I have been trying to avoid thinking about the shoulda, coulda, wouldas. I have been successful at it for a while now, until I read some comments on the Facebook page Grief Beyond Belief. This page is for those of us that can't accept all the heaven and God speak. They have a "closed" group which means you have to be accepted as a member to see/read/comment and it is private, so it doesn't show up all over Facebook when you interact. This allows us to talk a bit more honestly, without having to censor ourselves, without having to worry that something we say will be hurtful to other family members. And, of course, we have all lost a loved one, so we have that pain in common.
There was a post that started bringing out anger some of us feel about our loved ones treatment by their main "care-giver". This was mostly directed towards our parents "step" fathers/mothers. How can our parents spouse do this to them? HOW can they not spend every breathing moment taking the best care of our Dad? How can you let someone die because you are not able to do it, and not willing to admit that you can't, so we can step in and take over. How can someone's best be so piss poor that they would prefer their husband die instead of make his last year the best one of his life? Why does this person deserve to still be alive and our Dad is not.
How can I be so mad at Stacy for encouraging Daddy to die, when I sat for two days and watched John deteriorate to the point of death? Why? Why didn't I do more? Why didn't I do something? What the fuck was I doing? All I can think is that the possibility of him dying NEVER entered my head. Never. I would like to think that had I known that was the outcome, John would have gone straight to the hospital from the ship. Immediately. If we had known, I would have gotten an ambulance to pick him up at the dock. I DIDN"T KNOW!!!! He was supposed to get better. I didn't know that stomach flu or food poisoning (whichever it was) would result in death.
Why didn't I see it? And because I didn't, John fucking died. Because I did not get him further medical treatment, John died. I could have saved him, and I didn't.
I didn't save him because I didn't know. I didn't know his heart was that bad. I didn't know, and I still don't know what and how it exactly happened. I don't know, and I never will know, what his body was doing. I will never know why his body shut down. I will never know why his heart stopped. I only know that I could have gotten him to someone that would have known, and I didn't.
I SHOULD have called an ambulance.
I COULD have called an ambulance.
I WOULD have called an ambulance.
I SHOULD have done more.
I COULD have done more.
I WOULD have done more.
I SHOULD have known more.
I COULD have known more.
I WOULD have gotten him the help he needed.
I realize none of this will bring him back. But, I cannot deny my part in his death. I have to look at it. I have to accept it. I have to learn from it. I have to forgive myself for being such a piss poor person that I don't deserve the oxygen that I breath.
