I am a homeschooling SAHM of a 21 year old daughter, a 20 year old son, and a five year old daughter we call Bugalug (a word she made up that ended up sticking). Early Sunday morning, after a three and half year battle with lung cancer, my husband passed away. His diagnosis meant that we knew it was coming eventually, but he had been improving since an incident Easter weekend that led to me taking him to the emergency room. He even helped wash dishes and took out the trash Saturday evening. He was so afraid of what the cancer would bring before it did him in and repeatedly made me promise not to put him in hospice. There is some comfort in knowing that he managed to skip all of that, though I would still have preferred to care for him through all of it if it meant he could have watched his little girl grow up a little longer and she would be able to have more memories of him.
So now I'm left to raise a wonderful little girl all alone and I hate it even more than I thought I would. He would fall asleep on the couch watching TV because laying down hurt his back. I hate waking up to a quiet house because the TV is off. I hate looking at the projects he kept meaning to do with our little girl. Seeing the sadness on her face when she thinks about all the things she can no longer do with him absolutely breaks my heart. I hate that she's so young and her memories of him are likely to be a bit vague (though I will do everything in my power to keep them as vivid as possible). It also breaks my heart when she tries to hold back tears because she doesn't want to upset me.
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