Oracles, moons and mediums. Tarot and astrology. Wiccans and Witches and secret cults. Numerology, zodiacs and more. The divine versus the devil. Good versus evil. It’s all madness, is it not? Or is it?
My husband has been dead now for almost a year. He had lung cancer, which eventually went to his brain. He had been so ill for so long; five years, in fact. He fought the good fight. A soldier, a warrior of death and dying. But it took him in the end, and along with him, a part of me too.
In the beginning, at the first meeting with the surgeon, I thought it would be a piece of cake for Brian. He was strong. We’ll just remove that little sucker, it’s so small, and that will be that. But five years of clinical trials and chemo and immunotherapy did nothing but steal my husband away from me, from his family and friends. He was no longer the man he used to be. I would find myself sobbing, knowing that recovery was not something that would be a part of our future, that our love for one another was not going to save him. It would not save us. Life would forever change. How naïve we were back then.
With each passing day, with each phase of the moon, we fought on. Days became nights and still my husband crawled, pushed and inched his way into the next day, to the next treatment, to the next appointment. This went on for five years. Can you imagine that? I still can’t believe what we went through. The waiting and waiting to see the oncologist. The waiting for results. It was enough to break anyone. It was enough to crush anyone’s soul. And yet he kept going back, and little by little both of us lost our souls in the fight. My husband, in pain and sick and tired, sleeping for hours on end, the endless side effects crippling him. The drugs, the radiation on his brain, killing cells that would never fire up again. A nightmare is what it was. A very sad and dangerous nightmare. He was living his and I was living mine. How will we live, what will happen to both of us? How can I keep doing this? How can he?
Last March, several events led to his being rushed to the hospital. In emergency, the oncologist on-call informed my son and me that my husband had two weeks to two months to live. His cancer was in the brain. Of course, to me it explained everything – his behavior, his loss of words, his balance, his blank stares into space. His own oncologist kept telling me there was no cancer in his brain. Well Doc, go back to medical school because your colleague disagrees and you were so very wrong. My son broke down that night, having heard the words we all hate to hear, that our loved one has little or no time left. There was shock and panic and despair. I had my friend, my lover, my everything, taken from me. I was alone. Yes, I had my children, sure, and wonderful and sympathetic friends. I’m grateful for them and for my children, but they couldn’t fill the void that was left, the loneliness that engulfs you and swallows you whole. Your soul is left in the dark and is unable to see the light. The tears and the screams of pain, the pain that rips your heart open, that leaves you shattered like broken glass. There is no other pain like the loss of the person you loved forever and ever.
And so, after several months of grief and sorrow, I thought I’d go to a medium. That way I could talk to Bri again and we could connect. I found a woman who was recommended to me by a friend. She was lovely, and told me Brian was happy on the other side, that he was fishing and had no pain. I felt a sense of relief, a sense that he was still with me. He is living his best life on the other side. But in some ways it made me sadder because I wanted him to be with me, to really be with me, by my side, home when I got home from work with a kiss and a hug. I wanted him to dance with me again in the kitchen and hold my hand and make jokes and laugh and for us to just be together. And sure, mediums can say all they want that he’s with me, and it’s a comfort, but is he? No, he’s not. He’s dead. I hope his soul lives on. I know he lives on in my heart. I whispered in his ear on his deathbed, a line from It’s a Wonderful Life: “I’ll love you ’til the day I die!” I just wish he could be here with me right now, beside me.
So I cling to what the medium said to me, that my loved one is happy and is with his relatives that have gone before him. I pray that his soul is happy, that his energy is free-floating in the universe and giving positive energy to me and to his kids and to those he loved. Mediums and tarot card readers tell me he’s doing all that. The mystics would say he lives on, and of course he does in my memories and in the memories of my children. He lives on in their dreams.
Perhaps one day I’ll find a medium that will really blow my mind and make me feel like Brian is in the room again. Until then, I have my memories, and that’s enough right now for me to keep him alive in my heart.
Photo Credit
Photo by Martha Farley – all rights reserved
Dear Martha:
I have two comments. First, my profound condolences on the loss of you beloved husband and my deepest admiration for your courage and enduring devotion during that awful journey.
Second, I absolutely love your writing. You have the ability to employ ordinary language in such a way as to bring your thoughts and your feelings deep into the heart of your reader, regardless of the topic. Please never stop writing.
Hi Ross,
How are you? I hope you are doing well. I wanted to thank you so much for your kind words, I really appreciate your comments. And thank you for the sympathies for Brian.
I am deeply touched by your sincere words.
Thank you again,
Martha