My name is Robert. Five months after my wife’s passing, I decided to sell her car. It had been there, parked in the driveway since the day she passes away, untouched.
I thought it was time to let it go. But what was presumed to be a simple step forward ended up transfering into something I never would have predicted. While preparing the car for sale, I found something that stunned me.
It made me begin questioning everything I’d ever believed to be true. About her. About Us.
About our whole existence together. Everything in my life began to fall apart after Nancy passed away. The diary
I’m not sure how else to express it.
Things that were once significant no longer feel so. The days began to blur together. The evenings became longer and heavier.
I’d wake up in the morning, stare at the ceiling for who knows how long before forcing myself to get up. I had a job to report to and debts to pay. So I pulled myself out of bed and went through the routine of shaving, showering, and getting dressed.
But the truth is that I wasn’t truly present. My body was present, but my mind was not. Even when I arrived at the office, sitting behind the desk felt like a punishment.
I gazed at the computer, barely processing the words. I felt disconnected from everything. Grief does that.
Sometimes I was locked in a memory of the last week before Mom passed away. Her passing was not unexpected, but it didn’t make it any easier. Nancy had breast can:cer.
We didn’t realize it until it was too late. Doctors explored the malignancy after it had progressed from her breast to her lungs. It had progressed stealthily, and by the time symptoms appeared—a persistent cough and chest pains—she was already in stage four.
The physicians told us that the treatment would not heal her, but they could attempt to give her a little more time, so we did all we could. They gave her medicine. She accepted it without complaint.
She smiled most days, but I could tell she was in pain. Some days, she couldn’t get out of bed. I realized my priorities had to change.
I instantly reduced back on work. Nothing seemed more important than remaining by his side. I spent every second I wasn’t at work with her.
I took her to every appointment. I tried to be strong for her, even though I felt like I was falling apart inside. We spent over a year in and out of the hospital.
Every time we went for a checkup, I held my breath, waiting for any hint that things were enhancing. However, I realized it was all wishful thinking.
