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Dealing With Those "moments"


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Oh Mitch, I'm so sorry.  We had three feet of snowfall a while back, it finally JUST melted and now I'm getting snow coming my way tonight through Tuesday.  I had to cancel going to see my granddaughter. :(  It's hard to deal with all that snow.

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  • 4 months later...
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I've had more than a few of those in the past few days. The feeling that life is futile now and I can't go on. That I don't see the point of living if it feels like this. After all, what do I have left? Tammy was the woman of my dreams and I waited my whole life for her. Seeing her battle the overwhelming illnesses she went through and seeing the way she handled things with courage and an amazing attitude, I was in awe of her. Tammy, was my world and honestly, my happiness. Since March 6th, this life doesn't have any happiness. It's pure and utter heartache. The silence is deafening. I keep replaying the things I saw on March 6th and it's like watching a tragic horror show over and over. It's unbearable.

The thing is, although I don't see how I can go on, I don't want to take my own life. That's just not something I could do. I mean, I have tons of Tammy's pain pills right here if I wanted to do something and I won't. I've scheduled an appointment with a grief counselor for Thursday and I hope it helps. Although... I don't know if it will. My grief is very complicated. I wasn't just Tammy's soulmate. I was her caregiver. And I'm traumatized by some of the things I saw on March 6th. And I've never loved or felt love towards me like I did with my Tammy.

My sisters don't understand what I'm going through and Tammy's family honestly doesn't seem to care (that's a whole story in itself). How much sadness, emptiness, loneliness and hopelessness can a person take? I guess I just needed to vent to people who know what I'm going through.

I wanted to re-visit this topic I started 15 months ago, and about three weeks after Tammy died. I thought it might be interesting and helpful to touch on some of my thoughts and any differences I feel today.

I remember so well the night I wrote this first post. I was pretty much despondent and I've honestly never felt that low before. Thoughts of suicide did cross my mind and I tried reaching out to anyone and everyone on the phone so I could vent and talk about Tammy. Many of the thoughts I had on that late March day in 2015 are still the same today. I'm still trying to figure out how to live a meaningful life. I still can't imagine true happiness. I'm still traumatized by the events on March 6, 2015. And family and friends still don't understand.

But there is one major difference between then and now. It's that one word I used towards the end of my original post... "hopelessness". Back then, and in that moment, there was no hope. No hope for a life worth living. Life didn't just feel futile, it truly was. Somewhere along the way, and I can't pinpoint it 100%, a glimmer of hope made it's way into my head. It may have been some kind words spoken here or maybe it was the day Tammy's beloved ceiling fan in the bedroom turned itself on to get my attention. Somewhere along the line I heard a voice in my head saying, "You can do this Mitch". Meaning that, my perfect angel Tammy may have died but I am living with her in my heart and she will always be beside me, gently motivating me and always showing me her love.

The first fifteen months of my grief journey have been terribly hard and at times almost unbearable. But, I'm still trying my best and putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes I trip over my own feet, but I now know that's part of this painful and agonizing process.

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I cannot begin to understand life. I once thought we could outrun death.  I would get angry when someone said if it is your time, it is your time.  My feelings range from the numb robot to a hopeless, overstressed, heartbroken old woman.  It is a joke on life.  When I first married, I said I married to get away from home.  This was no big thing to put over on Billy, he knew the situation, and we entered as kids.  I would awake in the middle of a nightmare that I was in prison, I was married.  It was not a nightmare, it was true. I questioned him once about his feelings, and he always denied that he did anything but love me.  Yet, I have seen him look at me as the bitch I was.  Pregnancy and celebrated our first anniversary eight days after our son's birth.  Could only afford a coke at the drive in at the end of our street.  We went through a lot of tough years, but we stayed together.  He wanted me to admit that life had only one great love.  I admitted it, but sometimes I doubted him (doubted me too). Things evened out and he was my best friend, the real love of my life, We worked at it and made a good marriage out of one I figured would never last.. He was my one great love.  I was him, he was me.  We grew up together. 

Now I have dreams, not nightmares, that I am married.  But, he is no longer there. It was a long marriage, it only seemed like yesterday.  Life sometimes is a sad joke. 

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Dear Marg...

