marsha

Marty, I just have to say - that piece from Carol S. is so, so true. As i had/have come to find out (the hard way, sometimes). I got the logical part, it was the emotional that at times, a lot of times, I couldn't accept. I felt like I was turned inside out (G-d, I can't think of a better description) - I felt like I was thrown into a void. So I let my brain, my logical thought (what was left of it) - take over. There was no avoiding grief, and what came with it, though. A lot to think through, to feel through, to live through. Wow, I feel like Yoda here. I hope I'm making sense!

Thank you, Marie - a sweet and loving post. And appreciated.

Martha Jane - thank you for sharing these poems with us.They are haunting, and yes, beautiful in the emotion they invoke. At least they were to me. Your sweet husband left this as a gift, I think. So painful now, I'm sure, but you'll be glad of this later on. Marsha

Gwen - perfectly stated. I will say that as the years have gone on, I've, I guess, developed a thicker skin. But in the beginning I felt like I was turned inside out, with the raw wound on the outside. Many things said to me made me angry, or sad, or guilty that I wasn't "doing enough". And 99% of the time they meant well, bless their hearts (said with sarcasm). Good Lord, please just put duct tape on some peoples' mouths.

Gwen - If Steve were here and it was you who died - he would be going through the same thing, the same feelings. I feel you about the social thing, too. At six months, my neighbors put a note on my door (at Christmas) "BE HERE!" and they literally walked me over, in my sweatpants. The thing is, and I was absurdly grateful for it - your true friends are there, and will be there, in the long run. I've found this to be the case (even 4 or 5 years later). Don't be concerned about it right now. You just aren't you now, and there's no shame or weirdness about it, because it's the real truth. You'll change, but it will be so slowly that you won't realize it until you look back on it. Oh, and I'll share again what I've shared before - a fellow widow described year 2 as "being on speed in a straightjacket". (I know I didn't spell that right, but whatever!) But oh, so true. It describes the lack of motivation, restlessness, all it it - perfectly.

Ah, the 'process". Screw the process. It sounds so logical, when grief is the exact opposite of that. My rage (at who? what? Who knows what, exactly) was overwhelming at times. Of course I didn't act on it, but what I did do was - crank that stereo (yes, I still have one) up to 10 (had no next door neighbors at the time), close the doors and windows and scream at the top of my lungs. Whew. But it helped. Darrel, we've all been there, are there, or will be there. You're not alone in this. Marsha

Gwen, you make perfect sense to me. And you got to the crux of it all. We chose each other - and then committed to it, with the compromise, love, sweat and tears that go into a real relationship. When Joe died, all that died with him - it was just me left, bereft. I'm at 8 1/2 years, but believe me, I can feel this (at times) as strongly now as it was then. I hope your counseling session provides some comfort to you - tell your therapist the exact words you said to us. Hugs, Marsha

I did, the first 6 months, and I'm glad I did. I remember the first thing my therapist said to me was "you don't have to be a rock in this room", and that in itself was comforting, to have an objective ear. And I'm glad I went. But as others have said, this site, filled with comfort and humor and compassion, helped me so much.

Darrel (and btw, I do love your user name) - oh...the freaking guilt. I had the same experience with Joe. Virulent, fast spreading cancer along with, just for laughs, a MRSA infection (and yes, I'm being sarcastic). That last weekend - I took him to the hospital on Thursday, it had all gotten so bad. They hooked him up to IV antibiotics yet again, and I remember sitting in the doctor's office on Friday, talking about hospice, and her crying with me. Because I made the decision to stop everything. He was cognizant enough to greet his estranged kids (who flew in from California) on Saturday, but by Sunday, he fell into a coma. He died on Tuesday. I know in my head that I made the right decision, but it took my heart a good long time to catch up. That movie reel the first year was unending. I think Karen's first paragraph is spot on, especially re love and forgiveness (of ourselves). Don't worry about finding something to be excited about - some things you'll try, and not go back to. Some will stick. I mean, you could find a passion for baking bread - who knows? Take care, Marsha (and by the way, Joe was an OTR Haz-Mat driver for the first 15 years of our marriage)

Dear Marg, yes, but you cannot suffer FOR them. Each has to deal in his/her own way.

Marg - Yeah, by now I should be in Australia, right?. Gwen: I so get what you mean. It was never about Joe's "legacy" - whatever that means. I still can't figure it out when people say that to me. Do you (and I mean those who say it) mean remembering him? Well, duh. He was human, and I won't put him up for sainthood. I will try to be the best human I can be, and a lot of it has to do with what we meant to each other, what we taught each other, the best of him and me - but to me, saying this kind of thing negates our feelings. Our rage, our pain, those messy human emotions that no one on the outside wants to deal with. So much easier to talk about his "legacy". I do understand.

Ah, the human bacon dream......what? That must have been a good one, Marg. Mine was the X Files dream of being abducted by aliens, the light at the window, the whole nine yards.

Gin, I had a bottle of Listerine (he loved his Listerine) that sat under my sink for 7 years. Finally tossed it this year. Yeah, I get it.

Cookie, I can't take credit for this statement, but essentially - year one, they're dead. Year two...they're still dead. I know for myself, I think there was this thing in my mind. I've done the effing grief work, I've read all the books, I've made it through year one - so where's my reward? Illogical as it sounds, that's where my mind was at. It's like I had to accept THAT as yet another part of grieving. Oh, yeah, and another widow said "year two is like being on speed while in a straightjacket". I can attest to that. You're not alone in how you feel, sweetie.

Tideland - my sympathies for the loss of your husband. Please, know this - you did the best you could based on what you knew. My story is similar - 4 months. Four months from healthy to dead. And add a rampant staph infection to the mix - I don't know, honestly, what killed him first, the cancer or the infection. I've thought about those months for 8 years, and in the end, I don't know what I could have done to make anything better. After a weekend at Sentara, hearing that the cancer had gone into his brain, hearing the "1 to 6 months, that's it" talk - Joe and I talked about it once, only once (with me sobbing). He accepted it once, then decided that he would fight it. A losing battle, one that I knew was a losing battle, but we went on in the way he wanted to. It was the loneliest and most emotional time for him and for me. Who am I kidding? It was horrific, something I wouldn't wish on anyone. But, you know - I wasn't the one dying. I wasn't the one staring death in the eyes. I did the best I could, but my thoughts are - there is no "best" when in this situation. There just isn't. In the end, even with me beside him, Joe had to take this journey by himself. And in knowing this - this has still brought me to tears, many times. G-d, this has brought out a torrent of emotions. Hugs to you - I understand. Marsha