When my wife of 34 years passed away last year I experienced an avalanche of emotions. Her death was unexpected, though not sudden. She was a 10-year cancer survivor, who was dubious when doctors told her she was “cured.” Her worst fears were realized when her breast cancer metastasized in her bones and liver.
They say there are five stages of grief. I felt all those: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance… and guilt. How did this happen? Why wasn’t I a better husband? How do I move on? Interwoven within that grief I experienced three distinct stages of guilt.
Her decline was shockingly rapid for someone so healthy. Jackie was an avid runner, loved the outdoors and vegan for more than 20 years. When it was determined that her breast cancer had returned we were assured that medications had made great advances in the 10 years since her original diagnosis. Sadly, the number of patients at the cancer center also seemed to have multiplied.
Even before her passing, while in hospice care, I discovered the first guilt: How? What did we do wrong? What did I miss? What should I have done differently? What allowed this vibrant person to slip away before her 59th birthday?
We trusted her doctors. After all, it was the same team that had taken such good care of her ten years before. Her oncologist assured us there were many patients with similar diagnoses and living comfortably for many years.
But things moved so slowly.
It was a month before her initial consultation. Another month for a biopsy. And then the biopsy results, taken from a bone sample, were not conclusive. Osteo transfusions of high-powered medications were recommended. Targeted radiation treatments helped alleviate most of the mysterious pain she was suffering. When her lab results showed poor liver function it should have set off alarm bells.
The anger and frustration ebbed and flowed. As time passed I was able to put aside my doubts. A good friend of mine likes to say, “Doctors practice medicine.” But it’s impossible to avoid looking back and wondering: What if?
Eventually my grief turned to the second guilt: Memories. Most of those memories are wonderful and will stay with me as long as I live. But like any relationship, there are good days and then there are… the not so good. My mind was involuntarily laser-focused on every terrible turn, each bad decision, all the shitty things I had ever said. It all washed over me in a tumultuous wave of anguish.
Memories are triggered by the strangest things, almost every day. The smell of a flower, the click of a lock, the glimpse of a butterfly. Most of them good memories. But along with that comes the curse of every bad day, every cross word, each wrong turn. Every time I ever made her cry.
This particular guilt was (and is) the hardest of the triumvirate for me to deal with. I cherish the 40+ years of our relationship. I am a better person because of her. But if I ever had the chance to do it over again, there are so many things I would do differently.
Our third and final stop on the Guilt Trip is what I call: Moving On. And this is a big one. It’s inevitable– time marches forward and life moves on. But the thought of a new relationship is fraught with feelings of infidelity, anxiety, fear, and yes… guilt.
Some of us will never move on. Betty White famously said, “If you’ve had the best, who needs the rest?” I can certainly sympathize with Betty’s love of Allen Ludden. On the other hand, we’re all social creatures. For me the idea of a solitary lifestyle seems vague, unfulfilled. I’m afraid I just don’t have Betty’s social stamina.
Jackie and I had many long talks about this in her final days. Travel, life, love. We often delved into detailed questions, sometimes the topic made me uncomfortable. Her concern for me in these dark hours was noble, inspiring, so unselfish I have trouble finding the words. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”
But it is that wonderful spirit that allows me… requires me to write these words for you today. Her caring and loving spirit is what allows me to celebrate her life. I will always love her and cherish her memory. Today and ever more.
Since losing my wife of 51 years, 10 years ago I understand the grief. However, I, was lucky, in my grief, had two daughters and 5 grand kids to help. I wish I could have put it as eloquently as you.
That was a beautiful tribute to Jackie and your life together Rex! She was an amazing woman and so selfless in her concern that you not be lonely