Members kat Posted September 27, 2010 Members Report Share Posted September 27, 2010 My partner, Alwyn, died on September 10th at the age of 35. I watched him take his last breath. He had a very aggressive cancer that afforded him a horrific and painful death. The speed of the medical system went much slower than his cancer and they ended up doing absolutely nothing to help him, not even manage his pain on the last day. Delay after delay after delay cost him any chance to fight. He was truely the best man I had ever met. Sweet, gentle and absolutely brilliant, he put me before anything else in his life. He had told me that I was the best thing he'd ever done. I have never told any other man that I loved them. We had decided in January that we were going to one day have a child. I had chosen the rings we were going to get when we got married. I had never wanted these things before, never liked children nor ever saw myself getting married. With him though, all my priorities changed and all we needed were eachother. The amount of times we had argued could be counted on 2 hands. Such a man did not deserve to go the way he did, nor did he deserve to be treated so passively by the system. Health care may be free in Canada, but the "care" aspect of it was certainly lacking.Now, at 32 years old, I have nothing. No career, no children, and most painfully, no love of my life. It seems so cruel that I should finally realize what I really want only to have it taken away from me less than a year later. I am so lost and the pain seems to be getting worse every day. I know it's only been 2 and a half weeks... but I am so scared how much worse this will get. My parents had me move in with them to take care of me until I can take care of myself again... but I feel such pressure from them as they want to fix me. My mother, while I know her intentions are good and I am grateful she is here to support me, keeps asking me what I want. What I want is Alwyn and the question hurts every time I hear it.I have found that speaking with others who have had similar losses helps make me feel less abnormal and more comfortable than speaking with those who don't know what to do or say. I had dinner with a friend of the family who is still grieving her husband after 8 years and it was the first time I was able to laugh at something and not have those around me try to keep me laughing or look so relieved like it meant I was "getting better". I'm hoping to find some of that permission to grieve here. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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