Did you know that I stopped believing you would be physically healed on earth a long time ago? I stopped believing it in April of 2008 when we had to start a new chemotherapy after the Temodar stopped working. In fact, I think I stopped believing it when you were diagnosed with the Grade IV in 2007.
To what extent?
To a strong extent.
I tried to stay positive like you always did. I tried to share your enthusiasm for total and complete healing and restoration. I tried, but I failed. I failed because I watched as your boys learned to stop asking you to take them on a bike ride after you once tried and fell. Grant still talks about it today. I stopped believing because I saw that you could barely walk across our own lawn, let alone play soccer in a field with the kids. I stopped believing because I selfishly would wallow in pity when you would talk about how you needed to exercise to restore your strength and your right side function, yet you couldn’t even cut your own steak or tie your own shoes. Instead, I believed it was an insurmountable mountain to climb. You believed you could improve, Brian, but I stopped and I am so sorry.
I am so tired of hearing how strong I am, how my faith inspires. I am merely a flawed human. I didn’t believe you would be healed on this earth. I put up a façade like I did, but I didn’t believe it. I prayed for God to give us as long as possible, but I didn’t pray for total healing. I asked others to do it for us, feeling incredibly hypocritical all the while.
Do you think people would still think I was so inspiring if they knew that last fall, as I was buying you some vitamins, I SERIOUSLY contemplated whether to buy the 180 count or the 360 count, thinking strongly you may not be here in a few months? As if that lousy, stinking $8 means a damn thing right now. Sometimes, though, I wonder if my lack of faith and that blasted $8 contemplation sort of killed you. It haunts me.
Do you think people would still think I am admirable if they knew I discouraged you from buying an expensive pair of dress shoes in the fall? You see, I saw you deteriorating. I saw it slowly happening, but you didn’t. I saw it and in my gut, I knew the next test result was going to be the one that told us to stop treatment, and there would be no reason for those shoes. I didn't want to see those shoes sitting in your closet reminding me of your hope and my lack of it. You never bothered to bring up the shoes again. Did you forget or did you know I didn’t think you would need them?
Do you think anyone would still respect my strength if they knew I avoided you the last couple weeks of your life? I turned over the night shift so I could still sleep and spend the days refreshed going about life. I went to girl nights out. I volunteered at the school library and spent hours on the computer and in the basement working out while you were slowly dying in our family room. I even went to Wal-Mart just 30 hours before you died for absolutely no reason at all. I was obviously very distracted that day as this is what I saw when I looked down in the store noticing that my right leg seemed shorter than my left.
What I wouldn’t do to have one more day with you. What I wouldn’t do to reverse the clock and spend every single moment of every single day of the last few months with you. Every single moment breathing you in and memorizing your every feature. Every single moment holding your hand and watching whatever TV show you possibly wanted to watch. At the time, I just couldn’t watch my knight and my hero unknowingly decline and die. How incredibly selfish of me. It is my own tragic loss.
You see, Brian, I was not so strong. I was not so faithful and not so vigilant. I was weak and faltering and unbelieving. I am sorry. I am SO SO sorry. Sometimes I wonder if my faith had been stronger, would it have made a difference? Was this a test of faith that I failed? Am I failing now? Am I partially responsible for your death?
I miss you, Brian. I love you.
Thursday, May 7, 2009