I wake up every morning with some depressing thought.
Sometimes it’s picturing you the day you died. Sometimes it’s remembering how your mind was starting to go in those last months.
Of course, I never know what it will be. I only know it will cause pain, and then I’ll put it away and go on with my day. Some thoughts I’ve been through dozens of times, and I have my pat answers ready – those are the easy ones. Some thoughts are worse. They seem to cling to my mind no matter how many times I’ve gone over them. How many times I’ve told myself to stop with the guilt. It’s over. He’s gone. I did my best.
I thought I was done thinking about today’s question. I thought I had put this one to rest, but apparently there is no “done” when it comes to grief. My counselor said it’s two steps forward, one step back.
The thought of today: If I had done something different, would you still be here?
If I had insisted on a different doctor, or set of doctors, or hospital? If I had asked more questions? If I had done something that day when you were dying, insisted on more answers?
Is there a way that you could still be here, healthy, in remission, if I had done something to change the outcome?
Was I too passive?
Did I miss something I should’ve seen?
We’ll never know, will we?
