Dennis and Nathalia Carroll, October 2020 by Louann Carroll "Mrs. Carroll, please sit down."
I sat. "May I see your medical cards?" I dug through my wallet, produced them, and set them on the counter. Registration for Remicade comes every six months. Remicade is a chemotherapy drug I take every four weeks to keep Crohn's disease in check. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. "Marital history?" she continued. "Married..." "Married," I said. "Widowed or divorced," she finished. My gut clenched and I uttered the word, "Widowed." Tears cascaded down my cheeks. Grief hides in the most inopportune places at the most inauspicious times. "Can I get you a tissue?" The world is full of potholes. Taxes and receipts. I'd been avoiding doing my taxes for months. Now I had to get it done. Report to the IRS that Dennis died. Go through receipts, the bill for the ambulance that took him from one hospital to another. Another bill to bring him home to die. Land mines surround me. I was incapable of continuing. The boys took the receipts and gave them to their accountant to do the taxes I've done for years. I found a bill that had my signature on it. It was written the day after Dennis died. My daughter told me I'd gone crazy looking for the checkbook because the last thing Dennis would want is an overdue bill. We never had one in our entire married life. I have no memory of it, none at all. I woke up at 3am the other night because I could not remember how Dennis got home from the rehabilitation hospital where they tried to teach a man with a broken back and stage four cancer to walk again. Almost had to call the daughter for reassurance that he did get home, but talked myself out of it at the last minute. Overwhelming sorrow hides in the dark corners of the soul at night. Spring. I need the grandchildren to be happy. Dennis would hate knowing the boat signified anything other than joy and so we get it ready. Fishing. Should be a time of joy, but we all remember who is missing. Everywhere I turn these last few months I am filled with a soul crushing grief. Sometimes there are no words or tears. I feel like the painting of The Scream. I went to Remicade and the nurses threw a fit. I'd lost weight and a doctor caught it refusing to administer the drug until the dosage was dropped by 1/4. He was not a happy gastroenterologist. Of course I got sick four days later and am up all night. I slept better last night, but I am still exhausted. The daughter says I need to tell my doc but I prefer the wait and see attitude. I will get better. I always do. I wish someone had told me about landmines. One day you can be smiling and then a landmine hits throwing you backward. It takes a week or more to work your way through. At first I concentrated on the beginning of Dennis' cancer journey, now I am at the end and the first few months afterwards. I cannot believe some of the things I did. I had no idea how strong I am and how much Jesus has lifted me to face the future. I thank Him for that. Music is my strength. I no longer watch television and life has become more peaceful. I highly recommend getting away from the constant barrage of anger and hatred. Life can be beautiful even when grieving. You just have to take the time to find it.
Lynn
5/1/2021 02:51:14 pm
You just cease to amaze me Louann. The fact that you can find the beauty that God has placed around us and talk about it so freely inspires the rest of us. And then listening to music rather than saturate yourself with the “boob tube” says a lot about you. You are getting stronger with each passing day whether you feel it or not. Please keep writing your blogs because there are many of us that need to be prepared when facing grief! I love you Lynn
Louann
5/1/2021 03:18:44 pm
I love you too. Comments are closed.
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