Diary of a Mad Woman Gone Sane

This is a couple days late, as it was written on Monday. Today marks a week away from the 6th anniversary of Joe's passing. This seems impossible. Joe's death feels like it was yesterday and forever ago, simultaneously. 6 years ago I was exhausted emotionally and physically. It was a Monday and the first day of spring. We used to drink beer on Mondays. I tried to have Mondays off, so we could have the day. I usually spent too much money, but those are the best days in my memory. We would talk about whatever. And laugh. Anyway on that Monday, I was up very early and I was salty. I began drinking at 8am. Our backyard was flowering and the sun was shining in on Joe's hospice bed. He spent the day staring out the window. I could feel his apprehension. He had to leave, because his body was failing but he didn't want to. I didn't want him to either. Even though I had told him that he could. My mother in law was there all day. After she left, I crawled up on the bed with h

Before Joe passed away, he lost his wedding ring, when we moved into the house. We'd always had matching rings, so I put mine away and bought new ones. They were a thick metal, steel maybe. They were inexpensive and sturdier than our gold rings. I began working in production. I lost my ring twice at work. Both times it was found, fortunately. It hurt my fingers as my peripheral neuropathy from my CMT (which will be covered later) was getting worse. I began to leave my ring in the car when I was at work and I'd put it back on when I got home. Everyone knew I had been married for many years. Sometimes I wouldn't put my ring back on, because it hurt. Joe began to suspect something. I'm sure my behavior was completely suspect, by this time, but I was distracting with work and beer and cannabis, not another man. I am not proud of my behavior, but my life as I knew it was rapidly approaching the end. I was trying to hold it all together as it was crashing down aro

The tattoo we both got the summer before Joe died  What I thought widow hood would look like and what it actually is are completely different. I never wanted to be a widow when I grew up, yet here I am. I thought I would be treated with kindness and respect. I thought people would check on me, feed my house, and ensure we were OK. Not to say that I don't have amazing people who have been there for me, because I absolutely do! And I am grateful for all of them! However the reality of being a widow has been an eye opener. I have lost contact with most of my dear husband's friends and family. I have been judged for the difficult decisions I made at the request of my best friend. Having a sick spouse you talk about death and how they want you to handle things. He had requested not to be resuscitated. He didn't want to be a vegetable. Even though I didn't want to, I let him go, the way he wanted. After 15 years I felt like a failure because he died. For all our y