DLW - Part 1
As long as I write these memories down and others read them, then Doug is never really far away at all.
I'm not looking for comments or sympathy. I'm just wanting to put this in writing and to share it with those of you who I trust. I think it is part of the process that I need to go through and I thank you guys for putting up with me while I go through it.
I don't know whether to start at the end or the beginning. The end may explain some of my feelings better.
February 1, 2002 - Five days before my husband died, we had a long talk. Actually, I had a long talk and he mostly listened. We were both fairly non-communicative people, which stemmed from the similarities in how we were raised. I should mention that this talk came about from a conversation with my best friend Tracy, who also was responsible for introducing us al those years before. I had called to cry on her shoulder about our relationship. She asked me at one point that if I were to drop dead tomorrow, would I have spent my last year unhappy and I answered yes. She told me that I had to do something about it and that I couldn't live the rest of my life in misery. Her words still give me chills.
During this talk, I whispered, I cried, I lamented over the lost year of closeness and tenderness and the lack of sex and how that weighed in on my self-esteem. We decided that it would be best if we split. Having just bought a house together the year before, we just rearranged ourselves to different rooms and went on with our lives. The discussion was a blessing, a boon to both of us. It opened doors that had been closed between us. We talked like old friends. We laughed while we cooked, we carried on conversations about feelings and not just deeds, we mended fences and became friends again. Those five days were the calm before the storm. I am thankful to them every day when I wake. Without them, I think I would never have gotten to the place I am today.
However, those five days also are the reason I am just now grieving Doug four years later.
February 6, 2002 - When the phone call came, I was on my way to choir practice. Every wednesday night at Leanns barn. I had stopped at Dees house to drop off her birthday present (a hand blown, hand painted smoking stone from my favorite head shop, the Glassy Knoll). Alex was the one who called me. He was at home and they had called the house. I started driving to the east side from Mopac & Enfield. It was rush hour, I knew it would take me forever. Then I got another call. It was more serious than they thought, they were transporting him to South Austin Medical, which was a whole lot closer. I flew down Mopac. My first thought was suicide. Marina would tell me constantly how much Doug loved me. She said she could see it in his eyes. I always wondered why I couldn't see it. I wanted actions, not words. I wanted to be shown, not told.
I arrived as the ambulance pulled in, but they wouldn't take me to him. I should have known something was up as a short, dark haired woman ushered me into a very small room to wait. She asked if there was anyone else to call. I told her no. We were all the family each other had in this town. She told me that he had a seizure and that a receptionist had called the ambulance. They were attempting to revive him as we spoke. If I had looked at my watch, I would have known. She kept me there with inane questions and small talk for thirty minutes and then she walked me down to see him.
The doctor took my hand and told me that I should talk to Doug, that he could hear me. His shirt was cut off and there was dried blood on him. No one was working on him. I've watched enough ER, I should have seen it coming. I leaned in, I talked, I whispered, I cajoled, and then I cried. I wanted to scream at the Dr. for putting me through that, for not just telling me straight out that he was gone. Why do they do this? I need the truth! Don't tell me a fairy story to make yourself feel better. That memory has haunted me for years. He had a massive heart attack. Our family physician told me the next day that even had he been in the hospital when it happened, there was nothing that could have been done to save him.
I went back to my tiny room and started the phone calls, first to my son and a neighbor to arrange for him to come to the hospital and then to my support system (Tracy, Aleta, Marina, Blake, Mom & Dad and finally to Bob & Marcella). I couldn't tell Bob. How do you tell a man that his oldest son has died on your watch? I dialed and let the nice lady do the talking. She looked liked she needed something to do. Thank goodness for cell phones, otherwise I wouldn't have remembered any of the numbers I needed. After all that I needed air. I wasn't smoking then, so it was just air. I couldn't breathe in that room. The woman kept trying to wrangle me back into the hospital but I refused. I stood in the early evening air and waited for my son. Breaking the news to him over the phone was just as hard. He arrived instantly it seemed. Time must have been mutating and doubling over on itself. I felt like all time should just stop. Everything should cease to be.
It was then that it started to sink in. I could not grieve this man that I'd known for thirteen years. Hadn't I given up that right when we broke up a few days before? I had no right, no claim, nothing. All I could do was to honor what I thought his wishes would be. He was 44, I was 35. We hadn't given any thought to wills or estates or trusts. I vowed that night that I would do everything in my power to honor him and his memory, but that I could not grieve him because I did not deserve to. My guilt was enormous.
