Crying in a Rain Storm

I find myself rocking back and forth in this chair for no apparent reason other than to comfort myself, I assume. That, or I’ve completely succumbed to madness. I’ve sought refuge in the emails I’ve received from all of you, and although I haven’t had it in me to answer any yet, have read them all, I assure you. I can’t stress how much the kind words, prayers, and the pingback I received meant to me. I have no one else. Funny…for someone who’s always tried to be there for anyone who’s needed me–however slight or monstrous their problems might have been–I find myself alone with this pain and depression right now. There are no friends and family coming to my aid. It’s just me and another one of my problems, and they’re too preoccupied with their own to notice. My husband, likewise, offers nothing to the relationship in the way of support.

For most of us when the going gets tough, the tough get going. For my husband, when the going gets tough he buries his head in the sand and plays the out of sight/out of mind game, hoping what he doesn’t recognize won’t hurt him. I wish sometimes I were that naive. I’ve been accused of being a pessimist because I’m not. I choose to look at the problem with eyes wide open, and face the inevitable horror when necessary. I don’t consider this pessimism as much as being a realist. Lies are comforting, but just because they feel good doesn’t make them real. Sadly, the truth usually hurts.

My husband isn’t ready to let go. He informed me this decision we’ve made concerning Sully is not something he’s comfortable with now. Sully has had a couple better days. The diarrhea and vomiting has ceased, and with it has cast a shadow of doubt in my husband’s mind. He again feels it’s not time yet. I sit here filled with worry watching Sully struggle with his breathing while he sleeps, and groan nearly every time he tries to get comfortable. These things I see that my husband chooses not to. My fear is that he’s going to yield to this cancer while in my care one afternoon while my husband is at work. What then? How am I, weak as I am emotionally in my current state, going to deal with watching my son suffocate to death, have a massive heart attack, or his kidneys fail completely? Am I selfish for wanting to end his life before it comes to that?

I didn’t think at first I would have the strength to make this decision, but here I am today feeling that keeping him with us under these circumstances is worse than death itself. Sadly, it appears it’s not my decision to make. My husband laid guilt on me and made me feel as if I were just trying to get rid of Sully sooner, so I told him to cancel the appointment till he’s more comfortable with this choice. Never mind that I am uncomfortable and the only one home to deal with this slow demise as my husband is gone twelve hours out of every day, and when he’s home preoccupies himself in the garage, on the computer, or really with anything that distracts him from this slow death and our marriage unraveling . Once again my husband is showing little consideration for anyone other than himself; again at my expense, and sadly now Sully’s too. I’ve begun to hate him, and have little sympathy for his pain. What of my pain?

I know I’m doing nothing more than crying in a rain storm for all the attention my pleas are getting me. I just have to brave through this as I’ve been forced to every other damn thing in my life. I may not come out of this unscathed, but know I will be stronger for it and more capable of making difficult decisions in the future because of it. I teeter between anger and self-pity, knowing neither are healthy or will benefit me. I am not beneath pettiness at this point, I shamefully admit. I’ve become a shrew, and almost embrace it. I care little how it makes me look. I wish I were anywhere but here. I wish my son were healthy again. I wish I didn’t always have to be the strong one, the capable one. I wish…Want in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up faster. The stinging slap of reality is that life is a crap-shoot, we get what we get, nothing good ever lasts, but then neither does the sadness or pain. Or does it? For those of us with clinical depression maybe it does.

24 thoughts on “Crying in a Rain Storm

  1. Sorry my reply has taken so long. I’m just now trying to touch base at least once with each and everyone for the wonderful words of encouragement left me. Well, my husband still hasn’t been able to let go, but the new medication we’re giving Sully is helping, he’s dealing with it much better and is only slightly uncomfortable now, so it’s better for us. Time will tell how things work out. In the end you’re probably right, I’ll have to take charge and make the decision myself. I will. I’m feeling stronger now. Thanks for the big hugs. I appreciate them!

  2. I’ve been kind of MIA for a while so I’m just catching up now. I’m so sorry that you’re going through this horrible time. Just be comforted in the knowledge that he appreciates everything you are doing for him.
    Hang in there!

    1. I’ve been MIA too. Life threw me a curve ball and I’ve just been doing my best to deal with it. My frame of mind is improving and because of that I’m beginning to handle it much better. A lot of it could possibly be due to the fact that Sully is feeling better. He’s not in as much pain as he was, and it’s more just discomfort now. We’ve been diligent about giving him another medication that the vet prescribed, and the local vet who’s a friend of my husband’s came over and gave him a shot the other day that seemed to work miracles, so as long as he’s doing better I can handle it. Thank you for the kind words. Knowing I have all this support from everyone has been a blessing.

    1. I know I’ve already commented on your thread, but felt I needed to leave you something on mine. That you took the time to write something so meaningful for me gave me great comfort. Thank you. You’re a wonderful man and a talented writer. Never forget either. Again, thanks buddy.

  3. If I could hug you I would.
    If I could do anything for you I would.
    Right now all I can do for you is cry with you, and tell you I am thinking about you. I can try to encourage you that there will be better days. I hope you find comfort, peace and healing.. not just with your heart but mentally. You are going through a rough time and a battle, and right now you need time to grieve and heal. Sending virtually warming thoughts and smoothing hugs.

    1. Thanks Sweetie. I know it’s taken me forever to get back to everyone–I’m sorry about that–but I wanted to try and send out some personal replies today to let you and everyone know that I have been reading the well wishes you’ve sent me, and to tell you how much they’ve meant to me. I’m doing better, Sully is still hanging in there and doing better, so all is well for now. Hopefully in the future I can get back to blogging daily and hanging out with my cyber buddies. I hope things are going well with you and your little family. Love ya, mini-me.