It seems that my story is probably the opposite of yours.  Mark and I used to make note that because of the late age that we married (and family history) that we would probably not see a 50th anniversary.  We never thought or talked about one of us being without the other, except once.  When Mark accompanied me to a doctor appointment, and the things the doctor was telling me scared him (probably more than it scared me).  He told me that if I were to die, that he would never be able to stay in our house without me...that he would probably have to burn it to the ground. Mark was lost and resigned to living his life alone.  How was I to know that I would meet someone who fit me so well.  We never made it a point to plan any excursions, but there was always some place that he had been to that he always wanted to take me to see.  One place for sure was my home town...he wanted to see where I grew up.  He regretted he was never able to meet my parents; my mom had already passed when I moved to Houston, and Dad died not long after Mark and I got engaged.  Mark, being a truly Southern gentleman, said many times how he had wanted to ask my dad for my hand.  We knew we were never going to have children, but we adopted our fur-babes together.  We never got a chance to take a honeymoon. We were heading to our 6th wedding anniversary when he died.  He LOVED being a husband and he was good at it.  I fit well into the role of wife.  He had his demons, and I would have done anything to make those go away.  Our life was so simple.  We found it an adventure going to an antiques mall. Before we had a car, we would jump on the bus and explore.  The only time things would get tense was when his demons came out of hiding, and he would spiral, and get sick...then get better and we would once again find ourselves looking to create memories.  All the memories we made are even more precious to me now, because there will be no more new ones, and I feel cheated.  And yet, Marg, we both feel the same emptiness.  This second year of grief is all about the secondary losses, and the reality of living without the one person who was our world.  Picking up the pieces and starting a whole new life...one that we didn't ask for.  A tough pill to swallow sometimes.  I feel your pain, Marg.

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When you marry young, you grow up together or you grow apart.

When you marry grown up, you find the one who grew to find you.

Either way you found the right one. A team to the end.

 

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Mitch I'm so glad you revisited this post.  

For you to have put one foot forward everyday for the last 15 months and 19 days gives me hope that I can do so too.  After having your heart ripped from your chest and then to offer other encouragement to others is also amazing.  You really do inspire me to try to be a better person.  It also shows me that if I can be strong and keep visiting this group of friends on here I too can make it.

Tammy must be so proud of you.   Thanks for so much Mitch 

There are so many wonderful people on here.  Everyone has contributed to helping me find my way during my series of terrifying moments.  My heartfelt thanks to you all.  I wish we could have come to know each other under much happier circumstances.

Marita

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Marita that is so kind of you to say.

Thank you for reading and replying to my updated thoughts. The reason I wanted to update it was to give others (who are early in grief and hurting deeply) a sense that there is hope.

You're thoughtful words mean so much to me.

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Mitch it's interesting to go back and read things we wrote after some time has passed. Sometimes that's the sure way to know you have not stayed the same. You may still be grieving but you have found the way stand a little stronger. Grief is a journey and you have traversed a lot of potholes. Thanks for sharing that. It was good to read.

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Mitch wrote:

"The feeling that life is futile now and I can't go on. That I don't see the point of living if it feels like this. After all, what do I have left? ...  How much sadness, emptiness, loneliness and hopelessness can a person take? "

At almost 5 months, this is how I feel.  

 

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3 hours ago, KATPILOT said:

When you marry young, you grow up together or you grow apart.

When you marry grown up, you find the one who grew to find you.

Maryann, all of the people on here are here because of the  pain we have from losing our mates.  All Billy and I had were more years to make mistakes and more years to take each other for granted.  We did that so much and I wish we hadn't.  So, the first years we did have our children.  No, we were not the best parents in the world.  Billy was not the best husband in the world (well, he was for me), and me as a wife...........well, I will put it this way, he might not have been a saint, but I do think he should be nominated for putting up with me those 54 years. I am positive no other man would have. Perhaps the cancer (mine) and the sure possibility of losing me made us closer.  Even after that though, we took each other for granted.  His blood pressure problems and artery problems kept us on our toes.  Then we almost lost me in 2014.  In fact, I think that is when Billy came up with the saying "the one left must stay."  I knew I had a very close call and I walk around with a ticking time bomb, but maybe if we had not had my health so much in the forefront we might have taken better care of him.  I took his blood pressure often and one time I detected skipped beats.  I had him at the first cardiologist's appointment I could make.  He had a mole on his back we had removed that was basal cell carcinoma, and he went to the nephrologist twice a year.  He had had trouble with his back since his 30's, so the worsening backache is what made us find the aneurysm and the cancer.  We received no miracles this time, although I was determined we would.  It is true we lived many years together, but only the last 30 or so were perfect.  Up until that time, well, we just made some Jim Dandy mistakes, some really bad ones.  I forgive very easily but that boy would get angry with me during the first years and honestly would go days without speaking to me.  I tried his patience so many times and I did things I knew he would never forgive.  I did a lot of things out of vengeance from the mental abuse from our beginning years.  I am happy to say, we did grow up, and we grew up together.  He was my best friend, my soulmate forever, and I so wished I had not been such a bitch a lot of times.  

