Nights are long and difficult. Nights are when time hangs heavy. I used to live for getting on my pjs and jumping into bed between the cool sheets and warm blanket and snuggling up next to David whether he came to bed right away or later. Fans on for noise and lights off for darkness. It was a favorite part of the day for me. Some months ago, I began to dread the nights. The darkness of the evening meant it was coming. I stopped feeling good about going to sleep and it became a thing of anxiety for me. I didn’t want the day to end. I wanted to just be up with him in the sunlight always. Nothing can hurt you in the sunlight. I started staying up late. He needed to get really sleepy and would fall asleep on the couch before he went to bed some nights. He was having some of the same anxiety when lying awake, so he wanted to be good and sleepy to make sure the bad thoughts stayed tamped down. I started this nightly thing where I lay my head on his chest and just listened to his heart beat and he would stroke my hair and sometimes I would cry and cry until his shirt was soaked with tears, and I would feel bad about it and apologize all over the place because I know it was hard for him and I just made things worse. The next night would likely be the same no matter how much I told myself I wasn’t going to make a scene and just go to bed like a normal person. A few times I managed to wait until I got to the bedroom to crumble but he always knew it was coming anyway. I know he didn’t know what to say so he just said it will be ok even when it isn’t. That is something he always said even before all of this. I just didn’t want to let him go for the day and I am sure this probably was smothering and overwhelming to him. I guess it was fear that kept me up later and later. Maybe I thought he wouldn’t wake up or maybe I just knew we were one day closer to some kind of end. Impending death has consumed my thoughts for a while now, and I had what I recently discovered was anticipatory grief. People (usually those that have never been through something like this) say live your day like it is your last. That is easier said and pretty impossible to do. Try it knowing your person isn’t getting better and hurts all the time and isn’t himself and cannot focus to do the things he loved doing and just feels crummy all the time and is too sick or compromised from treatments that aren’t even working to take a trip or day outing and all of this happening despite all the begging, pleading and bargaining with any higher power that may exist and be listening and then, after that, let me know how you get along staying positive and living your day to the fullest.
But nights, nights are even harder now. Alone. Knowing he won’t ever be here again with me. Ever. It is just me and my intrusive thoughts. The shoulda, woulda, coulda triplets of regret that dance on my chest like giant soul crushing ever transforming Heffalumps and Woozles and the dark hole that swallows me up and just leaves me falling into an abyss of sleeplessness watching the green numbers on the clock tick by at a snail’s pace forward until I hear my neighbor leaving for work or the school bus light flashing through the blinds and I know the daylight is just starting to show through the trees. Now though, I cannot move from bed because I know the new horrible thing is coming. The realization that happens every single morning. There won’t be any coffee to make or eggs to scramble or any pulling the quilt up around him so he can snuggle down and keep sleeping or good morning kiss, or afternoon kiss, or any kiss or affection at all or a text with hearts and I love yous. Ever. Again. And then the night will come again all too soon and the cycle continues…and I sound absolutely insane but sleeplessness for weeks on end now topped with a crushing weight of grief maybe does that to you too.
