March 31, 2005: Well, two weeks have gone by since I took Diane into Emerg. Sure doesn't seem like it. Started going through some more of her stuff, I might get into that huge box of pictures soon. Man this sucks. I'm starting to think I'm going to make it, but then I'll just do a dive-bomb into depression for no apparent reason.
I keep looking at her stuff, and thinking she'll come back. The dog still perks up every time there's an odd noise, and each time I come in the door she looks at me quizzically. Sometimes, although not the past few times, she looks past me out the door, very obviously looking for someone behind me. The day Diane died and I came home, she sniffed me and I saw fear in her eyes. Then she sniffed Diane's wedding ring that I was wearing, and the bag of her clothes I brought home, and wrinkled her nose. It was obvious she could smell the death, especially in Diane's socks. I gave her one of Diane's socks, and she poked it around with her nose, sniffed it a few times, then shoved it away. A little while later she was moaning with the kids, and she had huge tears rolling down her eyes. I don't care what vets or anyone else says, dogs KNOW. She was Diane's dog, and she has been looking at me sadly, and been in and out of a depressed state almost as much as I have. At least that I can see. She understands a lot, but I wish I could explain to her what happened.
But maybe the dog knew more than I did. Every time Diane went for chemo, the dog would not go near her for days. Usually exactly as long as the docs said it would take the chemicals to be leeched from her body. That used to upset Diane, but she knew why the dog acted like that.
There's a saying you've probably heard, 'Dogs are people too'. I've always thought of dogs, especially this one, as being extremely intelligent and emotional animals. I don't think that anymore, I KNOW it. If you ever go through this, and the deceased has a pet, don't forget the pet. They have to grieve as well, in their own way.
It's been a rough day and I'm just not interested in writing more. Taking the death certificate into Diane's work and stuff has just wiped me out.
April 1, 2005: Well, trying to get back to work again today. It's sort of happening. Although the phone conversation I had with her ex-husband today hasn't helped me any. That totally broke my concentration and I haven't really done much more work after that. When you go through this you will find some people just don't 'get it' and think it's all about them. This can be true for friends, relatives, and especially businesses.
I kind of puttered around today, looked through some pictures, and moved things around in the bedroom a bit. I'm going to have to get a scanner. I used to have a multi-function, but it died last month. I took almost all of Diane's stuffed animals (she loved them, had lots of them) and put them in this hanging storage thing that we got from Ikea in the fall. That was about the last time we went shopping together outside of maybe running into the drugstore or something. When I think of it now, Diane was pretty much bedridden since maybe September or so. When I think of the last couple of months, I realize now that she was failing, forgetting (or maybe not wanting to do) things like write us farewell letters and stuff, and about 3 weeks ago she told me she had signed some important papers, only to find out she hadn't. The positive to that is that it turns out they weren't that important after all, and were covered with a phone call yesterday.
I'm still 'talking' to her, ok, well, talking to her picture (and maybe her) and staring at her most prized possessions in a state of sadness. I was alone in our room today, and I looked at everything and spoke aloud about it. "There's the picture from the dinner in October when I got that award." "I remember when I got that for you in Oregon, and this stuff here was from Christmas." That sort of thing.
Did I mention Diane loved her stuffed animals? The second time (first time after diagnosis) that she went into the hospital, I got her a plush (ie: stuffed) Husky/wolf. She named it 'Buddy', because it was her 'buddy' and was strapped to her IV pole. All the staff thought it was really cute, and she clung to that little dog for support. She loved husky/wolves, and always wanted one. The next time she went in, I got her another one, and she's got a whole collection of about a half dozen now, plus the wolf slippers. I can see her trudging through the hospital hallways in her wolf slippers, with another wolf on her IV pole, and sometimes one sticking out of her robe pocket or something. She looked REALLY cute, even when sick. Every time she went in there, I got her a new one. It made her feel good, and I'm sure helped her 'recovery' many, many times.
The last time she went into the hospital, on the 17th, I thought about getting her one, but didn't have any time that day. The 18th, I was just too busy and by that evening I was too exhausted. I felt really bad about that, like maybe if I had gotten her one she would have come home with me, but I know now that wouldn't have mattered. Sort of. Regardless, I'm glad I didn't get her one this time, as I would be looking at it all the time, and it would be slowly killing me. I know she wouldn't have wanted that.
I hear the Pope is dying today. Sad, but the guy is 84. I was thinking today that I hope he stays until tomorrow, which would be two weeks to the day of Diane's death. That's a connection, and the Pope couldn't be in better company, in my opinion.
I read her letter from our 10th anniversary (last September) again today. It hurts, but it shows how much she loved me, and that helps somewhat. It also gives me some guidance, because she talks in there about how much I have done for her and the kids, and how lucky she thought she was for having someone that would love her kids as well as her. She also talks a bit about what I should do with my life and the kids, and that helps too, knowing that I'm following her lead. She was a wonderful, compassionate woman, moreso than anyone else I know, and I'm truly humbled to think that she thought so much of me. I will always love Diane, and I hope she always knows that. She said she would love me forever, even after death, and I believe her.
April 2, 2005: Well, no phone calls today. It's Saturday, and has been two weeks to the day that Diane left us. I'm writing this one on Tuesday, as it just seemed to be too busy for me to write, or I just didn't want to, I'm not sure. I'm writing this for Diane. I don't want to miss a day at all.
So what happened on Saturday… Well, not much. I was supposed to take the kids up to see my grandfather who's in an extended care facility, but then I heard they may be under quarantine for the flu, which would be devastating if that bug got loose up there. So I was starting to work a bit. Can't really focus too much, and I was feeling every minute slip by. That really sucked.
We went out for dinner tonight. Me, the kids, mom, and my grandmother. Discussing places to go, we ended up at a White Spot. After we were in there for a few minutes, I realized that was the last real restaurant (barring fast food) that Diane and I had gone to together, (we didn't have any kids with us, so we had a nice intimate lunch,) and I was just zapped by it. Nosedive, almost to tears, the whole ball of wax. I suppose this is going to happen a lot now, I'm going to get into situations like this where it's 'the last xxxx Diane and I did', etc.
Driving home, we passed a church with one of those lighted billboard things, and the slogan on it was 'Because He died. You can face tomorrow.' Well, it's an interesting thought, but not correct. Even being a Christian, I don't really see it that way. I can face tomorrow, only because I have to. I'm here as a protector and provider for 3 kids. My life no longer has an independent purpose. For three years I lived for Diane, who lived for me. I think she hung on until she was sure I could deal with it all. Now that she's gone, my purpose for living and succeeding is gone. If it weren't for having to take care of the kids, I would have no reason to be here. None at all.
Facing tomorrow isn't a choice like the billboard implied. It's a fact. You have no option. Even something like suicide, you still have to face the next step, don't you? I'm not living, I'm merely surviving here.
At night, I watched some TV, and flicked the channels, ending up on Andromeda, a show Diane really didn't like, but let me watch in the bedroom anyway. She was always doing that sort of thing, putting others before herself.
Went for a drive, along a route we always used to take. We had several various routes we'd end up driving around, depending on the time we had. Some short, some longer.
Today really sucked, generally speaking. I want Diane back.
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