Seriously, I tortured him and he took it very well, all things considered.  I would not sleep with him, I slept on the couch and we barely spoke.  I followed him around with Lysol and rubber gloves sanitizing everything he touched. Even my best friend, Karen, felt bad for him.
"Don't you think your taking this a little too far," she asked as she followed me to the bathroom as I raced to wash and spray everything off.  Bill rolled his eyes as I passed him.
"You just watch the village," I hissed at her as I pointed my yellow glove in her face.  "I want to know who's going to the doctor's and for what."
"Okay,okay," she sighed backing away. "Take it easy."
I can't tell you how many times I called my doctor's office that week demanding results. Finally he got on the phone with me.
"What's this all about?"
When I told him what happened, he laughed.
"Who told you that?" he asked.
"The doctor at the ER."
"Most of them don't know their ass from a hole in the ground," he insisted.  "He probably wasn't even a doctor, maybe a resident. (Seriously, my doctor was old school and just so cool.) "Based on what you've told me it sounds like a case of food poisoning and the penicillin probably saved your life, even if it was a misdiagnosis.  Now stop calling here.  You're driving everyone crazy.  I'll call you as soon as I get the test results."
"Okay," I said meekly.
Bill was standing next to me, his arms crossed.
"Get the results?" he asked.
"No, they aren't in yet."
"You, little girl, are going to feel so bad," he said, shaking his head.
I sprayed Lysol in his direction as he walked away.

In the end, I did feel bad.  The results were negative.  I think my Doc took manly pleasure in telling me that.  He liked Bill.  I felt bad for not trusting Bill.  I felt bad that my entire house smelled like a giant lemon and the kids ran from me afraid of getting sprayed. I felt bad that my hands looked like shriveled old lady hands from wearing those gloves.  I felt bad about everything.
Bill could have been a real jerk about it, but he wasn't.  He just welcomed me back in our bed and said he was glad I felt better. 
We did see a lawyer and the lawyer said we had a good case against the hospital.  After all, they had no way of knowing if I was the kind of woman who would go home and shoot her husband instead of sanitizing him to death. We decided against, well really I did.  It was a horrible episode in our lives and I just wanted to forget it, not relive it on the witness stand.
Later I found out I wasn't the only one who got sick.  My sister in law and my sister both did.  I think it had something to do with our penchant for potato salad.

