Liz Coleman
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Writing about all the cancer-ish things.
Guilt for cooking all the foods Paul hated and watching all the girly shows he couldn’t stomach, and being super happy about it. Grief looks like spending Valentine’s Day eating questionable amounts of cheese while weepily watching Little Women It looks like everyday family stuff: forgetting to pay bills, complaining about winter, discovering new nail polish “art” on the closet door. Or more like...this overwhelming heartache, a sort of sickly-sour-guilty-feeling that I’m here, watching the sun set over the ocean, and he isn’t.
People tend to speak favorably of the dead, but I am only being sincere when I say I was tremendously lucky to have been Paul's wife. His friends were lucky to have been witnesses to any one of his (possibly intoxicated) spontaneous impersonations of a French boarding school headmaster (long story). People tend to speak favorably of the dead, but I am only being sincere when I say I was tremendously lucky to have been Paul's wife. His friends were lucky to have been witnesses to any one of his (possibly intoxicated) spontaneous impersonations of a French boarding school headmaster (long story).
I missed the amused smiles we'd have shared when Ingrid asked incredulously if a large animatronic Giant was "real or fake. " I missed ordering Paul a strawberry milkshake to go with our pair of chocolate ones. missed his usual mumble of ornery remarks about all the rambunctious kids running wild. (Although more known for his laid back vibe, I can assure you Paul's attitude often crossed into what I affectionately referred to as " Most of all, I missed my husband towards the end of the day when a couple of snooty girls would not play with my daughter. There's no need to go into details, but basically my bruised heart got all torn up watching two 5-year-olds tell my kid to "go away!
This is going to upset a lot of people, probably. But I used to get slightly annoyed when people would say they were "still praying for that miracle" when Paul was dying. I'm maybe a terrible person for admitting this, and I'm definitely an imperfect Catholic because we're supposed to believe in miracles and all that? I knew Paul was going to die.