I'm not looking for comments or sympathy. I'm just wanting to put this in writing and to share it with those of you who I trust. I think it is part of the process that I need to go through and I thank you guys for putting up with me while I go through it.
I don't know whether to start at the end or the beginning. The end may explain some of my feelings better.
February 1, 2002 - Five days before my husband died, we had a long talk. Actually, I had a long talk and he mostly listened. We were both fairly non-communicative people, which stemmed from the similarities in how we were raised. I should mention that this talk came about from a conversation with my best friend Tracy, who also was responsible for introducing us al those years before. I had called to cry on her shoulder about our relationship. She asked me at one point that if I were to drop dead tomorrow, would I have spent my last year unhappy and I answered yes. She told me that I had to do something about it and that I couldn't live the rest of my life in misery. Her words still give me chills.
During this talk, I whispered, I cried, I lamented over the lost year of closeness and tenderness and the lack of sex and how that weighed in on my self-esteem. We decided that it would be best if we split. Having just bought a house together the year before, we just rearranged ourselves to different rooms and went on with our lives. The discussion was a blessing, a boon to both of us. It opened doors that had been closed between us. We talked like old friends. We laughed while we cooked, we carried on conversations about feelings and not just deeds, we mended fences and became friends again. Those five days were the calm before the storm. I am thankful to them every day when I wake. Without them, I think I would never have gotten to the place I am today.
However, those five days also are the reason I am just now grieving Doug four years later.
February 6, 2002 - When the phone call came, I was on my way to choir practice. Every wednesday night at Leanns barn. I had stopped at Dees house to drop off her birthday present (a hand blown, hand painted smoking stone from my favorite head shop, the Glassy Knoll). Alex was the one who called me. He was at home and they had called the house. I started driving to the east side from Mopac & Enfield. It was rush hour, I knew it would take me forever. Then I got another call. It was more serious than they thought, they were transporting him to South Austin Medical, which was a whole lot closer. I flew down Mopac. My first thought was suicide. Marina would tell me constantly how much Doug loved me. She said she could see it in his eyes. I always wondered why I couldn't see it. I wanted actions, not words. I wanted to be shown, not told.
I arrived as the ambulance pulled in, but they wouldn't take me to him. I should have known something was up as a short, dark haired woman ushered me into a very small room to wait. She asked if there was anyone else to call. I told her no. We were all the family each other had in this town. She told me that he had a seizure and that a receptionist had called the ambulance. They were attempting to revive him as we spoke. If I had looked at my watch, I would have known. She kept me there with inane questions and small talk for thirty minutes and then she walked me down to see him.
The doctor took my hand and told me that I should talk to Doug, that he could hear me. His shirt was cut off and there was dried blood on him. No one was working on him. I've watched enough ER, I should have seen it coming. I leaned in, I talked, I whispered, I cajoled, and then I cried. I wanted to scream at the Dr. for putting me through that, for not just telling me straight out that he was gone. Why do they do this? I need the truth! Don't tell me a fairy story to make yourself feel better. That memory has haunted me for years. He had a massive heart attack. Our family physician told me the next day that even had he been in the hospital when it happened, there was nothing that could have been done to save him.
I went back to my tiny room and started the phone calls, first to my son and a neighbor to arrange for him to come to the hospital and then to my support system (Tracy, Aleta, Marina, Blake, Mom & Dad and finally to Bob & Marcella). I couldn't tell Bob. How do you tell a man that his oldest son has died on your watch? I dialed and let the nice lady do the talking. She looked liked she needed something to do. Thank goodness for cell phones, otherwise I wouldn't have remembered any of the numbers I needed. After all that I needed air. I wasn't smoking then, so it was just air. I couldn't breathe in that room. The woman kept trying to wrangle me back into the hospital but I refused. I stood in the early evening air and waited for my son. Breaking the news to him over the phone was just as hard. He arrived instantly it seemed. Time must have been mutating and doubling over on itself. I felt like all time should just stop. Everything should cease to be.
It was then that it started to sink in. I could not grieve this man that I'd known for thirteen years. Hadn't I given up that right when we broke up a few days before? I had no right, no claim, nothing. All I could do was to honor what I thought his wishes would be. He was 44, I was 35. We hadn't given any thought to wills or estates or trusts. I vowed that night that I would do everything in my power to honor him and his memory, but that I could not grieve him because I did not deserve to. My guilt was enormous.