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Living in a world without love


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Most regular readers here know that my wife Tammy was my world. When she came into my life, everything changed. I went from longtime bachelor to an instant family man as Tammy's daughter Katie became my daughter too. And I knew Tammy was perfect for me the second we touched each other. Sometimes when it's just right, you know it.

I met Tammy online in 1999. She was funny and seemed so sweet, but I didn't expect it to go beyond "online friends". She was a lifelong Illinois resident along with her entire family and I was in Maryland all my life. Fact was, I had many online female friends but it never went beyond that. I never even talked to them on the phone. Then Tammy asked me if she could call. I've never said yes before but something (that little voice in my head) said, "go for it". And so began our amazing love affair.

After a few months of having long distance marathon phone chats, we decided to meet in person. We definitely were falling in love with each other. I'll never forget seeing her in person for the first time at the airport here. We sat down for a bit and I held her hand for the first time. It was magical. I looked into her eyes at that moment and said "Tammy I really love you". It wasn't just words. We had a wonderful 5 days together and when I had to take her back to the airport, I put on a big smile and a brave face but inside it hurt. I didn't want her to leave.

I sat in my car at the airport alone, and sobbed uncontrollably. It was then I knew that I wanted Tammy in my life forever.

Less than 7 months later the moving van came from Illinois with Tammy and Katie's stuff and Tammy and Katie were in Maryland with me. It was certainly a big change from the life of a bachelor, but I loved it. To Katie, I was "Sweet Daddy Sunshine" (her nickname for me) and I was Tammy's "Mitchie Pooh".

Some of my family members thought I was moving too fast having Tammy and Katie move in with me. Some were concerned about Tammy's many serious health issues. But, like I told them, none of that mattered to me. I love Tammy and that's all that matters.

Over the next 15+ years, Tammy and I lived a life filled with love. And it was that love that also got us through the incredible amount of life threatening medical traumas that we went through. Tammy was, without question, the most courageous woman I've ever known.

After another life and death medical ordeal and a long hospital/rehab stay, Tammy came home on a stormy night. It was Wednesday, March 4th, 2015. As they put her in the ambulance to drive her home, I remember thinking how beautiful Tammy looked (she was wearing a coat I hadn't seen her wear before) even though she had just been through so much. Less than 2 days later, traumatically, tragically, unexpectedly, Tammy was rushed by ambulance to the hospital again. She was gone before she arrived there. My wife... my life... had died and my world crashed down hard. So hard I didn't think I could survive. 

Yet here it is, nearly 23 months later and I'm here. Two years older (although I feel like I've aged 10 years). I'm working, functioning... I'm surviving. And that's the hard part. This new life, this new existence is not what was supposed to be. Me and Tammy were supposed to grow old together. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

I've survived largely by trying my best to honor Tammy. To live in this world feeling like we will be together again someday. To cherish the life we had and to always remember that few had a love affair like we had. It was truly once in a lifetime. And I was blessed that Tammy came into my life and chose me as her husband. But, it will always hurt. It will always be a life filled with the what if's and could've beens.

And now, I wonder how my life will be moving forward, in time. My life with Tammy and the love we shared was the best part of my life. Now alone, it's pretty much deja vu and rinse, wash, repeat daily. Drudgery. It's a life (an existence) but it's devoid of any real joy and certainly a life without love. And the thing is, us humans all need love. Yet I know that this is my life. I could never imagine myself being with someone else.

I live my life with Tammy's love in my heart. That will never leave. But I miss her touch, her smile, her smell... the taste of her sweet lips.

This new world is a shell of what I had. It's a cold, lonely, empty place. I just wish I could close my eyes and wake up to the life I loved.

A life with Tammy by my side. A life filled with love and intimacy.

