It is nine months since I lost my husband to cancer. My husband had a brain tumor which turned out to be Grade 4 Glioblastoma. He took on board as much treatment as he possibly could, and in his own way, he lived his life as fully as he could. I am proud of him for how he handled himself - by never driving a car after his first seizure, by bravely facing up to his de-bulking surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy and coping with not being your best self anymore. We were married for 20 years and have a family. When he passed, my husband was two days short of surviving 1 year from his initial diagnosis.
I haven't been able to cry. I don't know why. Considering I lost my husband and soul mate it should warrant many tears. I thought a good long cry would be something I would do regularly, but it's not the case. During the past 9 months I've been through a lot but I feel like I'm still early in my grief. I spent probably 7 or 8 months keeping myself busy and distracting myself from grief. I did this by being supportive to our kids, arranging a funeral, administering an estate, buying a house, moving house and the various DIY tasks that follow. After I moved, and people were asking if I'd "settled in" well of course I have? So why don't I feel like I can "switch off" at the weekend and put on films all day like everything else doesn't matter? Why can't I feel like I did before the Cancer diagnosis? Why do I feel like I only operate at 80% when I'm at work and I'm really trying? It got to a point where I told myself to stop. Stop distracting myself with a never-ending list of household projects, which have no urgency. Stop. Slow Down. Take it in. Be where I am. Try to be content. (If I'm honest, to some degree - I'm still distracting myself.)
During the last 9 months - initially, I went around and around in my head the chain of events that happened during the last 2-3 weeks of his life. Seeing him poorly, getting weaker, feeling a bit better, poorly again, not getting out of bed, me willing him - begging him to eat something - anything, visits from nurses, chasing prescriptions, doctors, going to hospital and his final days. I thought about him and what he was going through and whether I could have done anything differently - would it have improved the outcome? I couldn't have done anything for his decline. I could have tried harder to make him feel better though it was very difficult for me to be more supportive, because we both were emotionally and physically exhausted. He always wanted more from me - more time with me - more of me. I felt like I was the only one he turned to for support. Other people said and it's probably true - it was because he trusted me the most.
Ever since his diagnosis, when we were alone, our conversations were about the treatment, next steps, how long left, declining health, his final wishes and dying. He signed a respect form, reflecting his wishes of not wanting to be resuscitated. We would discuss, debate, argue, be negative and be positive on a daily basis. He was on his own through the day when I was at work and the kids were at college/uni. He was well read on brain tumors, treatment, life expectancy, the end stages. As a result I also read about these things (to some extent) so I could keep up with him during these afternoon discussions. It brought me to the Macmillan forums which were a great support for me. He was understandably depressed. He could say the nastiest things or the most uplifting things and I couldn't be sure what I'd be walking into. Most nights - at his request - I would take him out to see our friends, and that gave us both some respite from the cancer and reminded us that there were other people with other problems, too. The cancer aged him fast and other people would notice it more than myself who was with him every day. By the time of his passing he looked at least 10 years older than the man who was diagnosed. Some people shied away from us while others seemed to get it - that he wanted to be able to talk about the terminal cancer - but still be treated like a normal person. Connecting with other people when going through cancer is such a powerful thing. They were great emotional support. We made memories.
My sister-in-law suggested that we video my husband saying messages for the kids' future milestones - 21st birthdays, weddings, etc. He thought about it and we discussed it at the time. He never wanted to do that because it didn't feel right for him. In part it was because he didn't want to be remembered on a video for being the poorly version of him.
For a long time I didn't want to talk about his funeral, after the funeral, or what to do with his possessions. It was that way all through our marriage and his previous health issues like heart disease, stents, and 2 major operations, but when the palliative nurse told us he was in his last 3 months, I was willing to have those conversations. I saw the hurt and I think it made him feel worse when I was willing to listen to his wishes because he knew - that I knew -his death was close. Much closer than either of us wanted it to be. Although I tried, I couldn't really get him to reminisce about the best bits of our time together. None of what happened before mattered to him at the time, because he was faced with the overwhelming realization that he was terminally ill and wouldn't be part of our lives for much longer. One day he asked me whether I have any questions for him, because he wouldn't be around much longer to be able to answer them. I couldn't think of anything to ask him - at least not anything that mattered in that moment. If he asked me now, I still don't know what I would say. I tried my best to reassure him that I would look after our kids and that we would be okay. I didn't want him to worry about us. But I felt like I didn't want to go into too much detail about our what our future plans might be without him because I didn't want to be beheld to keep promises to someone who wouldn't be here. I don't know if that was selfish of me but I didn't want to lie to him or make up a story, knowing that I wouldn't be able to make any of those decisions until after he passed.
