St. Jude- the patron saint of lost causes

I came across this picture on my external drive, one I had forgotten about. His last Christmas. A good one, I was so in love with him. We had patched up our bad times and forgiveness was in the air between us. I had my makeup done by Candice and we were heading out to my sisters for a fun Christmas night. My house was packed with family and I had taken pictures of everyone in front of the tree, and wanted a fun one of me and him. We had always been so serious, so filled with caring for others and the drama around all things. I wanted it to be light and fun, I was sitting on his lap and whispering in his ear, look at the camera darling, he was always looking at me so I had to tell him. I love him so. I know he loved me. He'd worked so hard this Christmas making the turkey and feeding us all, I now know first hand how much work that was.  It was snowing, a lot, the last Christmas it snowed. It's been appropriately dull and rainy every Christmas since. I hope it never snows on Christmas again. This was perfection. Look how happy we are.

So, I didn't see that he'd been losing weight. I was pleased with how he looked, he spent a lot of time in the gym strengthening his body for his new knee surgery, so he'd be in shape for a good recovery. He did that. He was well on his way to recovery, he was back to work, he was good, just a little weight gone. I so love this picture because it was the last time we were together before the elephant came into the room, before the unknowing and the knowing, it captures the last happiness of us. There was no other portent or foreshadowing of what was to come, save him showing me the way to dissemble the artificial tree after Christmas. I remember saying to him, "why are you not going to be here next year to do it or something"? I had a moment of thinking of how sad that would be and summarily dismissed it. We'd had our bad luck, none was due us, nothing would touch us now in these happy times, new grandchild, one on the way, enjoying the fruits of our 30 year marriage. But as Shakespeare said, "expectation is the root of all heartache".

Early the following year the first thing I noticed was how quiet he had gotten. He had not much to say, he felt distant. I thought he was working too hard and talked to him about retiring. But there was a distant in us, a divide. I talked to others of it, said he was becoming like my brother not my husband. Eventually he started to nap more, didn't do the regular chores he had always done, and the ones he was doing were slipshod, haphazard, not like him. He had a bad cold in February, one he couldn't shake and I made fun of his man cold. Secretly I was upset he was not the strong active man I knew. I remember one day in March in the woods walking Pax, I caught myself daydreaming about reviving him from a heart attack on the floor in our living room. Now given my past, and my premonitions about my sons death, this scared the shit out of me - as it should have. Why the hell am I here in the woods walking and thinking of reviving my husband as he lays dying on the floor? I remember crying then over this strange ominous daydream. I remember not saying anything to him.  Hence, all this amasses, it layered over the weeks- as things do that are wrong - as they build to more wrongness. I ignored why, but I saw the what. I was seeing the portents then. I said nothing.

Like

He is taking forever to make me a cup of tea, what the fuck is he doing in there?, I take notice and realize it's been quiet for a long period of time. I think this but what I am feeling is the dread, the layer of dark mischief that has entered our home, it's around me like a blanket made of snakes. I can't get myself up out of the chair to go see what is happening with him, he has been in there about 25 minutes! WTF (there is a wise women inside who is saying go look) the frightened girl wins, and oh she is so damn scared there is something wrong, oh so wrong here. But instead, I get angry I think jesus he used to be able to get me tea and toast in 5 minutes flat, I'm not moving, I worked and I am tired, what the hell is his problem. I ask him, "Terry what the hell are you doing"? I don't get up and see, I am too terrified -now I can remember that this was the feeling- then I didn't let it penetrate through to me. I was not fully conscious in what was happening. He brings me barely warm tea, one piece of toast not two, like I asked, barely buttered- how he knows I hate it. It's not like him, something is wrong. I don't ask. He is getting old, he is tired I think, he needs to see the doc about his fucking cold. There are more portents as the days bleed into March, you get the picture. This the worse one I can think of now, it hurts to brings others to the fore. I knew but didn't.  I remained silent. I made up excuses, my anxiety rising over the weeks to the point where I believed I was dying, I told him so.

The point in this is that I didn't speak from my heart honestly and truthfully with intention when I should of. I had been conditioned to "pretend" I'm ok you're ok from the time I was a little girl. We don't tell our deepest desires or needs or fears to others. We make nice. We ignore the elephant in the room, we ignore the elephant EVEN AS HE IS FUCKING DYING IN THE LIVINGROOM!! I told my husband absolutely everything, my deepest secrets, my fears and dreams and desires our entire marriage. Until this, until his dying. I still do not know why. I think maybe it was a matter too dark to explore. A true case of you can't see the forest for the tree you just smashed into, of hindsight is 20/20. I can't blame him for not telling me that something was wrong. I tried this out in therapy, it's just not true. He was too far gone to explain, to articulate, the mets into his brain probably, the toxins from his dying liver clouding all his judgement and abilities. And I wanted him to get at the chores he always did, I wanted to have toast and tea brought to me after work, who's at fault? Who didn't step up?

By the time I did it was way too late, 6 days from death too late. I live with that. I grieve that, I can't change that just like I can't change that I smoked when pregnant and lost a child to SIDS that I laid him on his tummy, covered him too tightly and warmly and smoked and he died of SIDS. I can't change any of it. I can only learn from it.  In the end this is what the post is about. It's for anyone who has regrets. Use me as an example, and tell yourself -there I don't have it as bad as her thank God. And go from there. It's all I can do, save decide to quickly or slowly kill myself, all I can do is learn from my lesson. And I have. I speak my truth, my guts come out through my mouth, right or wrong I tell what I feel, what I think. If that elephant is shitting in my living room I am going to notice, I am going to say hey, will you look at that! There is a elephant shitting in the living room, get a fucking shovel and clean this up. I can not be the good girl who was raised in the 60's to be nice, I can not stay silent when I think something is wrong, when it's bad, when I am watching a death in the making. I will speak the truth each and every time. Terry taught me this.

"Another conversation with no destination
Another battle never won
And each side is a loser
So who cares who fired the gun?

And I'm learning, so I'm leaving
And even though I'm grieving
I'm trying to find the meaning
Let loss reveal it
Let loss reveal it

St. Jude, the patron saint of the lost causes
St. Jude, we were lost before she started
St. Jude, we lay in bed as she whipped around us
St. Jude, maybe I've always been more comfortable in chaos

And I was on the island and you were there too
But somehow through the storm I couldn't get to you
St. Jude, somehow she knew
And she came to give her blessing while causing devastation
And I couldn't keep my mouth shut, I just had to mention
Grabbing your attention"

St. Jude- Florence and the Machine