I don't know why I'm counting the days. It's not as though when I reach a certain number of days I've survived without Bill I'm going to win a contest or something.  At times I think I keep track so won't forget what happened fifty-two days ago, which is so stupid.  As if I could forget, as if I might not notice that the big man who took care of me for more than forty years is missing.
We never spent much time apart.  Neither of us traveled for our jobs or anything like that.  I could easily count the nights we weren't together.  It was when one of us was in the hospital. Either I was having a baby or something was going on with his heart.  In 1992 he was in Saint Joseph's having his aortic valve replaced with a mechanical valve.  I never moved my car from the parking garage for eight days. Across the street was a nurse's dorm and they let me sleep and shower there. Bill's mother and sister, Patti, stayed with me.  I think I lived on M&M's for that week. I stayed strong for Bill, they took care of me as much as I would allow.
I did everything wrong during that time. Frozen in fear, I shut people out.  I wouldn't even discuss Bill's illness with the kids.  Months later I read a book my Aunt Jean gave me entitled, 'Heartmates'.  If was full of suggestions and helpful information for getting through heart surgery.  After reading it I realized how wrong I'd been when I told the kids, "Don't cry to me.  You have sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, cry to them. If I start crying, I 'll  never stop."
I'm not like that now.  We all cry, nearly daily.  I have no reason to suck it up anymore, nothing or no one to be strong for. I no longer care what I look like.  So what if my eyes are red and puffy. My tears, fears or worries are no longer causing him pain or emotional distress of any kind.
Oh my God, he was so protective. A single tear from me and he was ready to rip someone's head off, lol.  I tired to explain that sometimes women cry just because, it's no one fault, but he didn't buy it.  He always wanted to know who did what and he always wanted to fix it.  I usually tried to hide my emotions if I knew they would upset him.
Back in the day we used to be apart for several nights each November. Bill liked to hunt and each year he would go down to the southern tier with his buddies.  Someone had a hunting camp of sorts and they would all pack up, take horrific amounts of food and be gone the week before Thanksgiving.  I can't tell you how many years he strolled in just as I was putting dinner on the table.  It used to really piss me off.
Bill had a dog for a while that hated me.  He was a pure white German Shepard and I had to feed him by pushing his food close to him with a stick.  That dog was pure meanness and viscous with anyone but Bill.  One year when he went hunting the dog got loose and we couldn't get out of the house.  I was so mad!  Finally one morning Bill found the dog dead.  I think someone poisoned him.  I swear it wasn't me, but I'd thought about it enough times.  I figure it was a neighbor who got sick of him.  Whoever did it had my gratitude.
One year when Bill was down south hunting I went out. This was not something I usually did.  We were a team, but for some reason I got a brain fart and thought why the hell not.  I got a babysitter and Bill's sister, Ruth went with me. I had a great time.  I danced and drank and generally cut loose, but I swear I didn't do one thing wrong. In hindsight, bar hopping was probably not my smartest choice but it never occurred to me just how many of his friends would see me out. We got home late and I fell into bed.
The next morning Ruth asked me if I was going to tell Bill.
"I haven't really thought about it," I answered.
"Well someone is going to tell him," she sighed over her coffee.  "In fact if you don't tell him, I'll have to."
Great, I thought, a traitor in my midst.
I'll never forget the day he came home from hunting.  I crawled onto his lap and confessed, not that there was much to confess, but still.  He would not like hearing that his little wife had been out raising hell while he was gone hunting. All in all, he took it well.  Let's just say he grilled me a little and leave it at that.
The truly amazing thing was, he never went again, never.  Oh he hunted locally with some of his friends, but that was the last overnight trip. 
I sort of felt bad about it and the next year when they all packed up to leave I encouraged him to go.  I promised I would not go out, but he wouldn't.  He said he'd been wrong to go for all those years and leave me to take care of everything on my own.  He said I shouldn't have to wrestle that turkey, getting it in and out of the oven, and that he was going to be there to help me. And he was, from that year forward. 
I don't even want to cook a turkey this year.  Friends and family have pointed out how hard the holidays will be this year, as though it's a surprise to me. Every day is hard, every night is even harder.  Our anniversary is next Tuesday. If I wasn't already taking Xanax for anxiety I would buy a big bottle of champagne and drink it all by my lonesome.  In fact, there's a drunk out there with my name on it and one of these days I'm going to run into it and drink myself into oblivion.
That sounds bad, doesn't it, but oblivion is pretty appealing right now.
On a totally unrelated note, I mean to getting drunk and losing my mind, this is one of my favorite pictures of Bill and our granddaughter. 

My friend, Jan, advises me to tell happy/funny stories about my life with Bill.  Those times seem far away, stored in my memory, but very distant.  For Jan, I'll give it a shot.

