Journal Entry from 9/24/11

9/24/11

A couple of nights ago I dreamed that Brian was sitting on the bed talking to me. He looked like he did in his early twenties when we were first married. I was concerned about how thin he was. I told him that since he hadn’t died, but had lost so much weight, I thought he should see Dr. Smith again.

He said, “I did die.” I realized then that he was young and healthy.

I asked him, “Are you here even when I can’t see you?”

He said, “I’m always here.”

I felt wonderfully comforted and my dream ended.

After Mama died, I often dreamed that our family was together and she was with us. In my dream I’d ask other family members, “Can’t you see her?”

Perhaps it is only my sub-conscious mind seeking to comfort me, but I’m starting to wonder and almost to believe that Heaven is a dimension very close to ours. We can’t see in, but residents of Heaven can see out, can pray for us, and when God permits, send us messages of comfort. I hope that isn’t heretical, because it makes me feel so loved.

Brian,

Today marks two years since you went to Heaven. I don’t like the increasing length of time. It feels like pressure to “be over” losing you, and I know I never will. I still love you so much and miss you every moment of every day.

I know you are more than okay. You are with Jesus, Leora, Grandpa Snyder, Uncle Cam and Aunt Grace, Grandma and Grandpa Egger, and so many other people who loved you and who you loved in return. There is no sickness, no suffering, no sin, no oppression, and no darkness. There is love, peace, light, holiness, and joy that I cannot even begin to imagine. It is so hard to be patient until I can see you again. I know that you were right, this life is only a dot compared to the eternity we will spend in Heaven. Right now it feels like the wait is painfully long. I bet to you it only feels like a short time though, and you are constantly discovering new people and new pleasures in Heaven. I imagine your face lit up, laughing your wonderful laugh.

Forever yours,

Laurie

Hurt

Two years ago during the week when Brian was dying, sometimes I left him briefly with our daughters while I ran to the grocery store. When I'd go through the express checkout line I couldn't look at the clerk, because I didn't want her to see how much pain was in my eyes. I didn't want her to feel concern, pity, or worst of all ask. I couldn't talk about it, because that would cause me to unravel completely.
Almost two years later I still feel that way. I can put on a "happy face" when I'm out in public, but it is an effort. Inside I feel so hurt and raw still. It is easier to be alone and not have to put the happy face mask on.
It feels like I was fused with Brian - body, heart, and soul. When he was ripped away from me I was left raw, wounded, oozing, with no protective layers. I feel incomplete, vulnerable, lost. I feel hurt in a way that is so deep I can't recover.

Once Upon a Time in Our Wildest Dreams

Once upon a time
Once when you were mine
I remember skies
Reflected in your eyes
I wonder where you are
I wonder if you
Think about me
Once upon a time
In our wildest dreams

Once the world was new
Our bodies felt the morning dew
That greets the brand new day
We couldn't tear ourselves away
I wonder if you’re there
I wonder if you still remember
Once upon a time
In our wildest dreams

And when the music plays
And when the words are
Touched with sorrow
When the music plays
I hear the sound
We had to follow
Once upon a time
Once beneath the stars
The universe was ours
Love was all we knew
And all I knew was you
I wonder if you know
I wonder if you think about it
Once upon a time
In our wildest dreams

And when the music plays
And when the words are
Touched with sorrow
When the music plays
And when the music plays
I hear the sound
We had to follow
Once upon a time

Once upon a time
Once when you were mine
I remember skies
Mirrored in your eyes
I wonder where you are
I wonder if you
Think about me
Once upon a time
In our wildest dreams
In our wildest dreams
In our wildest dreams

Dream

Last night I dreamed that I was in Bly, Oregon. Bly is a tiny town in southern Oregon where I lived for the first eight years of my life. I've only been back a few times since I was eight. In my dream my family was there and I was supposed to get married the next day. It occurred to me that I didn't even know the man I was supposed to be marrying. I wanted to talk to Brian, but didn't know how to reach him. In my dream I repeatedly tried to call Brian's mom's number to see if she knew how I could get ahold of him. I wanted to ask him, "Isn't there some way we could still be together?"

When your life ends, but you are left still breathing and standing

Life as I had known it since 1981 ended for me September 24, 2009. My husband was 49 years and 1 month old. He was no longer able to fight off the cancer. First it had invaded his prostate and lymph nodes, so that by the time it was diagnosed it had metastasized. Surgery no longer provided a chance for a cure. Later the cancer invaded his kidney, and his bones, causing excruciating pain. Morphine became our much appreciated friend. Radiation, chemotherapy, hormone suppression, and experimental trials each had their turn, but in the end they all let us down. Towards the end the cancer had replaced the bones in his vertebrae. They told us prostate cancer was not supposed to spread to the kidneys or the brain, but it did both.

He didn’t understand that he was too weak to stand. I tried to catch him as he struggled to raise from his wheel chair. We pivoted and fell in a slow spiral to the floor. Neither of us had the strength to lift him up again. The EMTs came, and listened to my words of caution: “He has cancer in his arm bones and his thigh bones. There is cancer in his vertebrae. Can you please pick him up without hurting him?" What compassionate experts they were. They slipped a folded sheet beneath him and causing no trauma, they lifted him back into his wheel chair. Later he again forgot that he was too weak to walk. He wanted to get out of the hospital bed. He told me as sweetly as possible, “I know you want me here, but I just need to be free.”

The night Brian left this earth, his Hospice nurse told me that he might not make it through the night. I am so grateful that she told me this. Otherwise I might have missed his passing even though I was sleeping on the sofa right next to his hospital bed.

