Dimcl

I would like to thank everyone on this forum for the help, guidance and support they've provided to me over the last 10 months, but I feel that, as a non-believer in an afterlife, spirituality, religion, whatever, I've outworn my welcome. I hope everyone here manages to survive and even triumph over the terrible circumstances that we have all encountered in this journey and I will think of you all and wish you all the best, with all my heart. Hugs. Di

kayc, I've tried very hard to express that I respect everyone's beliefs, notwithstanding my need for evidence. I don't believe that I've told anyone here, unlike you, that they're wrong in their beliefs. I could also explain, scientifically and medically, all of the theories you put forward. I just can't be bothered. I just find it ironic that a "believer" would throw the first hurtful stone and I'm sorry you felt the need.

That's a lovely story, Earl. Hugs. Di

NATS, what you call a "spirit", I call a brain. Our brains create and shape who we are. Our brains are simply another organ in our bodies that die when our hearts do. And you are absolutely right... people who believe, find those signs and portents, people who don't believe, don't. And what creates those beliefs? The brain. The brain also creates hallucinations, visions, audio effects, etc. As I said in my previous post, it would be lovely to believe, for I'm sure it would give me comfort. I have delved into this subject for many years because it fascinates me, but I have yet to find solid evidence that any such thing as a spirit exists. What evidence there is appears to be anecdotal and I'm afraid that I can't base an opinion on such a deep subject on the premise of, "I believe, so it must be so". I'm glad that you feel Ruth's presence and I'm glad that it gives you comfort. It's just something that I can't relate to. And on a different note and in keeping with my original subject, I just picked the first ripe tomatoes from the one lonely plant I put in this spring. I don't know why I bothered, because I only ever planted them for Glenn, but I guess I felt the need to be normal. Anyway, I picked a handful today and ate one, crying the whole time because they were a new variety that I'd never grown before, they are delicious, and Glenn would have loved them. Silly, I know, but the fact that he isn't here to enjoy them, that he doesn't know about them, hurts so much. Hugs. Di

I, too, had this syndrome and didn't realize how bad it was until some time later. I functioned, I did all the necessary paperwork, made all the necessary phone calls, etc. I thought I was doing okay until at about the one-month mark, I realized I could barely remember what day it was, let alone do anything requiring any mental effort. It wasn't until about the six-month mark that I started to come out of it and it was only then that I started to realize how bad it had been. I compare it to looking back to when I was a teenager... now I wonder how on earth I could have been such an idiot. Well, it's the same this time around. I look back to the week I locked myself out of the house (twice in the same week!) and wonder how that was even possible. I'd never done it once in my life before Glenn died and there I was, doing it twice in a week. It was only after I started to come out of it that I realized how bad it had been. For all I know, I'm maybe still not out of it completely, but my focus and concentration is mostly back, so I don't think it necessarily has to be permanent. If I may, I think that part of the problem is that we don't use our brains in the same way as we did "before". I know that the effort seemed to be too great and then I realized that the old adage, "Use it or lose it" applied to me. I was deliberately avoiding having to use my brain and when I made a concerted effort to start reading, thinking, "trying", it started to come back. Just a thought. Hugs. Di

Melina, unless there's some egregious, super-valid reason for your daughter-in-law being denied, I have to hope that a lawyer can help. One informational visit to a good immigration lawyer won't be too costly and he/she should be able to at least point them in the right direction, depending on the reason she was denied. I strongly suggest they do that, but make sure they stay away from fly-by-night "immigration agents". A reputable Norwegian immigration lawyer is the only way to go. I'm rooting for you. Hugs. Di

Hi Mary. I'm afraid I don't know much about Facebook memorial pages, so can't really answer your specific question, but I'm wondering if it's possible to transfer or link his page to yours. I don't know if you have a page or whether something like that is possible on Facebook, but it might be worth investigating.

Thanks to all for your kind and encouraging words. However, I don't believe in a life after this one. I'm one of those folks who believe that this is it, we don't get anything else, so I don't have that comfort in my life. I wish I did. As a result, I know that Glenn doesn't know what's happening with me and I've known that for almost 10 months. It's just that now I seem to be fixated on the idea. I guess it's just one of those strange phases that I've learned will come and, hopefully, go. I've come to understand that I'm a minority on this forum, in that most everyone here seems to believe in an afterlife. I have read an awful lot on the subject all of my life because I'm fascinated with why people believe, but I'm still unable to rationalize it. I've talked in-depth with people who believe in an afterlife since Glenn died and I still don't understand it. Believe me, I have the utmost respect for people's beliefs, but I can't share them (nor did Glenn). As a result, I can't obtain the solace that most of you appear to get. I haven't seen any signs, I haven't felt his presence, yet my brain plays tricks on me. After Glenn was cremated, I deliberately put the box on his workbench in his workshop, which is one of the places he was happiest. Not because HE would know that's where they are, but because I know. In my rational mind, I know it doesn't matter one iota where his ashes are, yet I like to think that he's where he'd be happiest. I know that doesn't make any sense, but that's the conundrum I'm in - one part of my brain says one thing and another pretends otherwise. Anyway, I know I'm babbling, so I won't go on. Thank you to all who responded and please know that I'm happy that your beliefs bring you some measure of comfort. Hugs. Di