So, we grew up together and the bad things made us grow closer.  Forgiveness helped us a lot.  And, if I could have five more years with him I would have lived through the problems 100 times over.  I would probably do the same things, and I know he would have too.  I miss him very much, but not because of just the years, I miss him because I have lost the use of my brain, I have lost my heart, my arms and my legs.  I was him, he was me.  And, if I ignored him telling me he loved me, he would let me know and I would be guilty.  Yes, I wanted Native American blood, but somewhere in my genealogy has to be a Jewish grandmother, because I carry my guilt around like it was a bubble covering my head.

And Maryann, your love story was beautiful (I cried) as was all the rest of yours.  I miss Billy more than you all missed him, because he was mine to miss, as were the beautiful people who were your mates.  Years did not matter because I would have liked 54 more.  They went too fast.  It was only yesterday..

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12 hours ago, KATPILOT said:

When you marry young, you grow up together or you grow apart.

When you marry grown up, you find the one who grew to find you.

Either way you found the right one. A team to the end.

 

I think you're right. I think that's also true of me. I certainly wasn't married to my dad, but in the end after my dad and I really were a team and we totally depended on each other. Sometimes it was clear who was leaning more on the other. I was leaning more on him when I lost my job and he picked up the pieces and carried me financially and emotionally through the years until I was working again. At the end when he declined rapidly in his health, he was leaning much more on me. But all in all, we were a team, and it didn't really matter who was leaning more on whom. I sure miss him!

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14 hours ago, BillT said:

How much sadness, emptiness, loneliness and hopelessness can a person take? "

At almost 5 months, this is how I feel.  

Bill, I have "hogged" the whole forum this morning.  I feel those words you mentioned.  I try to stabilize in this short circuited brain some acceptance from Billy my moving into a large apartment complex, moving from this safe environment with only nature and animals as my companions, and I have gone and sat in front of our first living quarters when we first married.  It actually is still standing.  Not for much longer though.  But, I can look at this two bedroom apartment and still it hurts, but still I can remember the many rook and poker games we all played at the dining room table.  I can remember serving lettuce and tomato sandwiches to our guests, every night.  Yes, that was all I had bought in the way of groceries, lettuce, bread, tomatoes, and Miracle Whip.  We finished up my two weeks of groceries fast and then went down the road every night and ate pinto beans, ham hock, big pan of cornbread and since it was summer, sweet green onions my FIL had grown in his garden.  Oh yes, and big glasses of tea.  For recreation, no money, so we went fishing on the borrow pits of the bayou close by.  We kept the bass we caught and ate them.  Years later, we caught and released.

So Billy, you have left me and my only recourse is to end my life as we began our life, in a two bedroom apartment.  Cannot eat his mom's cornbread and beans or even the onions, (cannot have the fiber on the low residue diet that will kill me if I get off it)) but I can have the sweet tea she made.  Billy was the expert at this and ya'll, I have not been able to bring myself to make my own yet, but I will.  

BillT, time does not heal this wound, I don't even know if we can be truly happy again, but even after eight months, I do have times that I enjoy being alive.  Then I feel guilty.  Then I remember, that is the one emotion that I really try, I mean really try hard to get rid of.  It grabs me by my shoes, my shoulders, my nose, and my short circuited brain and I have to say "no, no, no, no" and shoo it away.  It loves living in me so well, I am positive I had to have a Jewish grandmother somewhere down the line.  And, I am not making light of being Jewish, I love Jewish, Catholic, and lots more religions that I have not tried.  I have tried Baptist, all my life, and probably will go back to it, but I think I would prefer a nondenominational church.  Lord help me live long enough to attempt this.  It is something I look forward to.  See BillT, we do have somethings to look forward to sometimes.  

