Final night


Two years ago George returned home with me to our Jersey City apartment in hospice care. I was so excited to have him home and I remember talking about how we were going to go for a walk in Prospect Park in Brooklyn the next day. He was competent but a little shaky, however I was optimistic. I believed I was going to have more than 6 days left with him. We spoke with the hospice nurse that night and we scheduled when the nurse was going to come and care for him and what I needed to do. My parents were there, George’s mom was there too. And I had my love back home. Tonight was the final night we shared a bed together. It was the last time I got to fall asleep on his shoulder and wrap my arms around his waist. I didn’t know he was going to die so fast.

I carry guilt with me because I wish I could enjoy those moments with him more. I wish I can go back and really embrace the feeling of having his arms wrapped around my shoulders and breathing in his musk. I want to listen to his heart beat rather than flipping through to channels. I just wish I had one more day with him happy, healthy, and carefree. The life I shared with him is falling further away, and when I stop to think about those days I do get sad. I do feel foolish that I didn’t realize how sick he really was. Everyone else could see he was worsening, except for me.

From time to time I feel incredibly torn. I want a life with him, but I look around me and see what I’ve built and I love this current life too. And I wouldn’t have this life if he was still here. But because of him, I do have what I do now because he motivates me to be better. I shouldn’t feel guilty for being happy, but once and awhile it creeps in. Enjoying a life when perhaps I should still be grieving. I’ve met a wonderful person here, and those things that I wish I did with George more that still haunts me, I’m doing a better job this time around. Not worrying about the pettiness and small things, but just enjoying the time together. I don’t want to have regret in anymore relationships. Especially because companionship is so important to me.

in 6 days he dies. The anxiety is beginning to surge through my marrow. I’m at the IWLCA lacrosse convention and all I want to do is go back home. But I need to put my big girl pants on and not have this anxiety dictate my existence. But it really does suck. I do my best and I think I’ve done a good job so far.


About J.

Fitness professional, fitness & nutrition writer, widowed at 28. Writing about getting through grief through self-care, physical activity, and the ​constant feeling of being uncomfortable.
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