Dimcl

Harry, I'm 4 1/2 months into this, and I commend you for being able to go back to work right away. I found that my brain wasn't working on all cylinders for about 3 months and now I feel like I'm starting to come out of the fog. And it's not my age - I'm only 57! I couldn't have concentrated enough to go to work (I'm retired), so the fact that you could says much for your determination. And that goes for all of those on this board who have done so. As for people telling you that you're brave and strong, but you feel like you're putting on a face, I think most of us can relate to that. I feel like I should win an Oscar for Best Actress much of the time. Even people who love us dearly and who have the best of intentions, but who don't understand the process, become wary of asking of how we're doing, because they really only want to hear that we're "doing better". Now, if I'm having a bad day, and am asked that question, I just lightly say, "I'm doing really horrible, thanks" and move on. As for those searing, uncontrollable waves of grief, there seems to be no answer except to ride them out. One thing that I do (which others on this forum can't yet do) is to immerse myself in my husband. By that, I mean that I look at all his photos from all the years, I look at his military memorabilia, I look at all the work he put into our home, I just totally soak him up and that seems to help me more than anything. It is such a joy to appreciate who he was and how smart and sexy and talented he was. Almost against my will, I find myself smiling and the pain eases. Glenn was my heart and now there's a big, black void there, but I know that he'd want me to soldier on, as he would have done were our roles reversed. My little bit of consolation is that if one of us had to leave the other behind, I'm glad it was Glenn first because I would not want him going through this. I look at the pain as the trade-off for the wonderful 34 years we had together. Please tell us about your wife... her name, her stories, your life together. Most of us find that talking about our loved ones in this safe haven helps tremendously. Hugs. Di

wmjsca, nobody's had the temerity to be that explicit with me (heaven help them!), but I had a "friend" drop in uninvited and unannounced last week. I was happy to see her, but she noticed that I had 4 photos of Glenn in the living room and made the mistake of commenting on it. I sucked it up, looked at her and said "Yes, is that a problem?" and she made the HUGE mistake of saying, "Life goes on, Diane". I very quietly told her that if she ever said that to me again, I'd be very, very unhappy. She quickly changed the subject, but her insensitivity has now coloured my relationship with her. I'm losing faith in people by leaps and bounds, believe me. I know that you miss Clint immeasurably, but I hope that you and your little guy are coping as well as can be expected. How is he doing, by the way? He was acting out in the beginning and I'm hoping that he feels a little better. I'm thinking of you both. Hugs. Di

Oh, Carolyn, my heart goes out to you. My husband, Glenn died in hospital, a week after his surgery and it was totally unexpected, so I know something of what you're going through. My Glenn died 4 1/2 months ago and it has only been in the last couple of weeks that I've begun to accept that the noises the house makes when the furnace comes on, etc., isn't Glenn moving around or walking to the kitchen to make a coffee or whatever. Mind you, I still sometimes find it difficult to believe that it happened at all. I find myself looking at a picture of Glenn and shaking my head in disbelief that I don't have the flesh and blood Glenn with me. I don't have your religious faith, but I think all of us here would say that we can go on, faith or not. Some of us just take longer than others, but we DO go on whether we like it or not. You're very early into this loathsome experience, but you've come to the right place. Please tell us about your husband and your life together. Sharing our loved ones' lives and stories always seems to help. Hugs. Di

Hap and Deb: There must be something about grocery shopping. I'm 4 1/2 months into this and I still dread grocery shopping. Part of it is that I always hated doing it, and Glenn enjoyed it (I always told him he was weird!), so he did most of it and now that I'm doing it for myself, I hate it even more. And I think that's part of it - I still see things that Glenn liked but that I could take or leave, and it breaks my heart not to buy them for him anymore. Plus, cooking and eating alone seems so pointless that actually buying groceries is painful. Then, there's taking it home, splitting it into small portions, bagging it for freezing, etc. The whole process is gruelling, from start to finish. Melina and Deb625, I also had a meltdown at the dentist's office about a month after Glenn's death. It was just a teeth cleaning, but I loathe it and Glenn would always reassure me before I went, and when I got home, he'd always be sure to ask how it went and if I was okay. To top it off, my hygienist had seen me in the hospital at Glenn's bedside (she was visiting another patient in the room) and asked me about it. Who needs coincidences like that? But the gist of it was that it was my first experience with realizing that there's now nobody who knows or cares about my life's unpleasant tasks. Thinking of you all. Hugs. Di

Sundays are horrible for me as well, for different reasons. Because I always worked fulltime, Sundays were laundry, vacuuming, dusting, days. Plus, of course, facing work again on the Monday morning! Now Sundays will always be the day of the week that I last saw my darling Glenn alive, so that just compounds the dread I have of the day. I always felt that Sundays were sad days and now more so than ever.