Bill and I have been known to 'tip a few'.  I'm not much for fancy cocktails, but a cold beer on a hot summer night, well that's a different story, or it was at one time.  I also like Champagne, the cheap stuff. (Once my Dad gave me a bottle of really expensive Champagne.  It was horrible).
We used to go to a bar called Pine Hill.  It was a big old honky-tonk and our favorite band was Julie Crawford and Amarillo.  We traveled with an entourage back then.  All we had to do was mention that we were going out on the weekend and suddenly 20 other people were tagging along. 
Those were such good times. Of course that was before all the DWI laws went into effect and we were still young and foolish. 
Believe it or not, Bill and I knew how to have a good fight.  Add a few pitchers of beer, and it was on, lol.
One particular night we were one of the last of our group to leave the bar.  God forbid we leave before the last set, the last dance. We hadn't gotten far down the highway when I began to comment on his driving.  I thought he was going too fast and 'takin' his half out of the middle'.  Finally I informed him he was to drunk to drive.  Annoyed he pulled over to the side of the road.
"Think you can do a better job?" he demanded.
"Yes," I insisted.
"Have at it," he snapped and got out of the car and started walking.
Being the stubborn little thing that I was, (note past-tense) I slid over and got in the drivers seat. Starting the car I pulled up beside him and asked if he wanted a ride.
Being the stubborn man that he was, he replied, "Nope", and stomped away, his boots expressing his mood.
So be it!  I drove away with a squeal of the tires.
About a mile or two, or three, down the road it occurred to me that I myself was to drunk to drive.  Shit!  I pulled over, shut off the car and got out.  I was so drunk in fact that I left the keys in the ignition and my purse in the car.  I hoofed it down the dark, deserted highway, my heels clicking on the pavement.  After a while my feet were killing me, so I took off my shoes and carried them, bitching every step of the way.
At some point I noticed a car following me and got a little nervous.  It was dark, I was alone and cell phones were not an option yet. Finally it pulled up next to me and a State Trooper rolled down his window.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
"Yup."
"Do you need help?"
"Nope."
"Can I call anyone for you?  Give you a lift?"
"Nope."
He kept pace with me as we had this short conversation and finally drove away. Later I saw him drive back up the road, slowing as he passed me, but he didn't stop.
Apparently he got to Bill just as Bill was approaching the car that I'd left a few miles back.
"That your car?" he asked Bill.
"Yup."
"That your wife up the road?"
"Yup."
"Buddy, you've got enough problems," he told him.  "Have a good night."
"Thanks."
Bill sobered up after his hike and by the time he got to the car and then found me, I was more than ready for a ride home.  He never said a word, just pulled up next to me and waited. I got in, tossed my shoes in the back and we went home. Argument over. 
We went back to Pine Hill many times over the years, but I don't think we ever got that drunk again. Either that or I got so drunk I don't remember, no just kidding.  One time I did walk right off the porch, missing all the steps.  I was too busy watching an attractive man's butt, but Bill caught me. Actually he caught me in two ways. He caught me looking at the man's ass and he caught me in his arms so I didn't get hurt.  He was good at taking care of me.

So Jan, there's my funny story.  Considering I cried off and on all day, I guess it was nice to think about something else instead of how much I miss him.  Love you, my friend.

I want to be brave.  I want to be like Kathy Bates's character in Fried Green Tomatoes!  Towanda! 

It stands to reason that when the worst thing happens to you, when what you've feared most comes to pass you should be able to be brave.  Every thing else should be small beans, right?  Right?

Then why am I shaky and uncertain? Why can't I make the simplest decision without second guessing myself a million times? I'm signing the papers on a new car and I'm not even sure I want it. 

It's got most of the bells and whistles, a 10 year warranty and the damn thing is even orange in honor of Bill. It's all wheel drive with a four wheel drive button for idiots like me who live in the snow belt, but how can I buy a vehicle when I can't make up my mind whether to eat a sandwich or M&M's for dinner?

I'm frightened to the point of panic and it's not just about the car.  Picking out paint for the bedroom was a major feat.  I was nearly sick in the store.  What happened to the sassy, brassy woman I was two months ago?  Without Bill I am not who I thought I was.  How sad that I've deceived myself all these years. It was all him. He gave me bravado, strength, wit and charm.  It's easy to believe all those things about yourself when you have a man who adores you.

Bill was a giant of a man in every way. He was tough as nails, stronger than anyone I've ever met and as gentle with me as a teddy bear.  I've seen him back down six men at a field day just by  rolling up his sleeves and asking if they wanted to go down one at a time or all at once.  There was a 'you don't want to mess with me' look about him that frequently put people off until they got to know him.  His voice was deep, a little gravely and he could scare the bejesus out of you with a glance.

Why would I be afraid of anything with him by my side?

So who am I ?  Once, a long, long time ago I was a 5'2", 100 lb spitfire.  Maybe he fell in love with me because I wasn't afraid to take him on.  Maybe it was to save my sorry ass before I got hurt, the kitten who thought she was a lion. Over time, with him at my back, I became a lioness, or so I thought.

Now I don't know myself at all.

