Out of the Valley: You first. No, you go first.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

You first. No, you go first.

It seems morbid now but on occasion Jim and I would talk, before he got sick, about our own deaths. Perhaps because we lost so many loved ones early in our marriage, I'm not sure, but we never shied away from the fact that life is, in fact, a terminal situation. I used to tell him that I wanted him to live just one minute longer than me. Even after his stage IV cancer diagnosis, he would tease that he was going to outlive me. He would be some sort of miracle of modern science and, despite my family's longevity, I'd end up in some freak accident and he'd be left to sort out bank accounts, when to feed the dog, buying his socks... All the things I'd attended to.

After he died I wanted to join him in death. I just wanted the gripping pain of loss to be over, and death seemed the only release. In time those feelings subsided, but I can't deny they were there. I found myself wishing the tables were turned, that I would've gladly given my life so that he could live.

But tonight it hit me. I would never want Jim to have to go through what I have. I don't really want anyone to have to experience the loss, the pain, the sorrow. I cannot imagine Jim having to go through the intense grief, the deep sadness, the vast loneliness that I have experienced. My love for him is so great that I'd rather endure this pain and not him.

I believe the one who is left, the survivor, suffers more than the one who dies. Hey, for all I know he's up 'there' fishing with his Dad and telling racy jokes with my uncles. But I am here, alone, figuring out how to go on without him. I don't say this because I'm feeling sorry for myself, or because I'm some martyr. No, I would just hate for Jim to have to endure the loss of someone he loved so very much. I'd rather take the hit. I love him that much. Still.

I am grateful for the love Jim brought into my life. I am grateful that I love him so much, that I can finally find comfort in the knowledge of that love. I am grateful that I lived. That I live. That I love. That despite his death, the love continues. Love never dies.

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About this blog

On May 3, 2013, a bronchoscopy confirmed my husband, Jim McConnell, who would turn 53 two days later, had stage IV cancer. He fought valiantly, never ever giving up hope, always with a sense of humor. We had shirts made for all of us that read: Cancer Sucks: Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for I am the toughest SOB in the valley. An incredibly short journey of nine months later, I had the joy and sadness of saying good morning to my husband Jim for the very last time. After going through initial stages we all go through, the shock, the numbness, the disconnect I realized I was on a new journey. It was no longer our journey, it was mine alone. I traveled with him into the valley of the shadow of death, but he had to go on alone Where he had to step, it is not yet my time. In the beginning of my solo journey, I pictured myself at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, a beautiful spot, and indeed, my life with Jim, despite his cancer, had been a beautiful life. We were blessed in so many ways. Yet in those long months after his death, I felt I was at the bottom of a very deep, dark, primeval place, my own Phantom Ranch, and I needed all my strength to climb out. I am getting stronger, and now, it’s my turn to take a step on my own, to somehow figure out how to climb out of the valley.