Regrets, I've Had a Few...
Last year on this date, the oncologist told my husband, Mike, he was cancer-free. After a tough surgery that nearly cost him his life (and left him hospitalized for 39 days), he heard the magic words. The cancer was gone. Stage 1B esophageal cancer was the official line. Thanks to the esophagectomy, no chemo or radiation would be needed. Follow-ups with all doctors were scheduled, and a scan was planned for January.
Mike died on September 9.
When I saw the memory today (thank you, Facebook - those things are often a blessing and a curse, aren't they?), I literally stared at it slack-jawed. I had forgotten all about it, to be honest. But I remember now how happy and relieved Mike was - the final weight of his long recovery lifted. He was still undergoing physical and occupational therapy to regain his movement and strength after such a lengthy hospitalization. He had been home about five weeks. We got another three months of him continuing to recover and regain his strength and mobility. He bought a mini-van (don't get me started). He helped shop for plants for our garden and picked out his favorite tomatoes. We planned our family vacation to Maine for the end of June. He had wanted to go for several years, and we needed a break. That vacation was the last time we did anything as a family. The last time Mike got out and did anything, really. For me, looking back, it was the beginning of the end.
He ended the trip not feeling well. July brought doctor visits, several hospital stays, and tests. August 8 was the day we saw Dr. S. and got the worst news ever. Mike barely made it another month after that.
It's hard to look back at your life after a loss, and not feel regret and guilt. I try to aim for regret, as it's much easier to handle. My counselor told me, "Guilt is an invitation you don't have to accept." (Brilliant, right?) He said, "You have regrets, but there is no need for guilt." Still, it's hard. To look back, knowing it was the last time you'd have with your loved one, and not think of what you could have done differently or better or how you could have made it more special or nicer for them. Would I have argued that mini-van as much? (Likely, yes...secretly, he loved my fighting it....calling me "Soccer Mom" made him laugh way too hard.) Would I have pushed him so hard in therapy? Planned some easy family outings he could have handled? Would I have lost my patience less? Taken more time off from work? Made time to do some other things we wanted to do? Sigh. It's so damn hard to look back knowing what I know now. I can only take comfort knowing that we never ended a conversation or a night without saying "I love you." If nothing else, Mike knew he was loved....by me and our beautiful children. I have to hold on to that and try to let the regrets go. (MUCH easier said than done.) I have to remind myself that I was under a great deal of stress and duress, and I did the best I could with what I had. Also easier said than done.
One year ago, we were full of hope and joy and relief. Happiness abounded in our house. The fight of our lives had been worth it. It gave us eight more months, so I guess it still counts as a win.
"The trouble is, you think you have time." - Buddha
Mike died on September 9.
When I saw the memory today (thank you, Facebook - those things are often a blessing and a curse, aren't they?), I literally stared at it slack-jawed. I had forgotten all about it, to be honest. But I remember now how happy and relieved Mike was - the final weight of his long recovery lifted. He was still undergoing physical and occupational therapy to regain his movement and strength after such a lengthy hospitalization. He had been home about five weeks. We got another three months of him continuing to recover and regain his strength and mobility. He bought a mini-van (don't get me started). He helped shop for plants for our garden and picked out his favorite tomatoes. We planned our family vacation to Maine for the end of June. He had wanted to go for several years, and we needed a break. That vacation was the last time we did anything as a family. The last time Mike got out and did anything, really. For me, looking back, it was the beginning of the end.
He ended the trip not feeling well. July brought doctor visits, several hospital stays, and tests. August 8 was the day we saw Dr. S. and got the worst news ever. Mike barely made it another month after that.
It's hard to look back at your life after a loss, and not feel regret and guilt. I try to aim for regret, as it's much easier to handle. My counselor told me, "Guilt is an invitation you don't have to accept." (Brilliant, right?) He said, "You have regrets, but there is no need for guilt." Still, it's hard. To look back, knowing it was the last time you'd have with your loved one, and not think of what you could have done differently or better or how you could have made it more special or nicer for them. Would I have argued that mini-van as much? (Likely, yes...secretly, he loved my fighting it....calling me "Soccer Mom" made him laugh way too hard.) Would I have pushed him so hard in therapy? Planned some easy family outings he could have handled? Would I have lost my patience less? Taken more time off from work? Made time to do some other things we wanted to do? Sigh. It's so damn hard to look back knowing what I know now. I can only take comfort knowing that we never ended a conversation or a night without saying "I love you." If nothing else, Mike knew he was loved....by me and our beautiful children. I have to hold on to that and try to let the regrets go. (MUCH easier said than done.) I have to remind myself that I was under a great deal of stress and duress, and I did the best I could with what I had. Also easier said than done.
One year ago, we were full of hope and joy and relief. Happiness abounded in our house. The fight of our lives had been worth it. It gave us eight more months, so I guess it still counts as a win.
"The trouble is, you think you have time." - Buddha
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