Hello, all. I haven't been posting much in the last few months, but I come periodically and read the new posts. Tonight, I feel the need to ask if anyone else has my problem. I can't get over the fact that Glenn doesn't know anything that's happened in the almost ten months since his death. He had a very curious and enquiring mind and we would always discuss recent world events, family issues, mundane everyday things. Now, he doesn't know that my Mom is very sick and that my Dad is having a hard time looking after her. He doesn't know about all the crazy political/war stuff going on in the world. He doesn't know the results of my latest hospital test. He doesn't know what I'm doing to keep busy. He doesn't know that I've burned his beautiful lawn with fertilizer. He doesn't know that I've spent weeks repainting and staining our back deck. I know that the world keeps on going even in the absence of our loved ones and that, of course, they can't know what's happened, but this is something that's really getting me down. I wonder if it's just because I still haven't come to terms with his death. I find myself continuing to say, "How can this be possible? How can he just be gone? How can that brilliant mind just not be here anymore?" Strange as it may seem, there's also an element of guilt in these feelings. I guess I feel that it's so unfair that I am still here to know these things and he's not. I find myself a dozen times a day, looking at his picture and saying, "I'm so sorry, Glenn." But this feeling of sorrow that he doesn't KNOW what's going on is a new thing for me and I wonder if anyone else has gone through this. Hugs. Di

Suzanne, it's only been 8 1/2 months for me, but I feel the same as you describe. I'm only 57 years old and I don't feel like I have any future. I see no reason to go on living except that Glenn would have wanted me to. I guess that's really my only reason for going on, for continuing to look after the house and the yard, for trying to stay active - because that's what my darling husband would have wanted. So, I do it, but not because I want to. I'm so sorry that you're feeling so badly after a year and a half. Your comment that you don't want to heal saddens me because although we don't want to "get over" our loved ones, the only way to have any kind of life at all is to heal in some form. Suzanne, would your husband want you to feel this way? Would he want you to be so unhappy and pining for a life that isn't possible? These are things that I keep asking myself and because my darling Glenn loved me so much, I know what the answers are. Forgive me if I sound trite. It's just that I've been going through a particularly bad patch myself, lately, and I've been trying to talk myself into a better place using these rationales. Some days they work, some days they don't. I truly, truly hope that you somehow begin to feel better, Suzanne. Please don't resign yourself to going through each day just to grieve. Hugs. Di I don’t want your laugh or your footsteps to waver; I don’t want my legacy of happiness to die; don’t call to my breast: I’m not there. Live in my absence as in a house. Absence is such a transparent house that even being dead I will see you there, and if you suffer, Love, I’ll die a second time

pbjb, I'm afraid that I'm one of the few posters here that agrees with your Jeff. I believe that we cease to exist when we die. I believe that the only way our loved ones live on is in our memories. If I were to die tomorrow, the man I knew and loved would certainly be gone. He told me things he told no one else. He showed sides of himself to me that he showed no one else. If I die or worse, my memory goes, my darling Glenn, the real Glenn that I knew, also goes. And although I do not wish to offend anyone's beliefs, I believe that those who receive signs from their loved ones do so because they believe in signs and want to see those signs. Don't get me wrong - I would love to believe that Glenn is out there somewhere watching over me. It would be so comforting to believe that, but I just can't. The brain is a wondrous thing, and if properly trained and conditioned, it can perform amazing feats. A strong feature of the brain is the ability to create scenarios in accordance with your beliefs. I lost my best friend 11 years ago and her Mom (a staunch Catholic) assured me that I would get "signs" from her. Well, I never have because I don't believe it's possible. My Glenn has been gone for 8 months and although I've been assured by a number of people that I'll see signs, I never have, not even close. The old adage, "Time heals all wounds" is simply a euphemism for fading memories. We don't forget our loved ones but over time, we forget the small details, we forget the feeling of their physical presence in our lives, we forget how they smelled, we forget their voice. Our memories are frail creatures, but I truly believe that's the only thing that keeps our loved ones "alive". The only other thing I can say is that the disbelief is something that I think we all experience. Perhaps that's why some people turn to God or some form of spirituality. It just seems too cruel, too bizarre, to have this happen to our loved ones and to us. After 8 months, I still look at Glenn's picture and shake my head in disbelief. After 34 years together, my brain hasn't yet digested the reality. As time goes on, the feeling becomes less prominent, but it still often takes my breath away. I hope you continue your search for answers, pbjb. In my opinion, self-examination and making an effort to understand is a good thing. Just understand that there are some questions that you'll never have answers to and you'll have to learn to live with that. But take comfort in the fact that as long as there are people who remember Jeff, in whatever kind of relationship they had with him, he does live on. Hugs. Di