Mitch

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A beautiful story Mitch. I guess in my smugness, I used to think that i was the only one fortunate enough to have this same kind of blissful relationship with my wife of 41 years. It does my heart good to find out since joining this group around christmas time that this world is full of other people that have been just as blessed as I have been. I know all to well how you hurt. How empty you now feel. And how lonesome you feel all the way down to your bootstraps. It's with me every day also. And like you, when i get up every morning after my nightly 3-4 hour nap, my #1 priority is to honor my wife in everything i do.It isn't hard to do that. She always made it easy to love her---and now to honor her. But Lord have mercy but do i miss her every minute of every day. You have my sympathies Mitch. This sure isn't a fun ride we're on!

One foot in front of the other...

Darrel

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Darrel, that's one of the things that makes this forum so special. So many of us were blessed to be with our soul mate and so many of us here share our pain and our life stories. It's very therapeutic in so many ways, for the writer and the reader. 

I remember being on the board back in 2015 and having a hard time coming to grips with this life without Tammy. I really wasn't sure if I could go on with my life. I posted here about my feelings. The responses I got helped me so much and made me feel like maybe I could do this. One member in particular said something that resonated deeply with me. He said that although Tammy was gone physically from my life, she will always be a part of me. That the Mitch I was before I met Tammy was different than the Mitch I am today. That I'm a blending of Mitch and Tammy. That was so profound and it was a catalyst to taking my grief journey in a more positive direction.

In other words, with us (the survivor) choosing to live our life, we are not just honoring our beloved, we are letting them live on in many ways.

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17 hours ago, mittam99 said:

It's a life (an existence) but it's devoid of any real joy and certainly a life without love. And the thing is, us humans all need love. Yet I know that this is my life. I could never imagine myself being with someone else.

Mitch, I can relate to all you've shared.  It seems for me my journey has been in phases...Phase 1 was processing George's death, that took about three years for me to do.  Phase 2 was in trying to find some purpose and overlapped with Phase 3, building my life into something I could live with.  It will never be the same as it was with George.  He was the big joy in my life and I can't imagine ever having joy on that level again.  BUT I've learned to look for good in each day and recognize and acknowledge it, and this has transformed me and changed my focus.  I know what you're saying, it IS hard to live without what we once had...missing touch, missing someone caring, missing the amazing love we shared.  We shared enough in our time together to carry me through the rest of my life...it wasn't as much time as I wanted and expected, but honestly, if we'd spent 50 years together it still wouldn't seem enough.  I draw from my memories knowing that there is one man in this life that truly loves me and I know that love will never die no matter what transformation he's gone through or whether I can see him or not.  He's there, nothing has changed except us being able to contact each other.  That's the hard part to live with.

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1 hour ago, Autumn2 said:

 

Sooooo I had 52 years  (february 6) together and it is still not enough. Nothing else needs to be said.  

 

I am gonna say something else.  I had 54 years and I wanted 54 more.  

I did not want to live.  But, these many months later, I do so want to see my granddaughter find a career that will help her grow.  I would love to see her find someone to love.  Oh, I know it won't always be smooth, but if she understands that fusses are just fusses as long as there is not emotional abuse, physical abuse.  I outlived the emotional abuse and gave some of my own, which was not the answer, but we did wind up with the last 20-30 years being perfect.  Maybe fighting to keep something that would wind up that perfect was worth the trouble we went through to get there.  No matter what we did, we had to be together.  Even during the bad times, we had to be together.  We are still together in my mind.  Even though things that should have been forgotten, I have admitted to.  We were two imperfect people that made a very perfect marriage.......eventually.  I am glad we never let go.  Either one of us had reason to, but it was impossible.  I'm glad.  

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2 hours ago, Marg M said:

We were two imperfect people that made a very perfect marriage.......eventually.  I am glad we never let go.  Either one of us had reason to, but it was impossible.  I'm glad.  

That was us too.  We knew each other almost 40 years, married for almost 31, but it was the last 20 we finally got it right.  2 times we almost gave up but couldn't.  A lot was us each owning our imperfections and finding compromises.  There were still bumps in th road, but we learned how to talk them thru instead of defensiveness or shifting blame.  It's so hard now not having that interaction, be it good or bad.  It's still incomprehensible to me I haven't talked with him for over 2 years.  How much the day was filled with that from day to day little things to big philosophical discussions.  I'll sometimes make comments aloud watching a movie, but there's no answer.  People don't understand this can feel like an inhumane torture.  

