Marilyn

This is for those of you who have requested I provide a chronology of grieving, a chart of a journey we undertook in 1985 and where we went and how we changed.  Finally, it is my response to trying to understand where I am now, and what I am going through.  It is my hope that someone out there may be helped and comforted by the understanding.

Marilyn died on August 1, 2002.  She had been admitted to the hospital for severe low blood sugar, probably brought on by failing kidneys.  Her heart gave out that night, she passed out and could not be revived.

Her journey started in 1985, when she was diagnosed as diabetic. The poems Words and Three Words To My Wife reflect my feelings for her at the time. At first, it was a inconvenience for the both of us—retinopathy, slow healing, heart disease, but under control, more or less. Except the smoking.  We were both smokers, she more than I.

Her heart attack and multiple bypass occurred in 1989.  There were several hospitalizations for congestive heart failure, acute bronchitis, etc.  The kids had left the house at last.  We concentrated on her health more seriously, as more and more she was unable to go much.  We quit traveling, except the occasional trip to Birmingham to visit her mother.  She went through a lot of laser surgery on her eyes during this period.  I concentrated on work and looking after her. There was just the two of us; the boys were all out and on their own.

In 1992, we were blessed with our first son's stepchildren, Morgan and Andrew.  They would visit almost every weekend and go to church with us.  We loved both dearly, and it gave Marilyn a new focus.  Our first grandson from our second son's marriage, Zane, came in 1996.  The apple of my eye to this day.  The grandchildren were a joyous blessing!

More operations came.  Marilyn lost her gall bladder; then the first amputation, her little toe.  We spent a year in almost daily rehab trying to get the wound to heal.  It came close, but osteomyelitis set in, and she had two more toes amputated.  She had cataracts removed from both eyes.  Her world was closing in, but she seldom complained, even when I could tell how much pain she was in. Her heart and her kidneys gradually weakened.  Her diabetes became more and more brittle. She was still my perfect rose.

The millennium came.  We both gave up smoking that year, on Thanksgiving.  I quit partly to support her in quitting and partly because I had just gotten out of back surgery.  The neurosurgeon warned my back would never properly heal unless I quit.  I took him at his word.  The cardiologist had been after Marilyn for years, as had her other doctors.

In June of this year, 2002, Marilyn was back in the hospital with pneumonia.  She was worn down and extremely tired.  I could see that goodbye would be coming soon, but we both held hopes for a few more years.  3 weeks later, she was back in the hospital, this time for good.  She died, I hope quickly and painlessly.

I cannot tell you what grief is like.  It is letting go and holding on; it comes like heavy surf at times, strong and overwhelming.  It is looking back with intense longing and ahead with fear.  It is quite literally starting over.  After a while, numbness sets in. 

Where am I right now?  I am beginning to realize that the world will go on, whether I want it to or not, that life is still there to be lived.  And so I keep moving, even when I feel all dried out and dead inside.  I don't have a choice.  It would be a disservice to Marilyn to quit.  She was the best thing to ever happen to me.  She invested her life to be with me.  I owe her.

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