My wife was diagnosed with primary oesophageal cancer in September 2019, and I have posted from time to time in the group on this site which is related to that disease. We thought at the time that a combination of radiotherapy, chemotherapy, and major surgery had provided a complete cure - but secondary cancer was diagnosed in September 2022, and my wife died in my arms three weeks ago. She had been at home - as we both wanted- till more-or-less the end. Only in her final hours was she readmitted to hospital.
The end came much more quickly than either of us had expected - we both thought we had a few weeks left, at least - and the final few hours were not particularly well-handled by some of the medical staff involved. We had been together for more than 38 years.
We don't have kids, and my wife's family largely left me alone to get on with things after her death. (I don't know why. I told them I was struggling, but they didn't really react. I don't think they are bad people - but I guess we are just 'different.') So I organized both the funeral and the wake afterwards pretty well single-handed. (I should add that a work colleague of my wife gave me exceptional help with organizing the wake, for which I owe her a huge debt of thanks.)
The funeral was last week. The cliche is that the associated organization provides a 'distraction.' But I would happily have devolved the entire workload onto somebody else. I didn't want to be distracted - I wanted to understand what had just happened to us, and to grieve for my dear wife.
I was touched and encouraged by the large numbers of people who attended both the funeral, and the wake. But that's just testimony to the fact that my wife was widely loved, and respected.
Since the funeral, I thought that I had better get on with tackling some of the administrative duties which I now face: notifying authorities; attempting to figure out - and then sort out - my wife's financial affairs; that sort of thing. But doing so just put me in a complete state of depression: I am not really sure where to start, and I really don't want to think about things like that right now. However, I realize that I need to.
I have been offered counselling by the hospice which was involved in looking after my wife in her final week, and have gratefully accepted the offer. I will take any help that's offered to me: and I know already that talking out loud does seem to help.
This is already a long post. Why am I writing it? I am honestly not sure - but I feel compelled to try to unburden myself by putting this down on paper, and to share it with people who are going through - or who have already gone through - this same shocking emotional upheaval. My entire world has suddenly and irrevocably changed, and I have no idea how I will now navigate the future ahead of me. I promised my wife that I wouldn't give up - and I will honour that promise - but, for now, all I see is blackness.
Thanks for listening.