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On 2/3/2017 at 3:50 PM, Gwenivere said:

 There were still bumps in th road,

Not for our last 20-30 years.  They were as smooth as silk.  I sure miss him.

And, I do have to put an addendum to this one.  Growing old together helped us.  He could not say "you said........." and I could not say "you said....." simply because neither of us could remember for sure if the other one had said it or not.  Instead of our youth anger, we had old folks laughs.  I am so sorry so many did not get to reach that point in their life.  Being together physically, we knew each other and we excused each other.  Nothing to get angry about.  We knew each other's faults and we had faced them down.  I have lots to be thankful for, but I sure miss him.

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I was out today doing errands as usual and it really hit me how often my brain and heart remind me I am not loved in this world anymore.  I'm doing some of the usual runs, but many are gone now.  I'll get caught up in the driving and it will really jolt my mind that I'm doing things just for me or the dogs.  I miss coming home and having Steve rummaging thru the bags like a little kid as I usually would find some goody for him, or at least he hoped so.  I'm becoming accepting of that at night, but this trying to be a part of the world is so drastically different.  I'm past the deep depression of not buying cookies or his favorite vodka now, but it will always cause a twinge.  Shopping as a single person Is reverting to a time so long ago and even then it was dinners with friends or take out.  I truly get the emotional side, but how this bleeds over to every aspect can be so disheartening.  I watched many stock up at the price club for the Super Bowl.  We didn't care about that, but had fun filling up on all the samples.  I missed arguing with him what we would do with food packaged for at least a small army.  ?

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I feel not loved anymore too. I guess because as soon as he went into the hospital he was fighting so that he had no time to say anything to me. As his mind got worse he was combative with everyone. I was trying to do something for him, can't remember what but he shoved me away. He also did the same to our daughter and it hurt her very badly. She went and sat down and said, I was just trying to help you. But he was beyond help from us. He left us before he died. All we could do was stand by his bed and see it happen. Everyday I feel different but today I felt that he didn't love me anymore.  I have read that when someone is dying they start pulling away from people. It must be a lonesome time for them, still in the world but no longer a part of it. I don't know how much my husband knew through the process. They said he could still hear. I played music that he liked. But I never saw a reaction to it.  When he left the house in the ambulance I never dreamed he wouldn't come back. He always did before. He showed no signs of being sick except pain in his stomach and a slight fever. It happened very quickly. By the time I got to the hospital he was already getting delirious. They admitted him and at midnight they called and said they were putting him in ICU. I still thought he would be okay. They released him to rehab and i thought he would soon be home. But after four days he was back in the hospital and I began to realize this was not like the other times he was there.  And he never came home. He is buried in a church yard right across from the house. He is buried near my mother, daddy, little brother and my oldest sister.  I could believe that they were gone as they each passed away but not Kenneth. Not Kenneth!

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My dad came from a  very private family.  At dinner they would point to what they wanted passed.  No words.  You hid your feelings.  He never wanted to see us hurt or for us to see him hurt.  The long time it took him to die, the dignity he felt he lost, it was worse than the pain, and the pain was relentless.  And he would not take pain medicine because he felt he would get addicted to it.  I stuck a morphine pill in Billy's mouth if when he was even sitting on the couch, if he looked pained in any way.  Sometimes men used to not want to be watched if they hurt.  I come from an old family, old country ways.  They were all farmers, paper mill workers, and railroad workers.  If Daddy was sick, he went to work.  The only time he would miss if he was in the hospital, which was never until he got cancer.  

Now me, I did wait until I had passed out before I would let them call the ambulance, but usually if I hurt, dammit, I want everybody to hurt with me.