We called Brian’s parents, sister and brother-in-law and asked if they wanted to be there. They had been there earlier in the day, but came right back over. If there is anything sadder than watching an 85 year old father and 84 year old mother say good-bye to their son, it is watching 24 year old and 22 year old daughters who did not have nearly enough time with their Dad.

Before Brian’s parents, sister, and brother-in-law returned, I crawled up in the hospital bed with Brian. He was laying on his side and I spooned my body against his. I matched my breathing to his breathing and was able to relax for the first time in a long while. Why hadn’t I been doing this during the week he’d been in this hospital bed? I know the answer. I was afraid of damaging the fragile broken skin on his legs so bloated with edema. I was afraid of causing him pain. For that moment though, it felt so right. So right that I wish I could have this much now, even if I could have nothing else of Brian. Lying next to him, feeling his warmth, listening to him breathe was wonderful!

Brian’s parents, his sister and brother-in-law returned. We gathered around Brian’s bed holding his hands and praying. I was thinking that he probably had several more hours, but suddenly his breathing turned to a death rattle and I was sure he was getting ready to go. I knelt on the head of his bed, caressing Brian’s head and face, prayed that God would ease his transition from earth to heaven and thanked Jesus for welcoming Brian. Brian breathed his last and I began to cry, “Oh Brian! I’m going to miss you! I ‘m going to miss you so much!”

It took three hours for the mortuary to get there. We went into the kitchen, because watching Brian become paler and more dead looking was too hard. There was only one man there from the funeral home, so our brother-in-law, Dwain, and our hospice nurse, Linda, helped the mortician place Brian in a body bag. They offered us one last look, but we declined. None of us wanted pictures in our heads of Brian dead. We have so many better pictures of him laughing.

Strange longings

I miss Brian so much! I’m not getting used to him not being here. Yesterday I watched a video of military people surprising their loved ones when they didn’t expect to see them for a long time still. It was very moving and it had me in tears. I wish Brian could do that – just show up and startle me with a big hug. I would never let go of him.

The last few hours before he died I crawled into the hospital bed and cuddled with him. I don't think he was aware in a cognitive sense that I was there, but I think he was in a body memory sense. That sense that it just feels so right to cuddle with the one you've loved so long, you relax, you start to breathe in unison. It was so nice. Now I wonder why I didn't do that all 8 days after he moved out of our bed into a hospital bed.

I know Brian can't just come back to me though. I don’t think people in Heaven have any desire to come back to a screwed up earth. Hanging out with Jesus and a bunch of other people he once knew and loved, and now none of them ever act like jerks or do anything out of selfish motivation, wouldn’t motivate me to come back to earth. Of course if Brian could come back to earth, it would create so much confusion. He wouldn’t be able to unobtrusively pick up where he left off. So no, I want him back so much, but he won’t be coming back. I am totally convinced that he still loves me and is looking forward to seeing me. I won’t still be his wife since there isn’t marriage in heaven, but I do believe we will still be family and I hope that I am still his best friend! He is still my best friend, but I don’t know that I can compare to the friends he is surrounded with now!

I’ve caught myself doing some crazy thinking lately. Brian and I had felt that our family was complete at least since 1996, when our two daughters were 9 and 11. Another baby just didn’t seem like a good idea considering how hard Brian and I were both working at our jobs, and trying to balance that with meeting our daughters' needs. I do believe that was the right decision. As can most parents, I look back and see areas where I wish I’d done more for my daughters, especially times when I wish I had been there for them more in an emotional and spiritual sense.

I couldn’t be more delighted with the young women my daughters have grown up to be. They are kind and caring. They have integrity. They each know that they are unique and special and that is something to be celebrated!

So what is this strange thing going on with me during the last month or so when I find myself irrationally wishing I could have another baby? Not just any baby. I want to have another baby of Brian’s. I know it is totally selfish and impractical! It isn’t something that is even possible to do because there is no frozen sperm, but even if it was possible it would be cost prohibitive, because I couldn’t even use my own 50 year old eggs, without a high risk of problems.

It’s just that selfishly, I still want to be part of a family everyday. I want to hang onto anything of Brian that I can grab. I don’t want to be a widow in an empty house. This isn’t what I planned for age 50. I planned to be enjoying life with Brian, playing at whatever was fun and meaningful for us. We had so many hobbies. We would never have been bored.

If I can’t have Brian, I’d like to raise another one of his children. Being Brian’s wife, and Brianna and Emily’s mom has been the best thing in my life, yet I know I can’t do anything to make myself a Mom another time.

I couldn’t have imagined 5 years ago that when I reached 50, I’d be sad because I wanted another baby. If someone had told me I'd feel this way, I would have said they were crazy. I don’t know if it is grief and loss that has made me feel this way, or if this is really just a hormonal trick my body is playing on me, before I reach menopause?

Speaking of menopause, how did that work that my husband, who is younger than I am, died from prostate cancer before I reached menopause? This was not part of my life plan, although I know that though God didn’t bring this tragedy into our lives, He also was not surprised by it. I wish I could see what God’s plan from here on is, but none of us get that opportunity. I guess that is why it is called trusting in Him.

God I’m asking for something really big from you. I want you to bring something new into my life that is as wonderful and meaningful and loving as being a new mom. That is what I feel like I need. I’m waiting for you to surprise me with how you meet that need!

October 1st

I met Brian on October 1, 1978. That was 32 years ago today. It is true that time flies when you are having fun!