    1. I’m trying to resume some normalcy. It’s getting a bit better than it was. Stupid depression kicked me in my girlie balls and dropped me to my knees just about the time that I needed all the strength and resolve I could get. I’m climbing out of my box though. You can’t keep an pain-in-the-ass down for long. Thanks for stopping by and lending me your words of support. You and the rest of the blogging community has been just wonderful. I needed it.

  4. Men are such asses sometimes…I am sorry that yours is choosing to be right now, I guess we all deal with our grief in our own ways though don’t we? I am thinking about you, I hope you know that…xoxoxo

    1. Girl, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply to all of you. I have been reading comments left, but haven’t been in any condition to reply till now. I knew you all were pulling for me and would be here when I got around to saying hello and thank you.
      Yes, things have been more than unpleasant around here, but the hubby and I are finally starting to work through it. I’m finding that what he can’t deal with is my sadness and depression. Go figure that he’d rather have me being a bossy bitch and hell on wheels. I guess some men can’t take weakness in a woman, especially when the woman in question is usually so strong. I’m fighting through it though. It helps that Sully is feeling a bit better. I have no illusions that this means he’s improving, but as long as he’s not in pain I can live with it. I guess we’ll just take one day at a time. Hey, thanks for the shout out and your cyber hugs and kisses. It means a lot to me.

    1. Sorry I’ve taken so long to reply. Just been dealing with things one day at a time. I am hanging in and things are improving, thank you. I know everyone’s well wishes has a lot to do with it. I appreciate the positive energy, I have no doubt it’s working miracles right now.

  5. Such a hard time. And making the right decision hurts like hell. But it is the right decision. At this stage any other decision is selfish. The last time I made it the smaller portion stayed in the car while I went into the vet. So I do really understand how hard it is to be the strong one. My heart hurts for and with you and Sully (and your husband).

  6. I am reminded of the end days of my precious dog, my only child. I was told by someone, while walking my dog, that it was selfish to keep her alive while she was so uncomfortable. I just knew I was not qualified to make that life or death decision. But I was the only one who could. She was mine. She was mine.

    And the hard decision…that was mine, too. All mine. I felt alone with that.

    But I did make the decision. I even had to dig her grave while she was sniffing around the yard one afternoon, as I knew I would not be able to on that fated day. And when it was done, I knew, knew in an instant, I had waited too long. I should have done it 2 months sooner. But could not.

    There is nothing good to say about such moments, other than that they come, and are a part of life. And as Carol put it, above, it is the price we pay for enjoying their particular brand of companionship. That perfect affection.

    My deep concern and support are yours, as always,

    1. Spectra, I know I’m a little late in thanking everyone for the well wishes I’ve received, but wanted to jump in anyway and extend my gratitude for the support given me. I have read each and every comment left as it arrived, but am now only crawling out of this depression enough to respond. Sorry. The tale of the decision you had to make with your child broke my heart. It is indeed a tough one…one sadly that Doug is still not willing to make. Sully is feeling a bit better though, so I’ve gotten a temporary reprieve from the hell I’ve been watching him go through. My prayer now is that we’re both strong enough to endure the inevitable. Hey, thanks for taking the time to share your story with me. Knowing I’m not alone helps.

    1. Thank you. Prayers are what’s getting me through. I just wanted to touch base with everyone and let you all know that I have received each and everyone’s well wishes, and they’ve been greatly appreciated.

  7. I was thinking just yesterday about how acquiring a dog (or I suppose any pet) is a voluntary thing — we choose to take on their care in exchange for their special brand of companionship. What we don’t think about at the beginning is how we’ll deal with the ending. We irrationally expect that companionship will go on indefinitely because we want it to — and when the sad reality arrives, we’re not ready to part with our precious friends, even when prolonging a less-than-quality life becomes a selfish cruelty.

    My heart aches for all three of you — for the impending loss you and your hubby are facing, but also for Sully’s discomfort. He may be stoic, and he may have occasional better days but you know he’s dying. You might try asking your hubby how much he loves Sully. Is it enough to put Sully’s need ahead of his own?

    Sorry for the mental meandering… but your situation reminded me of the many times we’ve had to face our own beloved babies’ departures. It’s never easy, but it’s something to face together. It shouldn’t pull a marriage apart.

    1. Trying to respond to some of the comments left for me. Wanted to let you know that Doug and I are dealing with this a bit better than we were. And you’re right, this shouldn’t be the kind of thing that pulls a marriage apart. Sadly, it’s been coming a part at the seams for a while, so this wasn’t the cause, but just an added irritant. Only time will tell if everything will improve. At least Sully is feeling a bit better than he was. Thanks for your support, Carol. I know I’m in your prayers and it means a lot.

  8. Girl, I have been where you are right now – having to be the “strong” one, standing up for your “baby” and refusing to watch them suffer any more. I didn’t understand my husband then any more than you do now. He did thank me later for taking charge. I just realized today would have been Molly’s 9th birthday – shit, now I’m crying….
    Anyway- don’t let them put their guilt on you. Sully needs his mama pit-bull to defend him! And I know you can. Big hugs to you!

  9. In my opinion, if Sully is in that much pain and there is absolutely no chance of him getting better, let him rest now. I, personally, would rather him pass with dignity, in his sleep, and in my arms, than to have something horrifying happen at home where he passes in more pain. Slap your husband upside his head and tell him to quit being selfish! I pray you and Sully find comfort soon. Letting our furkids live in pain and suffering is no life. Again, just my opinion. We’re here for you. ~hugs~ to baby Sully and you

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