On January 31, 2016 my husband lost his long battle with depression. I’ve spent a lot of time talking to many people about what happened.
One thing that strikes me in all this is how completely surreal it all feels. The fact that I went from being happily married to a widow in far less time than I could imagine. There are still times in the day when I think I hear him in the house (when it’s actually the dogs). I keep expecting him to come home and for everything will go back how it was before. That somehow I’m just stuck inside some awful nightmare and that this isn’t real. It just doesn’t feel real. We were supposed to grow old together. I kept teasing him about how we’d be this cute, cranky old couple when we were in our 80s.
I knew he was in a lot of emotional pain, but he was getting help. He was seeing both a psychiatrist and a psychologist. He was on medications. He was doing everything he was supposed to in order to get through each day. I was grateful he was so open with me about it, and he didn’t try to hide it (mostly) and I did everything I could to help, to be there, to make sure he knew he was valued and loved and needed.
I guess in the end the emotional pain got the better of him. I can’t even imagine what must have been going through his mind that last day as he headed out for an afternoon to Starbucks (that’s what he told me anyway).
At least I can take comfort in the fact that the last words we spoke to each other was I love you.
Now I’m left to pick up the pieces of my life. I have to learn to be one again, instead of two. I have our dogs to care for, my business to grow and my novel to complete. In the long run, I know I will be okay. It will take awhile to wrap my brain around it all fully and until I do, at least I have plenty of things to keep me busy.