"The sky is falling, the earth is shaking, I'm barely holding on."

I scour the lyrics of the Rich Rust Experience CD, looking for words that are about me or our love or our relationship or our children. I think the "Heavy Year" song is about Rich living with the cancer. (Especially when he was first diagnosed - we lived in San Francisco so it is literal, as well as, figurative - earth shaking - get it?) But, now it's about what I'm going through. I can only listen to it every once in a while. It sends me into convulsions. He is speaking to me. He is asking me and/or Madi to forgive him. Madison loves it. She often asks to, "hear daddy's songs". She sings along with the lyrics. Then she asks me if I'm sad. I tried to explain "bittersweet" to her. I tell her I love listening to daddy's songs, but at the same time my heart hurts because I miss him.
Probably 100 times a day I think, "I want my husband. Give him back! Who are you to take him from us? I NEED HIM MORE THAN YOU DO!" Sometimes it immobilizes me. I can't function. I'm trying so hard not to cry in front of Madi anymore. She is probably wondering why I sometimes take multiple showers a day. I try not to cry because Madison is six months older (at the time I initially wrote this - 8 months now) and I don't want her to become depressed. I want her to believe the love I have for her and Ethan is enough to carry me through the rest of this life. I love them instinctively, but right now I only feel sorrow and sadness and hopelessness. She is so protective of me and Ethan. My tears now frighten her. Madi woke up the other morning and the first thing she said was, "Daddy came down". I don't want to make things worse for her. At the end of the day I know it's not God's fault. Although, I seem to get a laugh when I say, "Me and JC are on the outs". (In case you've been following along - I do still believe it's the PCP's fault - I'm not obsessing - even though the thought of him makes me feel violent- but I am consulting attorneys. I don't want that man to hurt anyone else. He broke my family. And I bet he doesn't even remember what Rich looks like.)
I opened our coat closet and hugged and smelled his coats and jackets. He has so many they take up the whole closet. I went through his pockets looking for anything. I found a crumpled up tissue and touched it to my face. I found a chewed piece of gum wrapped in a receipt. I found winter gloves. I caressed the brown leather jacket I got him for our second (dating) anniversary. It is a classic cut and he wore it every winter. Sometimes I walk into our bedroom closet and clutch his clothes and cry into them. He was buried in the Donna Karen suit he wore on our wedding day. What was I thinking?! I want it back! I want Ethan to have it. I want his black Doc Martins we was buried in, too. (Even though he has about four other pairs.) I want everything. I have the last few articles of clothing he wore. I won't wash them. I found two dress shirts in a bag he carried. He must have changed after work before going to play music with John. For a few weeks I kept them under my pillow with his hospital gown. The hospital gown - it has his blood and sweat on it and it was what he was wearing one of the last times I kissed him and he told me he loved me. They were drenched in his smell and I cried into them every night. My sister moved them and it bothered me, but I didn't say anything. She hung up the shirts on the bed post and placed the hospital gown in his night stand drawer. It turned out to be a good move because one night Madi threw up all over the bed! Had the clothes been under my pillow I would have had to wash them.
I finally unpacked the bag he had at the hospital. I have his unwashed jeans and a pair of Old Navy nylon pants. I have a jacket and a pair of unwashed socks and underpants. It may seem weird or gross, but I need them. I have his toothbrush. It's almost as if I need his DNA. I have his electric razor with his red facial hair stubble in it that his mom just got him for Christmas. I refuse to use the bath tub he last showered in or remove and wash the last washcloth he used. I just remembered, that washcloth was made from hemp. When he was diagnosed the second time, I wouldn't let him use any unnatural products. You should see the natural bristle tooth brush I had him using. Or even worse, taste the natural toothpaste I made him use. My poor Rich. I don't know how he dealt with me.
Rich arranged a bunch of Sesame Street characters in Madi's room. He has monkeys strategically placed in there, too - I can't touch them - I want them to remain "as is" because he did it. I found drawings and sketches he did for Madi. I won't let her play with them because we have to keep them special.
I know I can't continue to think this way, but I'm terrified something else bad will happen to me. Just when I can't imagine anything worse than losing Rich, I look at my children. I become paralyzed with fear. Oh my God, I could not live if I lost one of them. One of my sisters once said to me while I was still pregnant, "It can't get any worse." I looked at Madison and said, "Yes, it can."
On cards and notes Rich wrote to me he always spelled Mommy - Mommie. He would spell Daddy - Daddy. I could never figure out why he spelled Mommie like that. Then Madi brought home a Snow White book from Grammy's the other night. It was a Little Golden Book. I opened the cover and scrawled in thick black ink read, "Ritchie". I sobbed and traced the crooked childish letters with my fingers. I smelled it and hugged it. I imagined him as a small child sitting on his mother's lap - his imagination going wild - absorbing the story and the illustrations and thinking of a way it could be improved.
Tuesday night (July 6) Kim and I went out to dinner for her 34th birthday. It was actually the night before her birthday and it was her husband Steve's idea. He wanted to surprise her with a night out. He asked me to just come over at 6:00 PM. He even offered to watch all four children! That was generous, but my sister came over to be with Madi and Ethan.
We went down to Station Square. We shopped and drank wine and bought pretty smelling soaps and some trinkets. We went into St. Brendan's Crossing. Years ago, Rich and I got our Claughdaugh rings there. I wear his on my right pointer finger. He got me a trinity knot ring there as a gift once. I can't remember when he gave it to me. But, I've worn it for years. It symbolizes - no beginning and no end - it means everlasting love. I told Madi about how special it is to me and that someday I would give it her. And someday I would give daddy's claughdaugh to Ethan. Almost daily she touches them and says which one is hers and which one is Ethan's. She knows how special they are. She knows they are part of daddy.
At night I wear Ethan across me like a bandage. I hold and rock him. I feel him healing my heart as if he is a patch or salve. I thank Rich out loud everyday for him.

Our 11 year dating anniversary is September 25th. I don't want a new beginning. I want my life back. I want to feel whole. I want my Rich Rust.. It's been a heavy year...

An Irish Blessing I got from a little book I bought at St. Brendan's Crossing:

Do not resent growing old.
Many are denied...
The Privilege.

Contact me: denirust2004@yahoo.com