, literally feels broken. Yes. I am so hollow, empty. Yes. Nothing left. Just keep breathing. Yes. Inside I feel like I’m dying; it is so dark this place I find myself in. Yes. People say it will get easier, but I think you just learn to live life like this. Yes. What do I do now?
Post Edited By Moderator (hep93) : 12/8/2011 3:34:00 PM (GMT-7)