Today marks the 3rd month since I last talked to Pat in the emergency room before his cranial surgery.
Just writing that sentence has brought a flood of painful memories of my poor husband laying flatly strapped to an immobilizing spine board and in a neck brace. His puffy eyes opened when he heard my voice. To my relief, he recognized me, was able to kiss me, and told me he loved me.
He whispered, “I’m okay.”
God, I wish it were true!!
After Shane McGee’s sentencing, I fell into a hollowing, carving depression. My physical mind and body began deteriorating daily.
Today, so I can go on, I have put Pat’s memory consciously away from me. When the stabs of memory come, I force them away. I’m trying to pretend he’s away at school. That’s the only way for today.