A Fresh Endeavour So now I've taken leave of life, I thought you'd like to know, I still possess a mind in love, oh wife; a soulful eye to catch a show of silent beauty – ever yours; an ear to pick the metaphors of tonal dance in words you say, grasp a thought in verse you pray inside your head, bemused of mind, softly mournful, intertwined with understanding tears. I'll drift a whisper o'er to you to tell that I am quietly calm; keeping time till your adieu to flesh, upon the carol of a psalm of consummation. Now! A fresh endeavour – we're forever one together, resting yonder, cross our open plane of blue. Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

Chris, I think the fear is something we all live with. My friends and family all know me as a strong woman, but little do they know how much I fear the future, and how frightened I am of everything. After 4 months, though, I look back and realize how much I have accomplished, without even realizing it. The thing is that I've taken baby steps, and tried not to push myself too hard. Two months ago, the thought of going to a movie without Glenn was appalling. Last week, I decided to give it a try. I figured that it would be money well-spent to see if I could do it, and I did! I could have walked out if it was too hard, but I got through it. A few weeks ago, my front door lock stopped working, and I was in a state! But, I knew where Glenn's screwdriver's were and I took the lock apart, fiddled with it, sprayed on some lubricant and got it working again! I've never done that in my life, but I did it knowing that I could always call a locksmith if I needed to. Nothing is written in stone, but unless we take those baby steps, we'll never prove to ourselves that we can do it. And I got great satisfaction in knowing how impressed and proud of me Glenn would be to see me fixing that lock! I, too, am afraid that healing will somehow make me forget, and I'm really, really, afraid of that. But, would Glenn want to see me paralyzed with fear and grief? Absolutely not. I believe that if they could, all of our loved ones would tell us that our pain causes them pain and I wouldn't cause my darling man any pain for all the world. I think we honour their love for us and their faith in us, when we move forward with our lives. Glenn and I were a couple for 34 years and I'm now a widow at 57. He would understand that I'm afraid, and that I need time, but he would also expect me to give things the college try. And if I don't succeed, I'll call the locksmith. I hear your pain, Chris, and wish you peace. Hugs. Di

I'm so sorry, Mrs. B. I'm only just past 4 months into this and sometimes I get so mad at my Glenn that I could just spit nails. But then I almost laugh out loud, because I can just see him shaking his head in bewilderment and saying, "Well, it's not like I wanted this, you know!". That usually brings me down to earth. I know it's hard. Only we who are going through it know how gigantically hard it is. But I think it's safe to say that our beloved husbands paid the ultimate price and I truly believe that women are stronger than men, emotionally. I am so happy that I'm going through this and not him. I look at it as the price I have to pay for 34 wonderful years. Cheap by any price!

Melina, I don't think you need to be so stern with yourself. You don't have to face those photos until you're good and ready. My photos of Glenn remind me of what I had. I keep having to tell myself how very lucky I was and the photos help me to remember that. What I meant earlier about avoidance becoming a habit was reinforced for me again tonight. I wanted to go see a movie in the theatre about a month ago, but was terrified to do so without Glenn. Standing in line by myself, watching the "Coming Attractions" by myself (almost our favourite part of the movie-going experience ), driving home by myself, with no Glenn to discuss it with. So, I resigned myself to waiting until it comes out on DVD or TV. Then, yesterday, I decided that I was going to darned-well see that movie. I bought the tickets online so that I didn't have to stand in line and I thought of other things before the movie started and I listened to talk radio on the way home and once home, realized that although it hadn't been nearly as enjoyable without Glenn, it wasn't nearly as dreadful as I had imagined it would be. All of our experiences and emotions are different, but I've been letting the habit of my fears take charge over these 4 months. And, to be honest, the poem that Deb625 posted here yesterday helped my resolve. The last three lines hit such a chord with me: "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" I don't believe in an afterlife, but just in case I'm wrong( ), I don't want my darling to suffer because of my despair and avoidance of reminders of our happiness.

