TerriL

Gwen, I've had dreams like that, too. There is the possibility though that the dream could have been a visitation by Steve. Maybe he was letting you know that he is still there with you and was holding you as you slept. It's little comfort when we wake up to cold reality, of course. We're so happy and hopeful while we're asleep having the dream---it's so wonderful to see them and talk with them---and then your eyes open to the loneliness. Those are the dreams I wish could come true for all of us.

Well, you DO have x-ray vision, too, and can leap tall buildings in a single bound, right?

I'm waiting to do that, but it sure has not been easy lately. Of course, if you thought you were also in Hell, that would explain why YOU can see me! lol My mom passed away at home under hospice care. I was sleeping at home (Paul was at the fire station) and I suddenly jolted awake. I looked at the clock and it was 4:00am and I had the instant thought "My mom just passed away." It was almost as if I felt her presence. I shook it off and told myself I was being dramatic, that I must have just had a bad dream and I should go back to sleep. About fifteen minutes later, the phone was ringing and that's when I knew. It was my sister, telling me that our mom had passed at 4:00am. Now I know with certainty that my mom WAS in the room with me, telling me she was leaving and that she loved me. I also had experiences after my Nana had passed away, but it was via the telephone. My Nana and I had actually made a pact at one point. We promised each other that whoever went first would communicate with the other to let them know there is something beyond this life. We never told anyone else about it. I won't go into details because it would take too long, but I know that I received messages from my grandmother because the events that occurred were far too specific in nature to be mere coincidence. The odds of what happened being simply an "accident" would be astronomical. Maybe the times when Paul has been quiet were him being with his parents and middle brother again. Maybe even with my parents and grandmother. But, I know Paul. He'll get to the point where he will tell them he has to break away to check on me because he knows how much I'm missing him and still need him. He always worried about me.

Clematis, in the Wiccan religion, Halloween (actually Samhain or All Hallow's Eve), is the night when the veil between the living and dead is at its thinnest, allowing the souls to cross over to visit with loved ones. It's actually a very reverent evening, where people light candles to honor and guide their loved ones and place food and drink out to nourish them on their journey. Obviously, the food and drink are symbolic, much like leaving milk and cookies out for Santa. If the living souls don't eat it, it's going to sit there. Jack O'Lanterns, which originated in Ireland, came about as a way to scare off the "bad" spirits who might try to cross over with the good ones. I used to love sitting out on the front patio with Paul, handing out candy to the young children all dressed up and so proud of their costumes. I miss that. Last Halloween was my first without Paul in 34 years and I shut all the lights out early and didn't even venture outside. We had started October out by putting all the decorations up together as usual and the month ended with me having to take them all down alone. I'm not putting any decorations up this year nor am I handing out candy. I will light candles for my Nana, my parents and Paul. Maybe I'll crack open one of the Coors Lights he still has in the patio fridge and leave it out for him. I know he'd appreciate it.

I'm beginning to wonder if I may be the one who died and I'm living in Hell right now. In the past week, I have been waiting for help that still has not come with no phone call to explain either, I've texted several people and not one has answered me back. I'm thinking maybe they can't hear or see me. Maybe it's like the Sixth Sense movie and I only think I'm still here. Maybe this house is Hell and being without Paul is the sentence I'm serving. Maybe my brother in law is actually Satan. (That would at least explain a lot.) Am I really writing this? Can any of you see this? I may sound nuts, but maybe that's just the point I'm getting to. But, the way I'm being treated by the people who supposedly LOVE me? It might not be all that far-fetched a theory after all.

Ditto!

Gin, my Paul had an ex-wife, who is nine years older than me. I've thought about what you are saying, but I came to the conclusion that he was not happily married to her when he was living and we were together much, much longer than they were. Paul and I were truly soul mates and I feel he watches over me, not her, and that we are destined to be reunited when my time comes. I mentioned how I had not been receiving any messages or signs lately and that it made me feel even worse. A few minutes after I wrote that, I decided to listen to the radio and "our song" came on right away. I smiled and cried at the same time because I felt that he wanted me to know he was still there. Sometimes, just wait for it, Gin. Al will let you know. I also agree with Gin, Steve, that you should just let your comment stand. It could help many people more than disturb them.

Muggs, Don't feel bad. I still have pretty much everything of Paul's exactly where he left it the day he collapsed with multiple strokes, was taken away by rescue and never came home again (except in an urn). I still have the same sheets on the bed, untouched. I've been sleeping in a recliner in the living room. The only things I did finally toss out were food-related items. Although, now that I think about it, I still have the jug of iced tea I made for him early last October still stuck somewhere in the back of the fridge. I suppose I really should toss that (and maybe hold my breath when I open it---I don't know, I don't think I've ever smelled year-old iced tea before). I also understand that people have their own lives to live. If I hadn't gone through this myself and someone else was in this situation, I probably would be living my life with Paul. For someone who hasn't experienced this, it's that 500 pound pink elephant sitting in the center of the room that everyone is trying to avoid. People say to you that they're surprised you're still in so much pain, they thought you were doing so much "better". I tell them that I hate to break it to them, but there is no such thing as "getting better" when it comes to this. They get that look in their eyes where you can see them projecting themselves into that possible scenario and there have been moments when I've actually seen a brief expression of fear cross their faces. They don't want to be reminded of what will eventually come. The only way to avoid it is if you go at the same time, like in a plane or car crash. We're like "tainted goods". It's just very disheartening to have to face a reality that friends you've known so long can be so thoughtless. They may try to say all the right things, but as the old adage goes, actions speak louder than words. I'm sorry we have to bear all this pain and loneliness, too. It's exhausting.

