It’s been two years, two long years since Bru died. I cared for him when he had five heart bypasses and finally came home with his chest open because he couldn’t heal with the wound sewn up. I unpacked the gauze, cleaned and repacked it until we got a machine that suctioned the wound clean.
I took care of him when he had a massive stroke and could no longer do anything for himself. The care included selling our home and moving a thousand miles away within two weeks when the doctor said we could get more help in Pennsylvania.
There was no resentment caring for him. As my husband, lover, best friend, and my teacher who pulled me out of horrible imprisoning shyness. As my confidante, he possessed the ability to discuss anything with logic and knowledge. Our children adored him and willingly helped to care for him. Our son said it best, “I might be disciplined when I got home, but I always knew Dad would be there when I called. He loved me that much.”
During his illnesses, I cared for him a total of about ten years and yet, when he died, the guilt was crushing.
“I tried to save him, but nothing worked. I tried to make him better, but he kept getting sicker. Why? Why? Why?” I screamed at my son. “We were supposed to die together. He left me? Why? Oh, God, he’s gone. I should have been able to save him.”
It seems widows hit the stage of guilt early. No matter what they do or don’t do. No matter how cheerful they strive to be during a spouse’s illness. No matter how diligent they’ve been in giving medications, holding their partner gently during the worst times, or being alert every night for even the tiniest sound from their sweetheart’s bed, the guilt tears the survivor apart.
We strive to find the illusive answer to what more we could have done. What we do not acknowledge is that the patient just got tired of fighting. They were ready to go. They did not want to hurt their mate, so when the healthy one turned away or left the room for just a moment, their beloved took that short moment to die. It is their one last gift to us.
Instead of guilt, we should feel pride in their unselfish act, feel relieved that their suffering has passed and feel that last rush of love they surely sent out before drawing their final breaths. That doesn’t occur to us until much later.
Guilt is normal for widows. However, we can get so lost in it that it destroys us. Or, we can deal with it, acknowledge it and eventually move on. I’ve made it past the worst and am moving forward as I know Bru, my wise teacher, would have wanted me to do.
http://sexysassyseniors.com/widows-anger/