PREFACE: I wrote this to Megan on August 2nd, 2014, her 54th day in the hospital. It was over 3 months before her death. This could almost have been sent yesterday, because the sentiment, especially the last paragraph, is the same. I think it makes a great statement on what someone dealing with a long term illness of their spouse might be going through. I started the grief process 6 months before she died, only I never expected to have to continue it.
I know that you've been feeling better lately, even though you're exceptionally tired, and somewhat loopy sometimes, given the marinol. It sounds like you've gotten less anxious and more accepting that we're in this for the long haul, and it may be awhile before the call.
The longer you are up there, waiting, the more I realize that I can't live without you. We are a team babe, and the past month and a half, I feel like I'm getting closer and closer to insanity. If it wasn't for Shelby, I would have already lost it.
I want nothing more than to have you home, healthy, and happy. I wish we could just get this over with. I was only half joking when I said we will just move to Wyoming or somewhere when you're home. I believe that my lack of motivation to do anything is because you aren't there with us. Even this morning, when Shelby and I went for our hike, it just wasn't the same without you at least home when we got back, let alone going with us. This is the longest you've ever been admitted since we've been together. It wouldn't have been easy 4 years ago, when it was a regular occurrence, and it's definitely not any easier now.
I miss you. I miss doing things and going places with you. I miss just sitting and watching TV. Each day, I only miss you more. I know you'll get through it, but I'm having trouble believing that I will. It's harder for me to know what you're feeling about everything, because you can't really open up about it with all the drugs pumping through you. I don't know if you're mad, anxious, happy, or just plain tired.
I love you.