I know how you feel, since I often feel the same. Just this morning, I was out in my backyard picking up some branches and I came across Paul's work gloves lying on top of the gas grill that I no longer use. He was the grill-King. I picked them up and just held them to my heart. The neighbor next door is playing his usual music, there's sun and a breeze, everything goes on as usual around me. But, I'm standing there, alone, clutching the gloves Paul would probably be wearing today while he did work around the yard. Before, on a day like today, I would have felt upbeat and happy, going out to check on him working and bringing him water or a cold beer. I'm trying to find a point to my being here now and nothing ever presents itself. No one helps me---they're all going about their NORMAL lives. The only person that came through for me, did so only to try and control my life. If I wanted to be pushed around and verbally abused, I could have all the help I wanted. Yeah, I'm one month away from the year mark of Paul's death and I don't really see any lessening of the pain or the loneliness. I feel more comfort in playing old music and remembering the days we were together. It seems healthier than stewing in anger over so-called "friends" who keep telling me to call when I need help and then either don't answer or return my calls or say they'll come over and just don't bother to show up. I think, "Is this the sum of my life? Is this how I'm doomed to spend whatever's left of it?" I do talk to Paul, but I felt his presence more back in the earlier days of my grief. I struggle to sense him or pick up his guidance now, which makes me feel even more alone. I'm not sure if it's me or HIM. This morning, I woke up and checked Paul's email. There was one from the retired firefighters association, with a picture enclosed. I didn't even know this was going to happen, but Paul's name, along with the other firefighters who recently passed away, was engraved into the fallen firefighters memorial outside one of the stations in the city. I printed out the picture to keep, but one of these days, I may take a ride to that station to see it in person for myself and take my own picture. I looked at the names, all of whom I recognized and knew, and thought back to the days when I would take our goddaughter to this very same station for the "Open House" the department has every year for children to see the equipment and watch firemen and policemen in action, that kind of thing. The men on this memorial made the open houses extra special for her and now, all we have are the memories. I'm thankful for the memories, but it still hurts. It doesn't feel like it was all that long ago, even if it was. Let's do the Time Warp again. (Dibs on the role of Columbia! I've always wanted a top hat!)

Hahahaha!!!!! George, that is epic! You've come up with the winning comeback! Who knows? If I say that to someone that really knows how to cook, they might even say "Sure! What would you like?" Baked ziti!

Yes, Cheryl, it's a great song and it truly applies to our situations. However, not only did the devil figure out I was there, I've invited him over to tea a few afternoons. lol I think it goes without saying that we all have those moments we look back on and wish with everything we have that we could just get a "do-over". I don't think I'll ever completely forgive myself for not forcing Paul to go to the ER that very first morning. No, I do not know that it would have guaranteed a different outcome, but I do know that with stroke, the earlier the diagnosis and treatment, the better the odds for survival. I'm at a very strange place inside myself at this point, There is a struggle going on between knowing I'm only 57 and trying to get back to some sort of involvement with life and feeling older than my years and surrounded by people dying or being ill. Never before have I been the kind of person who rolls over and just gives up and that part of me is still very much there. But, I also had Paul. Marg, I have also had that torn feeling with my home. I look around and everything that's been done to this house is Paul's handiwork---it's like he is literally built in to the place. However, I've had many moments of wanting to find a new place, a new location, new faces around me, but until I know my financial situation, I stay put to be "safe". I have friends who tell me I shouldn't move because they are closer to me right now if I need "help". I asked for help from one of these friends about five days ago, He called twice this past week to let me know he didn't forget about me---the last time he called was yesterday morning. He told me he'd be out in the late afternoon. I haven't heard from him or seen him since. So, I sit here and think, "What difference would it make if I was living in a place where I didn't know anyone or living here where the people I do know are completely unreliable?" I'm more of a soccer fan than American football, although I do like the Dolphins, especially thew 1972 Dolphins. lol Bob Griese was my favorite player. I used to have season tickets to the old Fort Lauderdale Strikers games and even went to several away games. The Connecticut Bicentennials used to play at Yale Stadium in New Haven, so I can honestly tell people I "went to Yale". Hang in there, Marg! And next time you're up at midnight, The Witching Hour, by all means give me a call! I'll light the bonfire in the backyard and we can dance and howl at the moon!

