Two more friends have lost their battles with cancer in the last five days. I am really grieving for them and for their widows. I hate that two more women are left without their husbands and have to journey through grief.
Perhaps my grief is intensified because I am also coming up on the first anniversary of Michael's passing. My thoughts have been full of scenes from those last three weeks - all those visitors, hospice, the sound of the oxygen machine 24/7, waking up many times in the night to help Michael, his confusion at times, watching him become weaker and weaker.
As I took my shower this morning, and I thought about how it's getting harder for me to shave my legs and such, I thought about Michael's last shower. A personal assistant from hospice had come to help him bathe, but he wanted nothing to do with that. He wanted me to help him. I was so worried about his safety getting in and out of the tub, and I didn't feel strong enough to support him anymore. It was a stressful time for us both, and he reluctantly agreed to let hospice bathe him in bed after that. I hated that his dignity was being compromised. He had been this strong, robust man in the prime of his life, and he was reduced to being completely dependent on others for his basic needs. I think he sort of gave up after that.
Anyway, I'm just thinking about our journey, my journey, and now the journey of others as they embark on the difficult experience of widowhood. My heart is heavy for them. Lots of tears.