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This new world is so different. There's no real joy.  Although I do have the occasional moment where I smile or feel satisfied with something. But those moments are so fleeting. So rare. For the most part, this world without Tammy is 24/7 of solitude, emptiness and wondering if this is "as good as it gets" for me. I live in the present but it sometimes feels like the world has passed me by. Of course, the world I want is gone. This new one pretty much sucks.

My life with Tammy wasn't always an easy one. For either of us. Tammy's overwhelming health issues meant that we never knew what each new dawn would bring. Would Tammy hemorrhage again today?  Would she black out again? Were her MRSA sore ever going to heal? Was her blood pressure seriously low or way too high? Were those cold sweats a sign the she was getting sepsis again? Was her racing heartbeat a serious concern (she previously suffered cardiac arrest)? Was her Lupus flaring again? On and on. We lived our days on edge that Tammy would need to be rushed to the hospital again. Our stress level was high. I mean, I'd go to work and while I did a good job there, most of my thoughts were about Tammy and her health. I'd call her as soon as I got out of work and if she didn't answer I'd rush home, run upstairs and make sure she was OK.

But, the thing is, somehow we adapted to that kind of life. What else could we do? And it was the great love we shared and felt that kept us "sane". Tammy loved to laugh and I could always put a smile on her face. We took all the challenges in stride because we had each other and we knew that we would always have each other.

On March 6th, 2015, I was shoveling snow so I could go out and pick up groceries and Tammy's meds from the pharmacy. I came home and Tammy was sleeping. I put a corned beef on the stove for dinner later. I was working on setting up some exercise equipment for Tammy to use. Tammy got up in time to watch some Price is Right on TV and I made us some lunch. We watched the Young and the Restless. Then Tammy said she was tired and rolled over back to sleep. That fatigue didn't seemed out of the ordinary. After all, she had just come home from another long hospital stay. It was going to be a good day and we we going to have a great dinner with some of Tammy's favorite foods I was cooking. Sadly, fate didn't let that happen and Tammy passed away while being rushed to the hospital that evening.

Now, almost 23 months later, I live a life of loneliness, emptiness and for the most part, meaninglessness. I say for the most part, because I do try to accomplish things to the best of my ability. I do try to honor Tammy in the sense that I know she wouldn't want me to just live my life curled up in a ball. I know the best of my life is behind me yet and the same time, none of us really know what our future holds.

It really is a one day at a time life.

Mitch

 

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10 hours ago, martha jane said:

 I have read that when someone is dying they start pulling away from people.

I've heard that too, but I think they're having to focus on what's next, can you imagine what a huge adjustment that must be for them!

I'm sorry he was combative, and that it hurt you and your daughter.  That was his illness speaking, not him.  Your love still exists even though you can't see or touch him.

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41 minutes ago, mittam99 said:

This new world is so different. There's no real joy.  Although I do have the occasional moment where I smile or feel satisfied with something. But those moments are so fleeting. So rare. For the most part, this world without Tammy is 24/7 of solitude, emptiness and wondering if this is "as good as it gets" for me. I live in the present but it sometimes feels like the world has passed me by. Of course, the world I want is gone. This new one pretty much sucks.

My life with Tammy wasn't always an easy one. For either of us. Tammy's overwhelming health issues meant that we never knew what each new dawn would bring. Would Tammy hemorrhage again today?  Would she black out again? Were her MRSA sore ever going to heal? Was her blood pressure seriously low or way too high? Were those cold sweats a sign the she was getting sepsis again? Was her racing heartbeat a serious concern (she previously suffered cardiac arrest)? Was her Lupus flaring again? On and on. We lived our days on edge that Tammy would need to be rushed to the hospital again. Our stress level was high. I mean, I'd go to work and while I did a good job there, most of my thoughts were about Tammy and her health. I'd call her as soon as I got out of work and if she didn't answer I'd rush home, run upstairs and make sure she was OK.

But, the thing is, somehow we adapted to that kind of life. What else could we do? And it was the great love we shared and felt that kept us "sane". Tammy loved to laugh and I could always put a smile on her face. We took all the challenges in stride because we had each other and we knew that we would always have each other.