Maryann, That's the thing about allowing some of your personality to shine through once again. People are suddenly commenting on how they are so happy to see you "all better" and it's difficult to deal with, simply because it isn't true. It's one of the reasons I stopped going on Facebook, along with the nasty political climate on that site. No healthy person wants to be in on THAT. I applaud you though for wearing your team's shirt with pride. Mark would be proud of you, too! I'll have to watch Babe, but I hope it won't make me cry. There have been so many things going on lately and I've been doing enough of that on my own. I usually stick to comedies or musicals like Singing' In The Rain.

Can you believe it? I have never seen Babe! lol I do know about that phrase "Bah, ram, EWE" or whatever it is. I've never seen "Still Mine" either. I tend to watch old movies---I've been infatuated with them since I was a kid. All the old Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers and Gene Kelly musicals, Humphrey Bogart, Gable, Lombard, Myrna Loy and William Powell, etc. I stopped counting how many times I've seen some of these old films, I ran out of fingers and toes! The newest movies I've seen are from the 1980s. I loved the John Hughes films, especially 16 Candles. Paul and I used to quote from that movie ALL the time. I'm searching my brain for a more recent movie that I've seen and one I can think of is Bridesmaids, which was really funny and Hello, My Name Is Doris, which I watched on Pay Per View. I need to look in my movie guide and see if anyone is playing BABE! Is that sad? I'm not sure I can take sad right now. I agree with both of you that James Cromwell and Genevieve Bujold are magnificent actors. I also loved the late Sir John Gielgud.

I don't think you are selfish at all and I love what your children wrote on your Facebook page! It demonstrates their great love and admiration for a mama that deserves every bit of it. After everything you have been through, Marg, SW, I would never question anything you feel the need to do in order to bring a little joy and healing into your life. You made me laugh when you mentioned your "clodhoppers"! When I was a toddler, I had to wear some kind of orthopedic shoes----not sure why now----and I hated those things! They were bulbous toward the front and I used to call them "whales"!!! I had forgotten all about that until you brought that up. I think all of our parents did the best they could with what they had and the knowledge they possessed.

Patty, your daughter's film made me start crying. What a powerful little film. She's very talented. I had one of those slap in the face moments just a short while ago. I went out to nonchalantly throw laundry in and I don't know why I hadn't noticed, but Paul hung a small calendar on a shelf in the laundry room and he would mark the dates when he'd fertilize the lawn or wash and wax the car or truck. I turned around and my eyes just stared right at it, the entire year of 2015. I looked it over and realized the last time his truck had ever been washed or waxed was 9/22/15. The last time it was ever driven was the first week in October of 2015. Then, maybe even worse, I was astonished to realize that his truck has not even been driven in almost an entire year. It has not left our carport. How is it that that much time has gotten past me? How could I be so neglectful? I know I've been starting it up, but still. I was afraid to drive it at all, thinking that once I got it out of the carport, how would I get it back in. All I want, as well, is for Paul to be here with me, his arms around me, helping to ease my pain. I miss the warmth and strength of him. It's constant aloneness, as you said. Why is it that others feel it necessary to take an inventory of our looks and announce their findings to us? I think from now on, if someone mentions my weight, I'll just tell them honestly, "You know, I'm not really sure how to respond to that." I've been trying to remain polite and keep from saying, "Maybe I look like hell, because I've been going through hell! You think that might be it? And right now, you're contributing to it!" It irks me, because I'll be having what feels like a rather normal day, maybe I'll even be a little more upbeat for a change and then, they say something like that and it makes me worry. It makes me feel worse. It sets off my worrying mode, probably due, in part, to the scare I had back in 2013, when I went into the Crohn's flare (I did not know at that time what it was) and was in so much pain and losing weight without explanation. I feel vulnerable and self-conscious, like I'm sitting under their microscopes. Marg, SW, when my mom passed away, I was very preoccupied with other things at first, mainly trying to help my father. I know I was in shock and the reality did not hit me at first. About four months after she died, I was watching a movie, A League of Their Own, about the female baseball league when the men were fighting in WW2, and that was the era that my mom was a teenaged girl. By the end of the movie, I was bawling and just curled up in a fetal position crying non-stop. Paul was at the fire station that day, so didn't see that. Then, about two months after that, Paul and I were picking up some take-out food (I was driving) and we almost had an accident. I pulled over and burst into tears and Paul did not know what to do. I'll never forget the helpless look on his face because I could not stop crying. He took over deriving and we did pick up the food, but I was STILL crying hysterically when we reached home again. I couldn't eat, I just kept crying. Paul, poor, sweet man, was doing and saying everything he could think of to get me to stop and honestly, the fear in his eyes---he couldn't hide it. I finally stopped and it felt as if I'd run a marathon. I was so limp and spent and purged. I have cried like that for Paul, but the difference this time is that I had so much fear mixed in, it was more a feeling of "high alert". Everyone is different and that's only my experience of when I lost my mother, but don't feel guilty. It could just be that with all the shocks you've endured, you may find you have a delayed reaction. You have no reason though to feel guilt. I could see how much you loved your mother by your posts about her and the picture you posted of her when she was younger. No one could question whether you loved her if they read what you've written about her. XO