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Bill,

5 months out seems like a long time to the person living it, but in the whole of the picture, it's a small part of the journey.  You're walking some of the hardest part of the journey though, and that's thought to be around six months (can be five, can be seven, or whatever), when reality sets in.  At first it's hard just processing the fact that they're dead.  But then as day after day, night after night, weekend after weekend, takes place, it really sinks into us what our life is going to be like now.  And THAT takes some processing!

I wouldn't say you'll be happy again in the way you were before, but you will experience some bits of happiness along the way, here and there, if you let yourself.  I never got over losing George, but I have learned to live with it...there's a big difference

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Yes I have adapted too. It always goes back to time. Each year you find a little more happiness but like you say Kay, you never do get over it.

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Thank you all for your messages.  I pray that we all receive what peace we can as soon as we can.  Personally, I do not have any reason or desire to go on, but because there is no other course, I continue hour by hour, day by long agonizing day. 

Prayers to all.

Bill

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Bill, I know how much it hurts and how futile it feels. It's an empty life without the woman that loved you and that you cherished like no other. It feels like your heart was ripped from your chest and someone tossed a hand grenade to your soul. It's the worst feeling in the world.

We're left behind in a world that we don't recognize, and we're not even sure who we are anymore.

What I try to do is always remember how it felt to have Tammy by my side. That's the life I loved. No, we can't go back in time, but, we can live this life with our beloved "with us" all the time. I talk to Tammy, I see things through her eyes, and I know she still is here and wanting to be with me.

Of course it's not like being able to touch her or hold her in my arms. But, it helps me get through the day without feeling life is 100% futile. Again, it's all about having some sense of hope.

I understand that what works for me may not work for you. I think we all sort of figure out what helps and what doesn't, in time.

I'm so sorry your life is filled with so much anguish and I wish I could help more.

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  • 1 year later...
On 3/31/2015 at 10:35 AM, mittam99 said:

littlebro thank you. Feralfae, kayc and sharirouse... thank you for your long and kind posts.

 

It just feels like I'm going through the motions. All I had in my life that made me happy was Tammy. Without her, it just doesn't seem worth living. I just feel like I have nothing and the truth is I don't think I do. No family that is there for me emotionally and no close friends. Tammy was all I ever had and all I ever wanted. She was the only one who loved me unconditionally. Right now it feels like 24/7 of emptiness.

 

And it's just overwhelming to think of all the physical pain Tammy went through in her life and all her ordeals knowing that, ultimately her life ended way too soon. It's just so unfair. All our plans for the future and a future filled with love and happiness are all gone.

 

Honestly, how on earth does someone who's lost everything that made life worth living carry on? And carry on in such a way that life seems worth living?

 

And the other thing is that, in my life, no one does get what I'm going through. Perfect example, I texted Tammy's youngest sister and asked if I could call her (she's the only one in Tammy's family that has even maintained a bit of contact with me after Tammy passed). She said she was too busy. I texted her in a way that clearly made it sounded like I was in a very dark place. And yet she waited an hour to text me back and wrote "do you have hobbies?".. SERIOUSLY??? My sister is constantly telling me I need to go back to work and to do this and do that. I know these people mean well but they are clueless as to the pain and suffering I am feeling.

 

I'm anxious about going to the counselor Thursday but I'm hoping she will help. At least I'm trying to think about a future of some kind.

 

Most people I know don't understand that this kind of grief is a long term "healing" process. And it makes me feel even more alone, like no one is on my side.

 

I still can't fathom having a "real life" without Tammy in it. And the crying, the feeling of hopelessness and the feeling that Tammy didn't deserve any of this consume me.

 

Mitch

 

On 3/30/2015 at 7:28 PM, mittam99 said:

I've had more than a few of those in the past few days. The feeling that life is futile now and I can't go on. That I don't see the point of living if it feels like this. After all, what do I have left? Tammy was the woman of my dreams and I waited my whole life for her. Seeing her battle the overwhelming illnesses she went through and seeing the way she handled things with courage and an amazing attitude, I was in awe of her. Tammy, was my world and honestly, my happiness.