This is beautiful, Deb, but oh my, did it ever make me cry. It would be exactly my Glenn's sentiments if he could make them known to me. Thank you.

I'm no longer sure what "normal" is, Melina. Maybe, just maybe, your avoidance of the photos has become a habit. I'm finding that some of the denial/avoidance issues I had early on in this journey have become simply that, and when I look at it rationally, I realize that the pain comes from the idea of breaking the habit, not from the item or from the emotions that initially came from the item. I don't have this photo issue. In fact, I positively wallow in the photos I've got of my Glenn, and it makes me feel so much better, because it's an affirmation of our life together. Holidays, birthdays, Glenn working in the yard, etc. When I surround myself with his pictures, I feel so much better because people in my life are already wincing when I talk about my life "before". It's as though the life Glenn and I shared for 34 years doesn't exist and looking at all those photos gives me great comfort. Yes, sometimes I cry like a baby when I look at them, but looking at the photos makes me realize how lucky I was. Without them, I wouldn't have physical evidence of our history. Far be it for me to give advice because I'm barely holding my head above water, but I find that looking at just one photo makes me sad, yet looking at half a dozen is smile-making. Perhaps you could find it in your heart to pull out just 2 or 3, do the crying and think about how the photos are treasured mementos of your life together. Whatever you choose to do, Melina, please know that we're all here for you. Di

Teny, I think this is the most natural feeling in the world. And I'm discovering that there is no timeline for "getting over it". I'm only 3 1/2 months into this, but when I go out, all's I want to do is come home and be by myself. Being among people is so difficult. And being at a gay and colourful costume party would be just horrible. Don't let your friends unduly influence you. And only you can know whether you need professional help. In your heart of hearts, you know what's "right" for you. Hugs. Di

Your Barbara sounds like a woman after my own heart, Joe! I will admit to having to "pursue" my Glenn for a few months. He was divorced in 1974 and was gun shy when we met in 1975. Then, for a while, I played hard to get and he did the pursuing. A further complicating factor was that he was 22 years older than me. We were married in 1980 and neither of us ever regretted one single moment. I'm so sorry that Barbara was not well in her last years, Joe. My Glenn was never sick a day in all the years we were together until he started losing some weight in 2009. When he started developing other symptoms and went to the doctor, asking for a colonoscopy, he was refused because "the system" recommended every five years and he'd had one four years previously. By August last year, they were falling all over themselves to do the colonoscopy, but by then it was too late. He had bowel surgery on 26 October (his 79th birthday)but the tumour had grown far too large to remove, so we knew it was terminal. But five days later, Glenn died of atrial fibrillation. We were talking about getting him home only the night before. I was awakened at 2:00 in the morning by the phone, only to be told he had died. He'd never had a heart problem in his life, but had lost too much weight and his heart just failed him. I know that I should be thankful that he didn't die from the cancer and I know that I should be thankful that he had been healthy all his life, but I find it difficult to be thankful about anything these days. He was my rock and because of family issues, and the fact that we didn't have children, it was Glenn and I as a tight team of two all those years and I feel like I've lost my heart. I'd say I understand your pain and grief, Joe, except that it's such an individual thing for all of us. All's I can say is that when you've had the very best as I did (and I suspect you would say the same of your Barbara), there seems no point to anything anymore. All's we can do is put one foot in front of the other and thank God that our loved ones aren't the ones going through this. I am just so grateful that Glenn went before me, because although he was a strong man, I'm not sure he could have handled this. He would have because he'd have to, but I'm just so grateful that he didn't have to bear this pain. I'd have died for that man if it would have helped, so I guess what I'm going through now is that sacrifice. Please come back again, Joe, and keep on talking. It really is the only medicine I've found that helps at all. Oh, with one exception - I write letters to Glenn and find that extremely helpful. I have nobody to talk to about all the things that interested us and so, I still tell him about those things. A one-sided conversation, perhaps, but it makes me feel as close to him as anything does. Hugs. Di

Thank you, kayc, but you see, I don't believe that there is "a better place". Neither did Glenn. That's not a reflection on your kind advice to me, and you're right that there's nothing I could have done to affect the outcome. I guess I'm just unable to get past the injustice. I've always been a bit of a control freak, and I guess not being able to control this has set me back on my heels. The history of our relationship, once I tell it, might explain why I'm so sorry for all these things. He put up with an awful lot during our many years together and I defended him like a mother bear and I guess I'm still in that mode. Only, this time there's no defense, nobody to protect him from, no resolution to the problem, and it's driving me crazy.

