George was in denial about his condition. He swore to me that he was getting better, even though his body was failing.
He died in the hospital three days later on April 10th, 2013, still believing he would get better and come home.
And I still feel mired in shame and regret. I look fine, but what if people saw the real me, the angry, uncontrolled me I’d been when George was dying?
My burden following my husband’s death was knowing that I was a terrible caregiver and a bad person.
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