A Very Painful Visit

I am not sure I want to exactly share this story, but there is a big part of me that feels like I need to just to get it off my chest and by doing so I might be able to deal with it better---who knows for sure.

As many of you know who read here regularly, you also know that tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of Ron.  Eight years tomorrow and somehow, someway the pain is still so tremendously unbearable beyond words.

I decided to drive this afternoon out to Eastlawn Cemetery in Brunswick, Ohio where he is buried. I decided to go alone, spend some time by myself. It isn't all that far from where we live maybe thirty-five minutes.  It was one of those drives where I didn't turn on the radio, I wanted surrounded by my thoughts and emotions and nothing else.  I was crying before I even got there.  That should have been my warning sign.

I pulled into the cemetery and into the section where he is buried, stopped, and put the car into park.  The emotions just engulfed every pore of my being.  It was this tsunami of unbearable deep horrific pain.  It was like being there eight years ago.  I could still see the bundled and huddled crowd, the tent, the hearse, the coffin, the blowing wind whisking the snow and well I completely lost it.  I sat in the car for an hour and half and just literally wept myself uncontrollably sick.  I couldn't move, I never opened the car door, I never got out, I never got to the grave.  I just sat their and wept bitterly and deeply, grief unthinkable and I feel like I am the only one that feels that way.

I am the only one that visits that grave, I am the only one still so unbearably distraught, that I could not even get out of the car.  I got the car in gear and just drove away, tears still in my eyes, the emptiness pervaded and I felt so ashamed of myself for what happened there.  Feeling so alone, feeling like I couldn't talk about any of it.

All this time later and it seems no better, no less it just seems no one wants to talk about it, or hear about it or even think about it.  People wonder why I hate Christmas now and this is it and no other reason.  He died just four days before a holiday I loved, a holiday we celebrated to the hilt and he was so viciously and violently ill those last days and he died so gruesomely I was haunted by nightmares for months.  The bloody vomiting, the bleeding KS sores, the unconsciousness and his grief over what happened with New Hope.  He felt like he wasted so much time by working for so long and so much, it felt like he wasted us and what we could have had.  I had no idea what to say, I still don't all this time later.

Do I feel better sharing--honestly I am not so sure, ask me in a few days.  Until then I am so glad we had this time together