I still love him and miss him very much. I am not a "supernatural" person - I believe in God and Heaven. Although on a couple occasions I believe there were signs that he was sending me messages from beyond. An obscure song we both liked started playing when I walked into a supermarket right in front of a wall of flowers. The heating, which we had argued about - staying on all day long to 24 degrees on what would have been our 21st anniversary due to a mysterious "RF error" on the thermostat. "I don't wanna miss a thing" starting automatically on Alexa.
This weekend I looked for every poem he wrote me before we got married. I had remembered how a few years ago, he had commented how I never kept his poems but I assured him I did - though I didn't do anything with the poems at the time. Now I have put the poems in the cloud so I'm less likely to lose them. Just before the cancer diagnosis I had started taking up scrap-booking which involves putting together an album of select pictures, and journalling - with written notes about what you're doing at the time. I was documenting recent events and only about five pages in when the Cancer diagnosis came, which put my new scrap-booking hobby to a halt. Now I'm in two minds on whether it will be a good idea to scrapbook our time together for our legacy, or am I obsessed with my husband who is no longer here?
your story resonates so much with myself - coping with my husbands physical decline was so hard as steroids and tumours took their toll on his mobility and to some degree his personality.
The last few weeks of his active dying at home were very peaceful and textbook in that I understood all the stages of transition but it was so heartbreaking to watch, he got so very thin apart from one arm that he suffered with lymphoedema which wept and caused him a degree of distress to see. He became very emotional and loved having his parents, siblings and our children around him.
im still reliving things I could have done better and also reliving the pain of seeing him without life - one consolation was how much younger and peaceful he looked once he did pass.
i know my youngest child, although a young adult just out of her teens, still struggles with these images of her dad.
I’m working hard to rewire my thoughts to not dwell on the intensity of the last few weeks of his life but rather focus on the vital amazing person that he was and all the amazing years we had together.
it’s a painful journey and I send you and all the other travellers on here my love 
️
I so vividly remember when, 2 weeks after being told he had 3 to 6 months and 2 weeks before he was cruelly ripped from me, doing his morning neck massage to try and drain his horrendous lymphoedema.
I started to cry and he asked me what the tears are for?
I said “For all the things we planned to do but now won’t. For all the holidays we wanted to go on but won’t. For all the birthdays, Christmases and anniversaries we won’t celebrate. For our retirement we won’t share. For the kisses, holding hands and moments. For loosing you”
He told me “I will be with you in your heart for every holiday you do go on. For every birthday, Christmas and anniversary you do celebrate. I will enjoy your retirement. Don’t ever stop kissing me or holding me (we had ordered a necklace which now contains some of him). You will not be loosing me, just my body.”
He told me I would have to be strong after he went but I should ask his opinion and advice.
He told me not to turn into a mad old bag lady.
He told me to let others help me.
He told me to give him a kiss and shut up 
It was sad, depressing, horrendous, scary and made us angry.
But together we tried to plan as much as possible ; his funeral, putting utilities into my name, changing ownership of the car to me, insurance in my name.
As much as we could to, in his words, make it a tiny bit easier.
My beautiful Valen.
God I miss him.
Hugs to all xx
Thank you for writing this ,it captures many of the emotions I've been experiencing.
Especially good timing today as I've been attempting (yet again) to work through my wife's craft room where much of her journaling and craft work, over the past four years from her diagnosis, focused upon positivity and hope it's heartbreaking.
From reading the comments a familiar thread seems to be the feelings of guilt many of us experience could I have done more, should I have pushed for different or more treatment are there things I could have said to her in the final days.
Yet not unlike yourself I don't break down in tears ,I carry on go to the shops look for ' things to do ' ( the dogs exhausted 
) speak to the neighbours try and plan but achieve very little.️
