In the Wake of Loss
(pp)‘There is in certain living souls a quality of loneliness unspeakable.
So great it must be shared as company is shared by lesser beings.
This loneliness is mine; so know by this, that in immensity
there is one lonelier than you.’ thank you Ray
My Peter, I’m coming apart at the seams. My grief has overwhelmed me at last. It consumed me, mind, body and soul and has spit out this pitiful thing I have become. Simple acts are too monumental to attempt. I drift between states of histerical weeping and nightmares of holding you and Lily while your blood runs through my fingers and you slip away from me. I wasn’t even there so why these dreams in exquisit detail?
I haven’t been to work in three days, haven’t been out of this stupid bed since Sunday. Sunday, the day that our dying became complete. I unplugged you Sunday. The vegetative state that Dr. Hurley predicted for you never came, just a brief period of arousal from coma in the wake of the massive injury that your frail remains couldn’t overcome.
I stood there in that tiny room stuffed with monitors and machines, after looking at the data from the profusion tests, after arguing with mom and Stephen, after signing the papers, after vomiting and crying. I stood there and watched them turn everything off. I held on to the cool, skeletal flesh of your hand and watched as the last beats ticked away. Dr. Hurley pronounced you dead at 14:35.
That poor chaplain tried so hard to help me through it. When she couldn’t convince me to leave you, she called in another and another until finally Dr. Hurley had me sedated and I spent the afternoon drugged and tossed on some cot there in the ICU until Stephen could ditch his date and drag me home. He may not speak to me for weeks. I was a f--king monster to him and bodily threw him out. Immediately thereafter I went to Lily’s grave and told her about your passing. I wanted to tear away the grass and dirt and see her sweet face one more time.
I envision you laughing at me. You know I don’t believe in heaven or hell, nor the afterlife, yet the only thing that has pulled me through the hellish weeks since the accident has been these conversations with you and Lily. I guess you should know, you burn on Monday. I miss you both so very...
...sh-t. Another fit of vomiting. I can’t seem to stop. All I have to do is think of you and our baby girl and I lose all control. Mom has been coming by to see after me the last couple days. She stuffs whatever she has dragged along down my throat and tries to get me out of bed, but up it comes. I always seem right back under the pillow as soon as she leaves. Stephen calls between classes but I don’t answer the phone. Dr. Hurley called Dr. Parzoli and asked her to prescribe me something for the depression and anxiety but they worry I would chug the lot.
Would I?
No. I don’t want to die, I want you to live. I want you and Lily back, so much so that I cannot function. I’ve tried every prayer, every spell, every curse until I’m spent and still I am left with nothing but an empty life and memories and pain that squeezes the breath out of me. How many more days, weeks until my heart can believe you are gone and gone for good? There will be no recovery nor return?
Oh, there it is again, the phone. ...it's Spoogmeyer, asking if I’m okay and if he and Jean can do anything...god! He’s dragging on and on. Hang up the f--king phone. You know I won’t answer. I should just unplug it. But honestly, I’m afraid to. It’s the only link to reality I have right now. The rest of the time is lost in a haze, mental reenactments of our finest moments together. I should have taken more pictures! and movies! and recordings of your voice...
Forgive me. You always thought I was so strong and look at me! Crying and puking and laying in the same stinking, sweaty sheets for days. Are you a little smug that I could love you so deeply to fall so far?
So great it must be shared as company is shared by lesser beings.
This loneliness is mine; so know by this, that in immensity
there is one lonelier than you.’ thank you Ray
My Peter, I’m coming apart at the seams. My grief has overwhelmed me at last. It consumed me, mind, body and soul and has spit out this pitiful thing I have become. Simple acts are too monumental to attempt. I drift between states of histerical weeping and nightmares of holding you and Lily while your blood runs through my fingers and you slip away from me. I wasn’t even there so why these dreams in exquisit detail?
I haven’t been to work in three days, haven’t been out of this stupid bed since Sunday. Sunday, the day that our dying became complete. I unplugged you Sunday. The vegetative state that Dr. Hurley predicted for you never came, just a brief period of arousal from coma in the wake of the massive injury that your frail remains couldn’t overcome.
I stood there in that tiny room stuffed with monitors and machines, after looking at the data from the profusion tests, after arguing with mom and Stephen, after signing the papers, after vomiting and crying. I stood there and watched them turn everything off. I held on to the cool, skeletal flesh of your hand and watched as the last beats ticked away. Dr. Hurley pronounced you dead at 14:35.
That poor chaplain tried so hard to help me through it. When she couldn’t convince me to leave you, she called in another and another until finally Dr. Hurley had me sedated and I spent the afternoon drugged and tossed on some cot there in the ICU until Stephen could ditch his date and drag me home. He may not speak to me for weeks. I was a f--king monster to him and bodily threw him out. Immediately thereafter I went to Lily’s grave and told her about your passing. I wanted to tear away the grass and dirt and see her sweet face one more time.
I envision you laughing at me. You know I don’t believe in heaven or hell, nor the afterlife, yet the only thing that has pulled me through the hellish weeks since the accident has been these conversations with you and Lily. I guess you should know, you burn on Monday. I miss you both so very...
...sh-t. Another fit of vomiting. I can’t seem to stop. All I have to do is think of you and our baby girl and I lose all control. Mom has been coming by to see after me the last couple days. She stuffs whatever she has dragged along down my throat and tries to get me out of bed, but up it comes. I always seem right back under the pillow as soon as she leaves. Stephen calls between classes but I don’t answer the phone. Dr. Hurley called Dr. Parzoli and asked her to prescribe me something for the depression and anxiety but they worry I would chug the lot.
Would I?
No. I don’t want to die, I want you to live. I want you and Lily back, so much so that I cannot function. I’ve tried every prayer, every spell, every curse until I’m spent and still I am left with nothing but an empty life and memories and pain that squeezes the breath out of me. How many more days, weeks until my heart can believe you are gone and gone for good? There will be no recovery nor return?
Oh, there it is again, the phone. ...it's Spoogmeyer, asking if I’m okay and if he and Jean can do anything...god! He’s dragging on and on. Hang up the f--king phone. You know I won’t answer. I should just unplug it. But honestly, I’m afraid to. It’s the only link to reality I have right now. The rest of the time is lost in a haze, mental reenactments of our finest moments together. I should have taken more pictures! and movies! and recordings of your voice...
Forgive me. You always thought I was so strong and look at me! Crying and puking and laying in the same stinking, sweaty sheets for days. Are you a little smug that I could love you so deeply to fall so far?
posted by Ginni at 4:12 PM
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