I'd end up here, anyway

I've had a hard couple of weeks. I'm pretty sure perimenopausal hormonal swings are largely responsible for the despair I've felt, but they served to amplify feelings that were all mine. I repeatedly returned to the thought that I should have died with Sandy, that my heart should have stopped when hers did.

I've not been suicidal. It's more like regret. Frustration. Agony that she left me behind.

Over the past thirteen-plus months, I've had brief moments of wanting to die, and I know enough not to let myself fantasize about suicide. So I haven't. But this is different.

Last night, I put off going to bed as I have so many other nights. In fact, facing the empty bed is often the hardest thing I do all day. Earlier in the day, I'll think how nice it would be to go to bed early, but as the hour arrives, I just can't make myself do it. And last night, I surrendered to the allure of DVDs until 2 a.m., when I finally pried my body from the sofa and forced myself to go to bed.

As I waited for sleep, I thought again, I should have died with her. Because this is a wish for a past event, rather than the present, I let myself imagine what would have happened if my heart had actually stopped with hers. I could easily picture my life energy chasing hers, which had been slowly leaving her body for days and so would have been ahead of mine. Through some form of communication, I'd have essentially said, "Hey, wait up! I'm coming with you!" That part of the fantasy was easy to imagine.

This is how I picture her turning and
yelling at me to go back. The picture
was actually taken when she and Christine
went to Mt.  Rainier in May 2010.

What followed was just as easy to picture. She'd have turned around and said, "NO! Go back! You're not supposed to come with me. Not now." In fact, she'd have been annoyed. After we learned she had only a few weeks left, she'd specifically told me not to follow her. And as she'd been dying, I'd told her repeatedly that she didn't have to worry about everything; I'd take care of it all for her. I couldn't finish things for her if I died, too.

So, I can see it: her yelling at me, pushing me back to the world of the living. And at the same time, someone in the hospice room would doubtless be doing CPR to pull me back. Sandy had a do-not-resuscitate order, but I certainly didn't. So while her death wasn't an emergency, my heart stopping would have been.

And hard as it is for me to accept it, I do believe that it wasn't my time to go. So those administering CPR or defibrillators would have succeeded. I'd have come gasping back to consciousness, probably feeling even more betrayed by Sandy's death because she would have rejected my company.

Oddly enough, this fantasy made me feel better. Even if my heart had stopped with hers, the most likely scenario is that I'd be exactly where I am now, but with my body a little worse for wear. So it's just as well I remained conscious and calm as she died, able to handle the duties of death for her and take care of our home and kitties in the weeks and months that followed.

I don't know when my heart will stop. I could have an accident tomorrow, could die of cancer five years from now, could make it to my 110th birthday. But knowing that she'd be there pushing me back if my heart stopped prematurely makes it easier for me to attend to the business of living, trusting that when it's the right time for me to die, I will, and she'll welcome me then.