The Ticking of the Clock

by Zoe

When I was a child I would watch the clock on special days and listen to the ticking, knowing that something was coming. Of course when I was a child it was Christmas or a birthday coming, something, good.
Now I hear the ticking, of the clock, and I look at the calendar. In nine days it will be two years. As I tick down these last days, I am remembering exactly where I was and what I was doing, We were still talking, we had made plans with hospice, I was getting ready to go back to Maryland to close up the last of my office. So today we sat and I fixed your lunch and your dinner. I watched you fight to stay awake, because you did not want to sleep while I was there. You kept asking me why is this happening, why can’t we just be together. I just touched your face and said I don’t know baby. But we are going to go to treatment, and we are going to go on walks, and we are going to look into homeopathic treatments. We are going to fight. You kept telling me how you were going to fight, you did not want to give up. You also broached the fact that you might need a hospital type bed, and maybe you would have to be in the guest room. I remember popping off that you would not sleep in the guestroom, we would get one of those moving beds and you would be with me in the bed. I remember that smile, that wonderful smile that had gotten you out of SOOOO much trouble in the past, and you said, you don’t want me in the guestroom? But baby, this could get rough toward the end. I said, well gee who was it going to be rough with, of course it would be with me, and I want you with me. You smiled so big. You were so happy that we would be in the same bed, in the same room until the end.
Little did I know.
Nine days, and counting.

I love you John, I cannot do this without you, I don’t want to.
One step, one breath, one day at a time.

Comments for The Ticking of the Clock

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Mar 18, 2012
Time moves forward why can't I?
by: Anonymous


I come to this site in times of weakness. It is as if this is the drug that I can do without but some days I need it. I need to know that I am not alone in my thinking. Lately I too have been thinking about those days so long ago. I just wrote in my on again off again journal of Paul's surgery. (9/8/08)I remembered so very vividly the night before his surgery. We were in the hospitality house at VCU/MCV We made Love 3 times and yet, I never thought that that would be the last time we would be as we were. Had NO clue that he would never be the same after his aneurism surgery and the supposed stroke that occurred afterward.

I had researched the clipping coiling of an aneurism and the stories of people going to church 2 weeks later. Even as we went into VCU 4:30 in the morning the place empty I had NO idea that My life would change forever, I flog myself for being so naive for always thinking that this too would pass as my mother always said.

Argg bad place bad memories and I wonder why I go back to them. Why do I remember the day that he went for his walk and never came back? Why do I hate myself for not hearing the sirens? That must be why they bothered me so in the first year.

Guilt regret and remorse revisiting me as a cancer.
It does me no good yet I come back to it. It invades my memory and I want it gone. I have come so very far yet...

I revisit those dark days.

But, the sun comes out and so do I. There are days that I am O.K and I relish those days. More good than bad. I forgive myself for going backwards from time to time, or so I tell myself.

Yesterday was St. Patricks Day. I felt so alone. It was/is? one of my favorite holidays. He was the Cajun magic and I was his Irish Lass. The Joy of the day was dampened and I stayed home and watched The Quiet Man. John Wayne kissed Maureen O'Hara as the wind blew through the door and I whispered Yes My Love I so miss that...

The clock ticks and we move forward in time, but there are times when we go back to those dark days, the days I want banished from my mind. I want to remember the good and let the bad go. But help me I am human, I Love him still and Miss Him so.
I get it Zoe, I so do...

Mar 17, 2012
by: Zoe

You can email me directly at zoebdraughon@
Actually anyone can email me if they need me

Mar 15, 2012
your posts
by: Chris


I want you to know that since I found this site a few weeks ago, I have read all of the past posts and oddly enough I discovered the ones that really "spoke" to me were from you or Hope. I'm not sure why that is. I haven't written on here yet but I felt compelled to write you and offer you my comfort.

My husband Mark of (25 years, 27 together) died on 1/24/12. He was a healthy 48 yr old (I am 47). We are runners and just finished the Disney Marathons the week before. We have 3 wonderful children (24, 20 and 18) who ran with us. Some combination of us had been doing this the past 7 years. Our youngest child had just left for college so we were truly enjoying our empty nest and reconnecting. We were both professionals who had rewarding jobs and we enjoyed traveling and exploring new places. Mark had a routine oral surgery scheduled in a dr's office on 1/20. Through a series of unfortunate events that I'm not sure we will ever truly know, his tongue and throat swelled from the anthesia and they were unable to intubate him in a timely manner. I was notified at work what had happened (I didn't even go w/ him - my son did) and when I reached the ER, it was all confusion. He was without oxygen for a period of time tho no one could say for how long. We had 3 days of waiting while they tried a cooling procedure for the brain. When they could finally do a cat scan, it revealed that there was no brain activity whatsoever.

As I'm sure you are aware, I was devastated. This wasn't supposed to happen - we were so young, we had so many plans. I have this overwhelming sense of loneliness- it feels like a hole in my soul. This poem really explained it all:

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good."
-- W H Auden

I know what you mean about the clock. Sometimes it seems he died yesterday and other times it seems like he has been gone for so long. My sense of time is all warped.

Hope you feel some peace today.


Mar 13, 2012
The ticking of the clock
by: M Mack

I don't think there is any same time frame that we are safe from the sadness. My grief comes and goes whenever it wants. I know how you feel and this upcoming week will definitely be trying. After all the planning, hope and optimistic outlooks we had for the future- and then to loose it all, has changed us forever. I'm in the 20th month and fall apart quite often when alone. I seem to not want to move on. I might be getting in my own way. You might be in the same position - we remember everything and don't want to forget that smile, that feeling - all we don't have anymore and probably for me- never will! We are the other half of the whole and it's hard to be whole in this condition. Even though you've come a long way, there is still more to be done. Take care of yourself and know we're here when you need us. Sending my best, hugs, prayers and hope for us to get through day.

Mar 13, 2012
I guess I am not crazy
by: Lost

People around me don't understand this clock and calendar thing. My mother died elven months ago and I am constantly reliving every moment of the last 5 months of her life. Most of these memories relate to her illness. They told us it was the flue. It was not until 13 days before she died that they tod me she had terminal ovarian cancer. My family and friends think i am going crazy because I keep reliving all this sadness. I don't want to be this way. My mother was my best friend I am an only child and my father also died of cancer 9 years ago so now i feel like a 46 year old orphan. I hate the pain that seems to be getting worse and not better. People want me to be the old me. They don't get it. The old me was buried with my mother on April 7,2011. I don't think the old me will ever come back I have far too many battle scars. Each day I seem to fixate on one component of her illness I look at the calendar and a year ago today we went to see her specialist do prepare for her pre op for a D and C. Every second of that day i have been reliving all day. I can't think that hell can be any worse than this pain!!!!!!!! You are not alone in your feelings

Mar 12, 2012
You're not Alone
by: Nancy

I know exactly how you feel....exactly. I remember Allen promising me he would do whatever he could to get better. The day after his funeral they came to take his blood for the blood work that he had scheduled unbeknownest to me. By then, it was too late. I'm so sorry for your loss and I promise you I feel the same way, my sweetheart has only been gone 7 months and I can't imagine ever wanting to go on without him. But somehow I do, one step, one day, sometimes one hour at a time. You are not alone.

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