People cry not because they're weak, it's because they've been strong for too long.
I really believe that saying, because I've experienced it. God, did I fucking bawl like a baby for 10 days straight after Megan died. It actually started two days beforehand, when she had to be paralyzed, and I saw the writing on the wall. I hadn't spent every day of the last 6 months at her bedside. Like most, she had good days and bad days, and when she could string a few good days together, I might have taken a day off from driving 45 minutes to be with her. I still had to work, we still had bills to pay, a daughter to raise, a house to clean, and a yard to mow. You can't imagine how guilty I feel about skipping going up there once in awhile.
I was strong. I checked on her multiple times a day when I was at work, and as soon as I left the office, I was driving to Cleveland, then coming home and making sure homework was done, clothes were washed, and hair was braided. I was a father, mother, husband, caretaker, breadwinner, delivery person, coordinator, planner, and scribe.
We never even fathomed her not getting a transplant. Everything we heard from the doctors was fucking unicorn farts and rainbows.
"It should be any minute, and her numbers look outstanding, she might even be able to come home and wait it out"
We heard those words countless times, and we always accepted them at face value. I had enthusiasm and drive to keep everything going at home and with the hospital. She would be coming home soon, and we could have our life back. Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. I was on pins and needles any time I wasn't there, because "the call" would be coming soon. If my phone would so much as beep at 3:00 A.M., I was out of bed, scrambling to see if it was a message about lungs.
Megan knew it long before I did that she was going to die. I think she knew at least a month beforehand. I didn't know until two days before. She had accepted it, but she never told me so. She asked to have more visitors, which I thought were just for company during the day while I was working, but really, she was saying her goodbyes. She didn't want me to know, because she was protecting my heart. She knew that if I had to accept it before it actually happened, that I would have shut down. I would have quit my job, and lived at Cleveland Clinic, still trying to maximize every moment we had left in this shitty situation.
All she wanted was for Shelby and I to continue living.
The fight is over. I'm just now to the point where I have some emotional strength. It's very little, and very fleeting, but I can feel it. There are other people I care about now. Nowhere near the extent that I cared about Megan...no one deserves the fight and fire I put into her except Shelby. I'm aware of myself now though. It's not just raw loneliness that draws me to people. I've accepted that Megan is never coming back. I don't agree with it. I don't like it, but I've accepted it.