It's unbelievable to me. There is an emptiness I don't know how to  fill. A void that defies reason. I feel like I'm walking in a thick fog and can't find my way out. I am lost.

I come from a very spiritual family.  At the risk of sounding like a crazy, driven insane by grief widow, I will tell you that I have and do talk to dead people. I have on occasion had spirited and at times quite loud conversations with people who have passed. 

Most of these are cordial and often helpful if you don't count my father who harped at me for days after his death because I was unable to prevent something he didn't want to happen.  I mean the man was shouting at me day and night until finally, standing in my kitchen I yelled right back, OUT LOUD, that if he hadn't been such a stubborn and secretive man I  might have been able to help him.  I informed him in no uncertain terms that none of this was my fault and that if he didn't stop yelling at me I was going to get really, really mad.
Needless to say he hasn't spoken to me sense, but he always could hold a grudge.

My mother died in my home and her spirit was quite present for a long while.  She rang doorbells, made battery operated puppies that are only supposed to bark when petted bark, turned lights off and on and frequently freaked me out by sitting on the side of my bed.  My two year old granddaughter had extensive conversations with her to the point that when I would ask who she was talking to she would say, "Gramma Myrna" and I would say "Tell her I said hi."

She also saved our lives. One night in the middle of the night our box fan that was on the floor fell over with a crash.  I got up, checked it out and set it back up. As soon as I got back in bed it fell over again.  It was about one in the morning and everyone was asleep.  I got up and fixed it but I found it strange and said, "Mom, if that's you, do it again."  She did.  Figuring something was very wrong I began checking the house.  In our youngest son's bedroom I found that his lamp had fallen over on his desk and the shade was smoldering. It was also laying on a stack of school papers. 

Believe me, I could go on and on, but I won't. I'm no Theresa Caputo, but suffice it to say that I was surprised and slightly hurt when I did not even feel Bill's presence after he died. I expected to, we were so close, and others did, but not me.  I felt completely abandoned.

For the first three weeks I wanted to die, and frankly I almost did. I do believe you can sort of will yourself to die. I wasn't eating, barely sleeping and sicker than hell.  My daughter called an ambulance when my blood pressure dropped to 70/50 and I couldn't get out of bed. I expected him to come and get me, but again, no Bill.  I started to get better, much to my dismay.

It was my sister Linda who pointed out the power of prayer.  She came often, listening to me weep, crying with me.  "He's hear", she assured me.  "I can feel him".

"I can't," I sobbed.  "I pray every night for him and I ask God not to let him see me like this.  It would hurt him to see me in such pain."

"Well stop praying for that," she insisted.  I think she may have rolled her eyes, but I can't prove it.

That night when I went to bed I prayed for Bill as always.  I prayed he was happy in heaven, seeing his parents, teasing my mom and talking about muscle cars with his buddies that went before him.  I thanked God for our years together even though I felt they'd been cut short and asked for the strength to get through this.

Then I began talking to Bill.
"What's with the Endless Love stuff?" I asked. (Our daughter had been walking around singing that song for days off and on and when I asked her what she was doing she said her father was in her head telling her to sing it and frankly he was driving her crazy.)
"Listen," I said.  "If you want me to believe it's you, you have to let me pick the song.  I mean that's a nice song, but it's not exactly our style."
He didn't answer and I lay there for a long time trying to think of a song we both loved that no one else would ever think of.  It couldn't be something we played or from our wedding or anything like that. It couldn't be 'When I Said I Do', my ringtone for him, or his ringtone for me. It had to be something just between him and me. Finally I decided.
"I want the song from Hope Floats," I whispered.  "Show me that song."  I fell asleep.

The next afternoon I was looking on Amazon for some new pictures for our bedroom.  I want to make some changes. He was sick for a long time and it needs a new look, a new feel.  I was leaning toward literary quotes by Emily Bronte and Jane Austin.  I mean there's no man sleeping in there now, so why not.  This is what popped up on my page.

So then I had to go get the video.

So be careful what you pray for.  God is listening and he might be taking you very seriously. 