 

Since March 6th, this life doesn't have any happiness. It's pure and utter heartache. The silence is deafening. I keep replaying the things I saw on March 6th and it's like watching a tragic horror show over and over. It's unbearable.

 

The thing is, although I don't see how I can go on, I don't want to take my own life. That's just not something I could do. I mean, I have tons of Tammy's pain pills right here if I wanted to do something and I won't. I've scheduled an appointment with a grief counselor for Thursday and I hope it helps. Although... I don't know if it will. My grief is very complicated. I wasn't just Tammy's soulmate. I was her caregiver. And I'm traumatized by some of the things I saw on March 6th. And I've never loved or felt love towards me like I did with my Tammy.

 

My sisters don't understand what I'm going through and Tammy's family honestly doesn't seem to care (that's a whole story in itself).

 

How much sadness, emptiness, loneliness and hopelessness can a person take?

 

I guess I just needed to vent to people who know what I'm going through.

 

Mitch

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Mitch,

Thank you for directing me to this site. I am feeling everything your wrote about.

Jim went through so much during the six year that he fought cancer. It broke my heart time and time and time again to watch him go through all that he did. But he always stayed positive and fierce. Even during the last assaults on his body, when he had tumors in his brain, left lung, nasalpharnyx, the bone of his skull, and had lost any use of his left arm and leg, he said to me "This does not mean that I won't overcome this."

During all of our traumas and trials we still found happiness in being together. Just laying together side by side brought peace to our minds and love to our hearts.

Now, as I face my future without him, I cannot find peace anywhere. As you said, life has become an everyday heartache. Instead of looking forward to our special days, weekends, and vacation time, I dread them all. The most I hope for is that I won't hurt too much as I go through them.

As you said, no one can truly understand what I am going through, except you and others like us.

Again, I am full of gratitude for having a place to come to where I can openly share.

Thank you, everyone. I hope everyone feels at least a little solace everyday.

Sandra

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On 6/25/2016 at 8:45 PM, BillT said:

Mitch wrote:

"The feeling that life is futile now and I can't go on. That I don't see the point of living if it feels like this. After all, what do I have left? ...  How much sadness, emptiness, loneliness and hopelessness can a person take? "

At almost 5 months, this is how I feel.  

 

At 3 months, this is how I feel.

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  • 1 year later...
9 hours ago, Gwenivere said:

I think the problem is we STILL.love our partners.  It’s even deeper for me now.  Outsiders want to see it as past tense.  It makes it easier.....for them.

Gwen, you're absolutely right about outsiders. They'd rather this whole "grief thing" was swept under the rug as quickly as possible.

What I'm trying to understand is that other grievers have lost their spouse/partner and are able to move forward, find purpose or even find new loves. For those of us who regularly post here, that isn't the case. Is it because our love was deeper? 

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6 hours ago, mittam99 said:

What I'm try to understand is that other grievers have lost their spouse/partner and are able to move forward, find purpose or even find new loves. For those of who regularly post here, that isn't the case. Is it because our love was deeper? 

Mitch, there is no right or wrong answer to this question.  We all grieve in different ways, just as our lives and our loves are different.

I will never search for a new love.  I had the one I wanted and I'm at peace with that.  I have managed to move forward to acceptance for what is, and gratitude for being so blessed to have had my life with Stephen.  When I speak of gratitude, it's always about being deeply grateful for having him in my life.  

I would not shed my grief for one second, if that meant wiping out the love and life I had with Stephen.  I carry the badge of grief, but I also carry the badge of love.

Hugs,

Shirley

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I know love is experienced differently by everyone.  Like a spectrum ranging from full intertwinement to open marriages where there is love but room for involving other people openly.  I hit the 100% entwinement end.  I can’t help but feel that anything less means less deep tho.  

It’s a very interesting question you pose, Mitch.  I know I loved Steve so intensely I’d want to give him anything to make him happy.  But what if he wanted something uncomfortable even if I knew how much he loved me.  Fortunately that never happened.  If it came down to an ultimatum that would mean something was wrong from the get go.  

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Well there's some things I never would have gone for, but then neither would he, we were just a perfect fit.  Some of the open marriages I hear about nowadays, I just shake my head, it's like they don't even get the point of a beautiful marriage.  We were entwined too, Gwen, that's a good way to put it.

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