At first I thought this diary was going to be about how this is the 30th anniversary of my mom's death at 59, one month shy of her 60th birthday and me just one month into my 29th year. I planned to write about the impact that had on me, both the good and the bad; how mom kept tight control of her family and made herself into the cog of the wagon wheel on which the rest of us were spokes; how I watched that wheel slowly disintegrate over 6 years while breast cancer ate her away. And I especially wanted to write about how it felt to finally realize now that it's been 30 years since mom died that my youngest sister, who hasn't talked to my middle sister since mom died, is NEVER GOING TO. I wanted to write about the unique grief of letting go of the hope that SOME day those sisters would reunite, and simultaneously grieving the first anniversary of my husband's death.
....and then my friend died.............
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My friend John died Monday, August 8th. The only reason I knew him was because I was his wife Caroline's friend long before she met John. In fact, Caroline and I were friends before either of us met our husbands. I figure Caroline and I have known each other for 31 years, since before my mother died. The last time I saw John was at my husband's memorial.
I'll never forget Russell and I visiting Caroline before she met John, when she was really at a low point after the current man in her life had walked away. I looked her straight in the eye and told her "if I could meet my husband in this town then so can YOU!" and before a year passed she'd met John.
I'll always remember how John looked when Russell and I first met him, first went out to dinner with them; how John kept his arm around Caroline in the back seat of our car or held her hand, keeping close physically with a huge grin and delighted look on his face; Caroline and John radiating JOY that they'd found each other. They were like me and my husband; they met later in life after they'd each gone their separate rounds mastering life lessons, fine tuning themselves for each other. In their case neither of them had ever married, and now here they were in their mid-40's, ready for each other, totally committed.
I was Caroline's maid of honor at their wedding. I've always had a framed 5x7 of the four of us sitting in my office. It's a wonderful photo, we're all beaming and happy. It's eerie that the men we both adored, THOSE men, in THAT photo, are no longer physically present in our lives. I can't understand how people that happy could be separated from each other. I can't understand how Caroline and I could experience widowhood within a year of each other, how can we be on the same life track?
I called Caroline every week or two after they let me know late February that in December they'd been told he only had 2 months to live due to Stage 4 Esophageal cancer (I always see it in my head in capitals). Aggressive chemotherapy ensued up to the week before he died. I NEEDED to call Caroline, maybe even more than she needed to hear from a compassionate listener; I wanted to help soothe any pain of hers that I could with my calls, knowing from my experience with Russell how lonely and demanding a job it is when you are the caregiver for the Person You Love Most on Earth, and how few people there are that Truly Understand.
She took heart from my calls; I reassured her when she told me of the times she felt between a rock and a hard place, not capable of anything but sobbing her heart out; I commiserated with her when she explained the new trajectory of her life, from taking care of John at home to the drug store to pick up the next new prescription to the doctor's office for his appointment to the ER when nothing else seemed to work back to the house with John to meet the home care nurse, and over and over and over again. I called her the Thursday before John died, happy to hear her announce he was doing better. I relaxed, envisioning John with us for at least a few more months. Caroline told me he was looking forward to seeing me the second week in September when I arrived on the first leg of a week's vacation. So when I came home from work and heard the phone message from "Caroline's friend" to call her back I knew the news about John couldn't be good but wasn't prepared for my world collapsing in on me when I heard he'd died.
I made the 4 hour drive to the memorial, I NEEDED to go, but oh, with so much pain in my heart. Russell's only been dead 14 months, I barely have a scab on my heart and everything about Caroline's experience rubs my heart raw all over again. I thought this spring and summer were rough, enduring the start of the "first anniversaries" like when Russell first went to the hospital in April last year, on through the anniversary of his death last June 24th. Then I thought the turbulent aftermath of the anniversary was tough, as if Life thought I was some kind of dolphin with miraculous powers to navigate the choppy waves of grief. Then I thought all of that combined with the grief of releasing hope that my sisters would ever talk again was the cruelest cut.
....and then my friend died.....
And I found out how wrong I was.
Because THIS hurts the most......ALL OF THIS......hurts the most.