Bill has two brothers and four sisters.  One sister in particular was very close to him.  Ruth called him every day, sometimes more than once.  They talked each morning and she took his death very hard.  I guess we all did but Bill's relationship with his younger siblings was not the usual one. 

You see Bill's father died young, (43) and left his mother a widow with seven children.  Bill was the oldest boy and only 21 when he lost his dad, so there were five children younger than him. There is only one sister younger than Ruth.

Ruth continued to call me each day after Bill's death and occasionally made the drive up here to see me.  Yesterday Cathy and I realized we had not heard from her in a couple of days and wondered if all was well. It was not. 

We called and Ruth was an emotional wreck and had not been out of her room for two days.  My heart broke for her and while Cathy had her on the phone I went in a tossed on jeans, a tee shirt and my hoodie. I wanted to do something, take her something of Bill's that might comfort her.  Cathy and I chose his favorite hoodie, a gray thermal one he wore all the time as the blood thinners made him always cold.  I took it from the closet, holding it close and smelling it as I cried.  Then I put it in a bag and climbed into the orange beast to make the 20 mile drive.

Ruth didn't answer the door so I finally let myself in.  I found her in the bedroom her eyes swollen and red.  It actually helped me to step outside my own grief.  I wrapped the hoodie around her and we cried together. I shared something with her I'll post about tomorrow after I have a little more time to process it. 

We talked for a long time and she felt a bit better and asked if I felt like taking a ride to the casino.  She wanted to do something to zone out and I certainly could relate to that, so off we went.

I was so bad!  We stayed way to long.  I spent too much money.  I didn't eat all day, smoked like a chimney and even had to buy more smokes and motrin while I was there.  I grabbed a bag of Bugles, not realizing that they were Bill's choice of snack, not mine.  We were there hours and hours and by the time we left it was dark.  Not that I'm afraid of the dark, but I was driving the orange beast and  had a long way to go. I was tired, shaky and the poor valet boy acted like he didn't think I could climb into the beast, let alone drive it.

I dropped Ruth off at home and she said what everyone around here says, "Watch out for the deer."  I patted the steering wheel and told her I'd win if it came to a fight.

So I'm driving home and it hit me.  For the first time in my life I was accountable to absolutely no one. No husband, no babies, no one blowing up my phone which had died while at the casino.  I  could literally go anywhere, do anything.  I briefly wondered if Bill's ashes were swirling in his urn as he couldn't turn over in his grave. Imagine me, all alone on the dark, deer-laden back roads, no streetlights, no cell phone and driving the orange beast that I can barely see out of in daylight. 

I have to say I was shocked, at the sense of freedom that came over me, by my appallingly bad behavior and judgement and by how ballsy I felt. It was sort of cool. 

But the pendulum swings both ways.  This morning I sat at the table watching the birds.  Once again I was utterly and completely alone, my soul deprived of it's mate.  Had Bill still been with me I'd have been in big trouble for last night, actually if Bill was still here none of it would have happened in the first place.

It's been thirty-eight days or it will be in eleven minutes. I count the seconds, minutes, hours, noting that I have survived.  I wasn't sure I would. I'm still not. A million times I've prayed to go to sleep and wake up in his arms. Heaven or Hell, it didn't much matter to me.
I know that sounds unchristian of me and I can't imagine a man like Bill not being welcomed in Heaven, but I swear if I thought he was in hell I would think of something really bad to do and not repent. I am waiting now for lightening to strike. It wouldn't be the first time.

No really, I've been struck before.  As a kid I was standing on a neighbors stone porch behind the stadium.  I was watching the storm and holding onto an iron railing.  The noise was horrific and the impact knocked my off the porch.  I landed on the patch of grass between the street and the sidewalk, disoriented but pretty much unscathed considering it had to be maybe thirty or forty feet through the air.
Ironically, I love storms.  I love the wind and the charged ions in the air.  I love the dark, swirling clouds, the majesty of nature.  I love the rain, but don't like it driving into my face. I want to be able to see.

Bill's death was something like that.  A force of nature was in play and I could do nothing but watch heartbroken, helpless and horrified as the storm played out.
I don't like helpless, not at all and it's not a feeling I'm used to.

