My husband died three weeks ago. Turns out he had a brain tumor that he did not know about. No symptoms, no signs, no nothing. He gets a headache one day, goes to the hospital, gets admitted into the ICU, and never came home again. He was in the ICU for 27 days and in a coma for 25 of those days. It’s good in one way because he did not have to suffer as much as he would’ve if he were conscious. It sucks because none of us got to say goodbye.
A widow at 25. Who would’ve thunk it? I was still getting used to being married at 23.
So much for all the dreams I shared with him. I dreamt of kids. One would be just like him- a boy with super straight hair, long gangly limbs, and a wicked sense of humor. He would be my favorite child and no girl would ever be good enough for him. I dreamt of Rajeev and me shopping for our home and arguing over which curtains to buy. I dreamt of family vacations with all of us wearing matching t-shirts and multi-colored crocs. I dreamt of tantrums in the supermarket. (What can I say? I really really like my Oreos.)
Well, so much for that.
It sucks that I can’t call him in the middle of the day just because I miss him. It sucks that I can never watch him drink his morning tea, or watch him gel his hair. It sucks that whatever future I do have, will still be a future without him.
And then there are the whys. And the hows. And the what-ifs. And the if-onlys. Each one more maddening that the first. I look for answers, but nothing helps. Then the other day, my friend told me something I will never ever forget- Sometimes, it just has to suck. And it’s true. There doesn’t always have to be one single way to deal with suckitude. You don’t always have to be strong and unflaggingly optimistic. Sometimes. Life. Just. Has. To. Suck.
