Grieving for Wife

      I started this whole writing exercise because of the difficulties Wife and I encountered as we wearied through our several-year journey through breast cancer. Now, I share because I realize that while process is stressful, physically, mentally, and financially, it holds NO comparison to the stress and shock effected by a mate dying -  all of a sudden, and after years of warning - as if without warning. Thus, I needed to address the grieving process.
    Before we address the subject of grieving, though, I want to re-visit the battle grounds. While hoping and praying for a quick resolution, we trooped through the first steps of the cancer process; the inital shock of cancer diagnosis, the first devastating chemotherapy, then killer radiation; on to scarring surgery, then finally (or semi-finally) to the several-year wait to hear the settling word,  'remission.'
     We heard that word, enjoyed the brief respite, then found ourselves being launched onto an almost-out-of-control cycle of  yet another burst of chemo, followed by another, though briefer remission, ad nauseum. Somewhere during one of those difficult eons, through some paperwork clarifying a study Wife was asked to join, we learned that our cancer had "advanced" to Stage-FOUR, WAY-y-y-y past the uh-oh stage, and on to the Never Come Out-Alive Stage.
     Then, a few years later, Wife died - all of a sudden, without warning. Though we had spent the last few months in and out of hospitals; though she had multiple tubes spilling life from her chest; though she was so weak she could not even walk to the bathroom, she DIED all of a sudden, without warning  . . me.
     The months in the hospital were so much more stressful because we had no opportunity to cuddle, to share a bed - not for frog-snorting intimacy (yes, of course I missed that) - but more for the skin-to-skin touch; the soft on-the-shoulder or arm touch; the "I love you" whisper as we rested, lulling ourselves to sleep. THAT, I miss, and crave, the most.
     Then, she DIED -all of a sudden, without warning . . me. Now, I'm alone, though children and grands are wandering alongside me on their own grieving journey. So, now, I can no longer lie beside her, nor touch her, nor hear her whisper to me, "I love you."
      Some days, I manage - not always nobly, but I manage to survive. Daytime is easier than night-time because, for years, I was out and about then. I always tried to get home in time to eat supper with Wife and kids (when they were home or visiting), then go my way once more until bedtime. Ah, bedtime - the magic moments when I felt connected to Wife on many and varied levels - physical touch and intimacy, soft words, summarizing the day, and such. The first words I tried to always say to her was,"This is my favorite time of day. I have you to myself. And I am all yours - for this short time between lights out and sleep. Let's savor these moments."  And I did. And I hope she did (she said she did.)
      Yes, I was, and am still, in denial. Grieving was an unfamiliar term to me, though my parents and Wife's parents had died, as well as an older sibling of mine.
      So, now, we need to get back to the grieving process. A week or so after Wife died, Pastor gifted me a book, written by Kenneth C. Haugk, part one of a series named "Journeying Through Grief." I devoured it. I can't say I agree, nor appreciate all that the man wrote, but I devoured it, nevertheless.
      Then, recently, Pastor gifted me the second book in the series. A quote from the beginning of Chapter three is sufficient for now: "At a conference, a woman told me, 'Half the battle is just accepting the grief and letting yourself grieve.'
       ". . Grieving . . isn't easy. We . .  end up trying to hold in our emotions. . .  It doesn't work. Eventually, our grief will break through, so letting it come out now is half the battle."
      Yes, I'll get better. Yes, I'll live on, for sake of our children, their children, relatives and friends. But for now, I continue to grieve for my soul, my life mate, my very-other, my very-me.