It is so odd to know that I won’t ever get a phone call to tell me that Ron is on the floor – again.
It is so odd to know that all the things I think I’ll tell him the next time I see him won’t be said, at least in this lifetime.
I’ve read other blogs where people have lost a loved one and everyone copes in different ways. Some scream on the outside, some scream on the inside and look calm on the outside. Some have written posts to their deceased loved ones. I’m not sure I could put my deepest thoughts and feelings to Ron out there where others could read them. I’m not sure I’m ready to even put my deepest thoughts and feelings into words for myself. The void is there and it’s big… BIG…B.I.G.
Going to bed at night is the hardest thing to adjust to. I haven’t slept in the same place as Ron since last September and even before then, he slept in his chair in the living room and I tried to sleep in the bedroom. I was always “on guard” though in case he needed me or got up. I was always worried that he would fall and he did on several occasions. It’s odd that I don’t have to sleep with one eye open any longer.
Thursdays are rough. I find myself looking at the clock for the exact time I think he quit breathing, the exact time the nursing home called me, and the exact time that I think they quit working to save him. Will those feelings go away? The first week after the funeral, I went to the cemetery every day. I didn’t go last week. I will go this week. I’m not sure why as I know that “he” is not there. I can talk to him just as well from home (and do) as I can standing there and looking at his resting place.
I have several voice mail messages on my phone still. Some are the upbeat Ron that everyone knew and loved. Some are the so sick he could barely talk Ron that he became in that last couple of weeks. Some days were better than others. February 14 was a great message that made me laugh. I took him Chinese food and he wanted me to bring him “some of those square round things with sausage in them” and did I know what he wanted (pot stickers). He loved his Valentine’s Day flowers and I’m so glad that I sent them. His phone call on March 3 was pitiful; they had not admitted him to the hospital but sent him back with different medication. His phone call on March 5 was almost joyous – he had been admitted and was giving me his room number. They're little things and I know that as time goes on I'll deal better with them.
For now, it's just odd.