7:29 AM
Finally went to sleep at about 12:30. Woke up at 5:00. No dreams about Doug, because why should I get even a moment with him in my dreams, right? It's as though the universe is punishing me over and over again - first, taking him away for real, and second, by not even giving me the comfort of dreaming about him.
But it's not just about me: the universe is punishing Doug, too. He wants to be here with me. (Save the "he IS with you" bullshit, ok? Because even if that's true - and I have exactly ZERO reason to believe that - you know damn well what I mean.) He wants to be with his family. He wants to be with his friends. He wants to do more shows. He wants to watch the Vols have another shitty season, and give Prowler his meds, and make Houdini eat his goddamn canned food. He wants to put in a flower garden this spring. He wants to build our dream house. He wants to travel to Ireland, and take the Empire Builder train to Portland so we can hang out with his granddaughter, and do an African safari. He wants to eat my stir-fry, and meat loaf, and even my sweet potato and black bean chili - the only vegan meal I ever got him to like. He wants to have a cigar and a bourbon with his best friend. He wants to go back to the beach house and eat a metric ton of Calabash shrimp. He wants me to finally master that fucking huli-huli chicken recipe. He wants to celebrate our anniversary. He wants to go back to Hawaii and hit all the spots we didn't get to last time. He wants the simple pleasure of sitting and holding my hand.
Why was all that stolen from him, and from us, and from all the other people who love him? WHY?
I - mistress of the hot flashes - am now cold ALL the time.
I keep trying to express the depth and breadth of how much this hurts, because I want people to understand it, but the fact is that I don't think anyone can, not even if they've lost a spouse, unless they too were robbed of their lives together as older people who'd been through the shit storm of multiple failed marriages, and FINALLY found each other, only to be torn apart - by a surgery that COULD have waited - almost as soon as they were getting started. I don't have a reserve of 20 years of memories to comfort me. I don't have young children I need to raise. I have an empty house, and an empty bed, and an empty heart, and no reason to go on.
I keep saying I don't want to live without him, and I don't. Nothing is important to me anymore. Not my work, not the people who love me, not theatre; nothing matters. Because I don't have Doug.
And maybe that's selfish, but, y'know, it's REALLY EASY for other people to tell me they'd be devastated if anything happened to me - that I need to stick around and be miserable for who knows how long - when THEY get to go to bed in the arms of the person they love most. Who, exactly, is being selfish, now?
It's time to drag my ass off the sofa, and make a cup of coffee, and try to get it down my throat, and feed the cats, and scoop the litter boxes, and wipe down the counters, and sweep the floor. Because, apparently, this is my life now.
9:36 PM
Went to print all the pics today that I want to display Saturday, and my printer decided to die. 🤦♀️
Thank God for the UPS store, because they're handling it as a rush job since I'm a Grieving Widow (aka, universal object of pity).
Finally got the eulogy finished. Y'all are in for a long road on Saturday, provided I can keep it together (which, TBH, is anybody's guess - perhaps a pool is in order, with half the proceeds to the winner and half to the scholarship fund?)
I forgot to thank Lindy yesterday - she brought me some trifold display boards for Saturday. And Susan brought me glue sticks today, because I forgot them yesterday. Thank you both so much. ❤️
I also spent an hour on the phone with a grief counselor, hysterically crying as I recounted the events of the past week and a bit. I'm seeing her on Monday. I doubt it's going to help, considering how many widows I know of who still cry themselves to sleep every night, YEARS after their spouse died. I cannot live like that, y'all. Why would ANYONE keep living like that?
My sister's coming in tomorrow, and I'm afraid that what little composure I've been able to maintain so I can function is going to be gone the minute I see her.
I am SO LONELY, y'all. Doug was the one person who understood me completely (well, James and Peggy do, but neither one of them is going to hold me and stroke my hair as I fall asleep each night). I want to hug him. I want to kiss him. I want to make love to him (yes, old people still do that, kids).
And if I'm this profoundly lonely NOW, when everyone is practically beating my door down trying to help, what happens after Saturday, when real life returns for everyone except me, and our family, and our closest friends?
The thought of being this lonely, and crying myself to sleep every night for the next twenty years is TERRIFYING. I'm not strong enough to do this for long. I'm just not.
And as if all that weren't sad enough: I check Doug's email every day, in case he gets an electronic bill I need to pay. Well, look at the pics here and see what he got today. Under the circumstances, I think I was fairly diplomatic and restrained in my response, don't you?
Pretty sure they're not going to post the review, so OF COURSE I took a picture before submitting it. The things I do for you people...
I am astounded, horrified, and FURIOUS that TriStar Summit Medical Center doesn't have an algorithm that prevents sending review requests to patients who died under their care, ESPECIALLY when that dead patient's wife is STILL waiting for an explanation of WHY there was a delay of more than three hours to get him on dialysis when he was on the verge of coding for every minute of those three hours, AND still waiting for an explanation and apology for not being called when her husband coded the morning of his death. Have I not suffered enough already? Are they TRYING to push me over the edge to overtly suicidal?
Again: I have no issue with any of the people who were directly involved in Doug's care; without exception, they are SPECTACULAR. In fact, I'm still desperately hoping that they'll be able to come on Saturday so that I can hug them and thank them publicly. But that hospital? There are NO FUCKING WORDS.
So, yeah. Another DAY.
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