On March 6th, 2015, I was shoveling snow so I could go out and pick up groceries and Tammy's meds from the pharmacy. I came home and Tammy was sleeping. I put a corned beef on the stove for dinner later. I was working on setting up some exercise equipment for Tammy to use. Tammy got up in time to watch some Price is Right on TV and I made us some lunch. We watched the Young and the Restless. Then Tammy said she was tired and rolled over back to sleep. That fatigue didn't seemed out of the ordinary. After all, she had just come home from another long hospital stay. It was going to be a good day and we we going to have a great dinner with some of Tammy's favorite foods I was cooking. Sadly, fate didn't let that happen and Tammy passed away while being rushed to the hospital that evening.

Now, almost 23 months later, I live a life of loneliness, emptiness and for the most part, meaninglessness. I say for the most part, because I do try to accomplish things to the best of my ability. I do try to honor Tammy in the sense that I know she wouldn't want me to just live my life curled up in a ball. I know the best of my life is behind me yet and the same time, none of us really know what our future holds.

It really is a one day at a time life.

Mitch

 

Mitch, our two stories have so much in common. You have my sympathies, partly because what you go through is just so darned awful. But also because i can so easily relate to what you describe. I retired early to become my wife's fulltime caregiver. I of course never enjoyed seeing her with all the health issues she lived with, but being here for her every day gave me a purpose. I did it all. The cooking, the housekeeping, etc. I was the nurse, the head cook, and the chief bottle washer. By the last year and a half or so, the "job" became almost more than I was able to keep up with. There were days when I needed to clone myself. But i was doing it for my Lady so i honestly didn't mind. Now i no longer have a purpose. I just get up at 3am or so after my nightly 3-4 hour nap and hope that i'll be able to find a way to keep myself occupied for the long day ahead. I suppose that i should find a job of some kind to help with just staying occupied. But just even thinking about that requires alot more gumption than i can muster.

I do feel your pain Mitch. The way you describe all that you did for your Tammy really rings a bell here. Godspeed in your journey down this path. 

Darrel

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3 hours ago, martha jane said:

How many of you are sitting on the couch, knowing you have so much to do but instead you sit and read all the sad stories on here and cry for them all?

And you know what? That's OK. Right now, our world isn't the world we wanted. We're living without the person who made our life worth living. So, if your "to-do list" gets tossed to the side and all you can do is lay in bed or surf the net, it's OK. More than OK. Heck, feeding ourselves or just getting out of bed is a major accomplishment at times. I think all of us, the survivors, are stronger and braver than we give ourselves credit for.

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14 hours ago, olemisfit said:

Now i no longer have a purpose. I just get up at 3am or so after my nightly 3-4 hour nap and hope that i'll be able to find a way to keep myself occupied for the long day ahead. 

That's how I felt for a very long time after years of being the caregiver.  It didn't even really feel that hard because it became 2 no nature until the last couple of months when things got so very bad.  I guess I'm used to not having that job now, but the days are so very long.  Time passed quicker when we were together.  Maybe it's because I am so aware of time now.  I look at the clock and my mind will calculate how many more hours lay ahead in this day.  Even going to bed I know I will wake up to that 'different day, same sh*t' and have to do it all over again.  Like Mitch said, simple things are a major accomplishment like getting up or eating.  That's not my idea of living.  I miss living.

Martha, I wish I had some things to do.  Or the energy to do them.  I did for over a year after he passed, but now it's so redundant and unsatisfying having done them myself so long.  I try and limit how much I my emotions get even more pulled down here and reading books on grief.  It was necessary at first because we need to know we aren't alone.  There is no right or wrong in what we choose, but I have to step back at times because others pain will trigger mine.  I still feel ultimate compassion for them always tho.

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I miss living too....I hope I can do that again someday.  I can certainly relate to feeling like I'm just putting in time.  It is a comfort to know that others feel that way and maybe, just maybe this will pass somewhere down the road....

 

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