Ed died a year ago tomorrow. At 9:15 p.m.
I don't really remember those last couple of days clearly, which bugs me to no end. Or maybe it's good. I don't know.Grief is an insane emotion. We grieved so many things in the 4 ALS years.
Ugh! Here's my rollercoaster brain - I can't just say I grieved so many things and just allow for that. I have to say "but we were so fortunate, too!" We were! We had the time to do bucket list things. Time to say all the things we needed to say. I was able to spend every day with him.
But he died. He's gone.In that four years, we grieved so many losses. His hands. His legs. He couldn't eat that last year. Nothing. How do you eat and taste nothing?? He asked me to buy him gum. He just wanted to taste something. Juicy Fruit. I have packs of it left. Because I couldn't let him chew gum. Gum for God's sake. He choked on it, on his saliva.
We grieved the loss of intimacy. We couldn't sit near each other because without the wheelchair, he'd fall over. We didn't sleep together. We couldn't hold hands. I could hold his. But I couldn't feel his big hands hold mine anymore.
Loss of mobility. He laid on his back that last year and couldn't move unless someone moved him but he felt everything. Every itch, every ache. Sometimes late at night, when the ALS demons haunt my brain, I see how long I can lay there without moving. Try it.
Back to grief. I truly thought when Ed died, I'd be sad, but I'd be ok. Because my heart shattered every other week for four years. Grief sat on my shoulder every single day. Once Ed was free from ALS, I thought I'd feel some lightness. Lightness for Ed. Lightness because ALS is so dark, so awful.The thing is, I'm not free from ALS.
Rollercoaster: yes. Yes. I am - I can walk. I can move. I have today and tomorrow and a future. I'm here.
But I'm here without Ed.
Ed was supposed to be my future. Now what?
Grief - as dark and heavy as it was - grief wrapped me in a cloak of weird safety this past year. I allowed myself to be incredibly sad, devastated, freaked out, uncertain. I stayed away from life, friends, stuff, work, adventures.
Is there a moratorium on these feelings? It's been a year. Is it time? For what? Time to move forward. Stop crying. Sleep through the night. Find energy.
In a widow's group I'm in, I've heard the second year is harder than the first. I didn't believe it but now I'm thinking it could be true. That cloak is disappearing. I have choices to make. Choices without Ed.
In that last year of Ed's life, he'd ask me quite often what my plans were for the future. He wanted to be sure I felt safe and strong and loved.
Rollercoaster: I alternately feel none of those and all of those. I am loved. I am safe. I was strong. Now, I'm not so sure. But there's room for me to move toward that. I know it even if I don't feel it,
Rolleroaster: How lucky I am to have had Ed in my life. I'm better for loving him. But geez louise, grief squeezes my heart and leaves me in an uncertain, scared, weird place.
After tomorrow, all of the firsts without Ed are over. The firsts without him.
More rollercoaster. In one way, I'm glad no more firsts. In another way, I'm sad because he's that much further from me. That's bound to happen, right?
I remember standing at his grave the day he was buried. Luther (his son) and TJ (his brother) were with me. Thank goodness, because I had this overwhelming feeling of wanting to fling myself on to the ground. Be that much closer to him. He was in there. His physical self was there. I miss that so much - touching him, his presence, kissing him, his smile.
Time blurs memories. Both good and not so good. I love these pictures. The fun pictures. I wish I had a zillion more!!!My mantra this past year has been: it is what it is. I can't change anything. Ed's not here. I ride the emotional rollercoaster with him beside me. He's still with me.
My mantra for the next year? I'm not sure yet. Stop saying "should." Be gentle. Find peace.
It is what it is.
Edited: Let me end this with the memory of what a good man Ed was. Is. Smart, quiet, patient, funny. He had a generous heart, filled with faith and love.
From his obituary, just a reminder of who he was:
Captain Luther E (Ed) Cutchins, Jr. USAF ret, 63, died peacefully on 9/20/2017 from ALS.
Preceded in death by his parents, Luther and Louise Cutchins; and his son Ryan. Survived by wife Lynn (Schlieff) of New Brighton, MN; son Luther of Chattanooga, TN; and his grandchildren, Josh, Nathan, Emily and Ava; sisters, Kay (Joel) Guy, and Linda Jensen of Marianna, FL; brother, TJ Cutchins of Tallahassee, FL; and his Minnesota family: in-laws, Harry (Sandy) Schlieff, Ann (Robert) Brannon, Jeff (Noreen) Schlieff; nieces, Molly and Emily Schlieff; and nephews, Will and Ben Brannon.
Ed was a 1971 graduate of Marianna High School, joining the Air Force the same year.
During Ed's 20 year Air Force career, Ed held many interesting and challenging positions that took him all over the world, including Faculty Member at the National Defense University, Software Development Manager and Special Agent with the Office of Special Investigations where he retired as the Deputy Chief of Computer Crimes Investigations.
After the Air Force, Ed worked for several law enforcement agencies. In Florida, while working for the FL Dept of Law Enforcement, Ed was the first crime laboratory analyst for the Computer Evidence Recovery Unit. Ed moved on to work for the Virginia State Police where he retired as the Systems Analyst in charge of computerized criminal history. Ed then moved to a similar position in Minnesota with the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension where he retired after his diagnoses of ALS in 2013.
