grief, as a person:

enters your home, unaware

refuses to leave

Thoughts on grief:  I thought I would grieve Bob, and my marriage, after he died. Turns out, grief is slow and has its own timeline.  

I haven't written much - as I walk during this pandemic and have time to process all the stuff going on in my brain, I've realized I'm grieving.  Grieving the fun, pleasant man I used to be married to.  Grieving the fun, fullfilling marriage I used to be in.  And without a death, I'm grieving alone.  There is no funeral or dirge, friends with casseroles, or kind words from old acquaintences - instead it is a lonely process one walks by herself.

Saturday evening, I sat in the backyard, throwing the ball for the dogs, over and over again, the late summer's sun still warm, and the breeze mounting.  I thought about all the summers spent here, and how I've known this man for 20 years.  How challenging the last year has been.  The grief I carry as I plan my life, with or without him, alone.  

I moved into the other bedroom this summer.  It gives more room for his PSWs to work with him in the mornings, and me flexibility to get dressed without them in my space.  It allows for better sleep -  he snores (weirdly, likely a new symptom related to his swallowing) and is incontinent.  He calls for me when he needs me - so I still don't sleep through, but I sleep better.  Transitioning, I think of it, to widowhood.

I wish his brain hadn't changed.  That the loving, fun man would emerge and save me from the manic, argumentative person I currently live with.   He's desperate, I tell myself, to eek out any semblance of normality as MS strips his life away.  I am the one he can blame - not the disease, not God - it's me, standing here explaining reality and trying my best to navigate our loss, that he picks on.  

I busy myself with yard work, cooking, and baking bread.  I buy shoes in funky colours and ready myself for hibernation.  I laugh, out in the sun, music reminding me of high school friends long forgotten, as I shovel load after load of mulch.  I schedule walks with friends and pretend my life is like theirs.  

I'm trying not to miss him while he's still here - and not be angry that he is fading away - but I never quite succeed at that.  Hollowed out hope, is what this feels like.  Some days are better than others.  We've been having a couple bad days.