After almost 8 months without my lovely man, I am starting to realize that I have been hanging on to the grief in order to try and not forget. My greatest fear is forgetting. For one thing, I've always known that's what people mean when they say "It will take time". Our memories are such frail things that details get very fuzzy very quickly. The other thing is that I'm notorious among my friends and family for having a lousy long-term memory. I have, however, over the last month or so, realized that there's nothing I can do about the vagaries of memory, and am beginning to realize that I must "let go". That surrounding myself with Glenn's photos and writing him letters every day has probably served their purpose. However, that has brought about an abundance of guilt at the very thought. I know it's irrational, I know it's pointless, but it's there, nonetheless. Has anyone else carried this kind of guilt around with them at the thought of letting their loved one go, at letting that "old life" go? The very idea makes me want to cry. And I don't mean to pretend like they never existed or that the old life didn't happen. I mean to wake up to the realization that he's never coming back and that I have to look after myself now. And I guess part of that is the understanding that constant reminders exacerbate the grief, but putting the reminders away makes the guilt worse. I'm between a rock and a hard place. Has anyone else dealt with this? Hugs. Di

Harry, I do exactly the same thing. The really ironic thing is that before Glenn died, I didn't wear my wedding rings very often because I was always gardening or playing sports or something where wearing the rings was a hazard to either my finger or the rings. However, the day Glenn went in for surgery, I put them on and have worn them every day since. I also wear Glenn's wedding ring on a chain around my neck along with a tiny brass vial that contains some of his ashes. I, too, wear them under my clothes because it's nobody's business but my own. I think, though, that the wedding ring thing is a double-edged sword. As far as I'm concerned, I'm still married to Glenn, so it makes eminent sense to me to wear them on my ring finger. I also feel that removing them could cause unwanted advances by fellows who don't know my situation. On the other hand, wearing them has also caused awkward moments because I have been asked about my husband by people who don't know the situation ie. "Is your husband retired?", etc. If I'm ready to remove my rings some day, I will likely have them intertwined with his wedding ring and will always wear them on a chain. And my executor has specific instructions to see that when I am gone, our rings will go in the box with our ashes. On a different note... with regard to your issue of flowers and plants being stolen from Jane and her mother's graves, it's not the cemetery doing it, is it? Some cemeteries prohibit certain types of flowers and plants due to their mowing requirements and I know that some will just remove the "offending" plant material without notice. Just a thought.

Oh Kay, I'm so sorry. What an awful accident! What you're going through is one of my worst fears - what will the pain and grief be like when I'm hurt or ill and Glenn isn't here to hold me and comfort me? Fortunately, I haven't faced that yet, but I'm so sorry you are, and I'm so sorry that all of us will have to, at one point or another. I hope that the physical and emotional pains go away soon. Hugs. Di

Whenever Glenn made himself a cup of coffee, he always asked if I wanted a cup of tea. Whenever I made myself a cup of tea, I always asked him if he wanted a coffee and the answer was invariably, "Yes, please", and I would make him one and take it to him. Glenn's "favourite" old yellow cup is still in the cupboard and I smile to myself when I open the door, because that cup has to be 35 years old and his lower lip has left a permanent imprint on the edge. Whoever said that men aren't creatures of habit didn't know my Glenn! Yesterday, however, I walked into the kitchen, merely thinking of making myself a cup of tea and I was hit by such a wave of grief that it nearly doubled me over and all's I could think of was how much I wanted to make Glenn a cup of coffee. I hadn't even opened the cupboard door yet and I've made myself hundreds of cups of tea since he left, but I came so close to making him that cup of coffee. Instead I just hung onto the counter and sobbed until I could barely stand up. This is exactly the kind of thing that flies at me out of nowhere, that absolutely gut-wrenches me and that set me back weeks, if not months. I am so sick and tired of this, of having seemingly innocuous things come at me out of left field. I'm tired of being a prisoner to my emotions, especially to the ones that I don't even know are there until they suddenly slap me. I'm tired of missing him so desperately that it's a physical thing. I'm tired of doing "all the right things" of looking after the house and the yard and the bills and everything in my life. And quite frankly, I'm tired of even thinking I have a life. I go through the motions. I do everything that I should. But I have no life, no future. And then, to top it off, I can't even make myself a cup of tea without the grief hitting me like a sledgehammer. And I am so damned angry! Angry at him, angry at the doctors and the hospital, angry at myself (although I'm not sure why). Oh, I could go on and on tonight, but I won't. I know you've all been there and that there's nothing to be done about it, but I guess I just need to rant. Thanks for listening. Hugs. Di