Grief, for those living in a household with a terminal diagnosis, comes in waves. One moment everything seems just fine and then the next the floor falls out from beneath you and you plummet into the black abyss of depression. Your thoughts are consumed with the inevitable even though you are no where near where you fear. It sucks. Tonight was one of those nights.
For all things considered my husband is a rock. How he is handling his diagnosis is astounding. You wouldn’t guess that he even was going to die with the way he jokes about it. “I have the Als,” he says it like a name. Most of the time he’s comforting me, when it should be the other way around. He is hardly ever sent into bouts of depression. If his skies start to cloud, and comes into contact with my own storm front it creates this twister of depression. In the beginning it was horrible storms. Since then we’ve learned how to cope. At least I’ve learned when I need to take some time or just change the subject.
I can’t imagine how he is doing so well. Sometimes I wonder if it’s just denial masquerading as calm resolve. But then there are moments where he loops back around and we revisit the other stages of grief. But, like I said, for the most part he is taking it well. If this were me I’d be devastated. I’d be angry. Not him. He is so strong.
More than anything, I want to be the rock when he’s weak. He’s the one who is dying, yet he’s the one comforting those around him. It should be the opposite.
Inside I am a devastated. I feel a storm moving in, but I can’t let it build. Staying strong is the only way for us both to get back to our blue skies. However momentary they may be.