I thought I was tough, a force to be reckoned with.  Now I realize it's easy to be tough when you have a 6'2", 200+ plus man who has your back no matter what.  I'm having a hard time making even the most mundane decisions without him which is odd considering I thought I ran the show around here.  I guess I didn't. I guess in his own quiet, loving way he led me in the right direction.

Bill had a wise old saying for every situation.  My country boy had a way of putting things in perspective with a sentence or two. My mind continually asks him what should I do? Today this is his answer:
"If you want to run with the big dogs, you have to learn to pee in the tall grass."

I don't want to run with the big dogs and I'm to short to pee in the tall grass.  I'll get a wet ass and I have enough problems. I can almost feel the warmth of his smile. All right, I'll try and pee in the tall grass, but I'm not going to like it. Not one bit!

I'm not unfamiliar with loss or grief.  At seventeen I lost  my Grandfather who was the only father I had until I was much older.  Why do they say you've lost someone, as though they are just missing and you have a chance of finding them a couple of blocks over?  They aren't lost, they are gone. They cannot be recovered or located.  There is no lost and found to plow through like you did as a child looking for a mitten.  I find that a strange expression but I know right now I'm strange.
I don't know who I am anymore.  I don't see the same woman when I look in the mirror.  Staring at my reflection I search for her.  Perhaps she's lost as well, never to be recovered?
Bill died on a beautiful morning sitting across the table from me.  One moment he was there, the next he was gone.  I felt it, like something torn from my soul and I knew immediately. We did all the things we were supposed to.  We called 911 and started CPR, but I knew he wasn't coming back.  His blue eyes were vacant, not a spark of recognition or life.  The chanting began.  Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me.
I was only certain of one thing.  If he could come back to me, he would.  He loved me more than anything and he told me everyday.
Bits and pieces of those hours stand out and others are blurred and vague. The image of our granddaughter standing in the hall with her best friend, Laura, their arms wrapped around each other as they watched in silent horror will be forever imprinted in my mind.
I remember running out to the porch when the EMT's arrived and screaming over and over for them to hurry.  It seemed as though the more I begged the slower they moved. Later Aislinn, my granddaughter, told me I had almost no voice, my cries had no volume.  I find that really odd but I remember that as a child I would have nightmares and wake with silent screams.
I drove myself to the hospital, plowing out across the lawn and through the ditch to get to the road.  There were cars and emergency vehicles everywhere. I don't remember the drive, only that I pulled up in front of the Emergency Room doors and left my car there running with the door open.
Bill was in Trauma Room One, the same room my dad was in when he had a massive stroke three years ago.  They would not let me in but I could see Bill was surrounded with people trying to save his life. 
Family was all over the place, our kids and grand-kids, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, close friends arrived, it was chaos.   They took us to a conference room across the hall.  We waited.
Finally the doctor came to me and asked if I wanted to come in. There was not enough heart activity to sustain life.  Inside they let me stand next to him while they pumped his chest. She stopped every few seconds. No pulse. No pulse. No pulse.
Each time she pushed blood came from his nose and mouth. I kissed his forehead.  It felt cool.  I looked in his eyes.  He wasn't there. I stopped chanting.
I turned to the doctor, saw the sympathy in his eyes and asked, What is the outcome of this?  He shook his head.
Then stop, I sobbed, and call a priest.  They all backed away. I whispered in Bill's ear. I love you.  I love the life we made together.  I have no regrets but for losing you.   I kissed his forehead, his cheek, his huge hand, his wedding ring as a quiet nurse wiped the blood away.
Father Hearn came.  He was very kind.  He'd been called away from premarital counseling with a young couple.  I asked him to wish that couple all the happiness Bill and I had for so many years.
I drove away from the hospital and went directly to my mother's grave. Getting out of the car I knelt and asked her to welcome Bill and show him around if she could.  Sort of take him under her wing.  She loved him so and he loved her.
I know I drove home, but I don't remember anything else from that day.  In fact I don't remember anything else until we went to make the arrangements for his funeral.  I guess that's a blessing.