My Old Life Ended
When you finally arrive home on a Friday evening — one kid in tow, the other successfully deposited with the Boy Scouts for the weekend — and your forty-something-year old husband has a funny look on his face, your first thought is unlikely to be: This time next year I’ll be a widow, raising two grieving kids alone.
At least, that certainly was not my first thought on the day my old life ended.
After fighting the cross-town traffic characteristic of Seattle’s suburbs, I got home one night to find Dennis sitting on the couch in our living room. He had a look on his face. I can’t really describe it, except to say it was that look that said something was wrong. The sort of look you recognize after sixteen years of marriage.
‘Feeling Dizzy’
I thought something had happened at work, or maybe some thing else had gone wrong that day. My read of his face was more “pissed off” than “terminally ill.”
“What’s up?” I asked, my measured tone belying my concern.
“I’ve been feeling a little dizzy lately.”
I sat down on the couch and peppered him with questions.
What are you noticing? When did it start? How often are you feeling dizzy?
He described some slight and occasional dizziness over the previous few days. Nothing dramatic. No I-can’t-stand-up moments. No blacking out; nothing that would ring alarm bells.
Since it was after hours, going to see his regular doctor wasn’t an option. Nothing about the situation suggested I needed to take him to the emergency room, or even to urgent care. We decided that Dennis should call his doctor on Monday, and we talked about times when I could go in with him.
Somehow, my tagging along seemed like it could be important. Little did I know how true my hunch would prove to be.
Within two weeks, I would become his full-time caregiver.
Excerpt © Reprinted by permission. All Rights Reserved.
Purchase Jenny’s book at Future Widow: Losing My Husband, Saving My Family, and Finding My Voice: Lisk, Jenny: 9781735613604: Amazon.com: Books
Read more about how grief works: Is All Grief the Same? Grieving to Scale – Open to Hope
