Losing a Lover - Monologue

A monologue from the point of view of a woman who is losing/ has lost her husband to cancer, dealing with the grief of the death of her husband before he has even died.

There’s not a lot we can do now. Wait, they said. Just wait.

 

  It certainly has been a long time coming, and I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it. But still, it never sunk in that this day would come. It’s too soon. Only its not. In the doctor’s opinion, in fact, we’re a little late. We were given the time, 6 months I believe. And when the 6 months came and went, I think that I stopped believing that anything would ever happen.

  I remember the day, 6 months on from the diagnosis. Me and Christian sat in the sitting room, quietly, waiting. I don’t know what we were expecting. Perhaps for him to disappear in a puff of smoke? Or some kind of ghostly figure to appear, and guide him in to the after life. After a few hours of almost complete silence, he said “I don’t think today’s the day.” And we carried on with our usual business. He was still fairly well for weeks. I mean, he was still tired, and in pain, but it wasn’t too bad, he had painkillers which were working pretty well, and we were making it through the days.

  After a while, he started staying in bed more, and sleeping less. There was nothing that I could do to help him and it tore me apart. When we were together, I just tried to be helpful, caring, show him how much I love him. But when we were apart, I would cry. I don’t know if he cried when he was on his own. He didn’t cry much in front of me, he was strong and too proud for that. I think he was ok with dying. Well, as ok as you can be with something like that.

   Then one day he said we had to go. That it wasn’t the day, but it was drawing close. That there wasn’t going to be much more time and that he was in too much pain to stay at home. He told me to pack up the hospital things, and I did. I didn’t think about it, I just did.

   I tried not to think about the drive to the hospital. The bit where you have to go to the receptionist and tell them why you’re there, tell them that your husband is dying and you would like to book out his death bed. And say it like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And then try not to break down when they give you that smile. That smile is something I could do without. That smile that says everything. That they feel sorry for you because they know that your world is about to come crashing down. That they aren’t sure if you’ll be able to cope but you’ll do your best. That there is always someone to talk to. There’s never someone to talk to. How can you talk about that? It’s not about me, why should I be doing any talking? And anyway, he’s not even f*****g dead yet so just leave me alone, you and you’re f*****g pity.

 

   Once we were settled in the room, he told me to sit down, that we had to talk. I told him, I know what you want to talk about but quite frankly I don’t want to talk about it yet, and I got up and went back to pacing the room as I had been before.

Just sit down.

   A quiet whisper that said it all. The time was definitely getting close. He started off with I love you. As all the worst conversations with your lover do. You’ve got to keep calm, and take it slow, he told me. He said once it all happens, I have to let people help me, if nothing else, for their own peace of mind. He said that people aren’t always going to know what to say, but it doesn’t mean they don’t care, and it doesn’t mean they don’t know what’s happened and anyway, they might care so much that they don’t want to come out with the generic “I'm sorry for your loss” drivel, and they can’t come up with the words. It happens, he said. I asked him why he was talking about all this “after” stuff, considering that he’s not dead yet, and I admit, I got a little angry, and got up to walk out. He told me that he understood why I was angry, but he wanted to make sure that I would be ok, because he can’t look after me anymore.

   Hospital beds are uncomfortable. I was balanced on one side of it, lying next to him but trying not to take up all of his space, and that was when I realised it. I asked him if he wanted to go home, but he said no. I explained to him that the beds were too uncomfortable, and that it was no place to die. He laughed at me and told me to stop worrying, and that he was fine.

   Define the word fine; dying in a hospital bed to but drugged up to care.

We had some emotional conversations over the next couple of days. I really love him. And he really loves me. And we will always love each other, as far as I can understand. I don’t think death can stop us if I'm honest.

   On the last day we didn’t talk much. Just lay next to each other, hugging, bodies touching. I’m going to miss that, his body heat. We said we loved each other a few times. We kissed and hugged, too.

   That night, he slipped in to a coma, and died the following day at 11:32am. I can’t say I remember it all too clearly. When I woke up in the morning and was told that he was in a coma, I just sat by his bedside, not moving, barely breathing, just waiting.

                          That’s all the doctors said we could do. Just wait.

 

   He was right about it all. Only it wasn’t as easy as it sounded when he said it, letting people help me out, giving other people a break when they couldn't find the words. Just relaxing and staying calm. There’s one thing that I don’t think that I’ll ever get used to, the pity. Everyone can just leave it out, I don’t need it. Still, I can’t talk about it. And why should I have to talk about it anyway? It’s not about me, is it?

Author's Note

I would love any kind of criticisms on any aspects of the piece. Is the idea too obvious? its the writing style good to read, is the vocabulary appropriate, and its the tone of the piece inkeeping with the subject?

After "that's all the doctors said we could do. just wait." i was thinking of adding this;
" waiting is easier said than done. Time passed too slowly, and i wasn't ready at all. I was willing the time to go slower. I'd rather sit and stare at him sleeping for eternity, than to have to live with out him at all. But that's the funny thing about time, it doesn't stop for anybody. And soon enough, the beeps on the monitor began to slow. and then they became one. And then they stopped all together. It's unfair how a heart can stop against all my wishes, and time just keeps ticking on." so opinions anyone? i wrote it, and couldnt decide whether it would be more effective with a paragraph about his death or not. thanks :)