I am so sorry for your loss, Joe, but you've come to the right place to try and gain some consolation from people in the same boat as you. Please do talk about your Barbara with us. Being able to talk about our loved ones is one of the things that becomes sorely missed as time goes on. It's a truism that people think we should "just move on" and although talking about our loves is very therapeutic, people "on the outside" just don't seem to understand that. I lost my darling Glenn about 3 1/2 months ago and am now finding that people don't want to hear about my life "before", as though my life for the previous 34 years should just be forgotten. I haven't yet really told this forum much about my Glenn, but am almost ready to do so, now that nobody else wants to listen. At least I'm consoled by the fact that everyone here is so kind and supportive. Please tell us about yourself and Barbara. Hugs. Di

It's been 3 1/2 months since I lost Glenn and as lots of people here have pointed out has happened to them, it is getting harder for me, not easier. I know that right now, a large part of my problem is being hung up on feeling so badly for Glenn. Oh sure, I feel sorry for myself too, but what really breaks my heart is how sorry I am for this to have happened to my strong, vital man. I'm sorry he got cancer. I'm sorry that the !#$%^ family physician didn't authorize a colonoscopy in 2009 when Glenn asked for one. I'm sorry that I didn't stay longer with him that last night in the hospital. He was doing just fine, was off all painkillers and we were talking about getting him home. I'm sorry that the GD doctors didn't properly monitor his heart after the first episode of atrial fibrillation two days after his surgery. That's what killed him 3 days later, not the cancer. I'm sorry he died all alone in a hospital bed and not at home. I'm sorry that he always believed he would live to be 95. I'm sorry for so many things, but I'm mostly sorry that my lovely man was cheated. These are all things that I had no control over (except for leaving him that night), but I can't get past the injustice of it. I want to scream and rant and rave, but there's nobody and nothing to scream at. He didn't deserve what happened to him. I know that life's not fair and I know that I'm railing about things I can do nothing about, but right now, this is my predominant concern. How do I tell myself that there's no point in being sorry about these things? How do I get past wanting to make it up to him when I know I can't? How do I tell myself that it's okay when it's not? Di

Dear Deborah, I'll be brutally honest with you... those of us who are new at this (I'm not at 4 months yet) do find this discouraging. Having said that, I want to be prepared for all eventualities and I wouldn't be able to prepare myself psychologically if I didn't know what the possibilities are. For example, a couple of months ago, I didn't think that the pain could get any worse than it was, but someone on this forum indicated that it had gotten worse for her and I took that bit of information and filed it away in my brain. And she was right - it has gotten much worse for me, but I kind of knew to expect that if it happened. I'm so sorry that you're still struggling so much, but please don't be discouraged from posting. We're all different and I may or may not experience the same things as you, but your experience helps me to process all the information overload that I'm going through. Hugs. Di

I'm glad to know that what you are feeling is possible, Carol Ann, and am very happy for you. Di

I'm so able to relate to what you're saying, Tina. My darling Glenn has been gone for 3 1/2 months and it does seem harder now than before. I posted on this forum fairly regularly in the beginning, but now it just seems that I can't do anything but cry and try to fight the sick feeling in my stomach 24/7. There seems to be nothing to talk about because it doesn't change anything. I was just thinking the other night that if you'd have told me 6 months ago that I could live without Glenn for this length of time, I'd have said you were crazy. The longest we were ever apart in 33 years was for about 10 days and that was excruciating, but we talked on the phone every night. Then, on that horrible night in November, he just left and getting used to the idea that he's gone permanently is still so hard. Also, like you, I'm finding that family and friends are getting what I call the "roll their eyeballs look" the moment I mention Glenn's name. It's like I shouldn't talk about my life anymore because he's dead. As if my whole history was wiped clean when he died and I shouldn't talk about it. My God, my life didn't start on November 1, 2010! I'm finding this very difficult to deal with and can feel myself withdrawing. I know that's not good, but if people can't understand why an anecdote about my husband, said in the context of general conversation appears perfectly normal to me, then they can go pound salt. Now, I just tell people that I'm doing okay (if they ask, which isn't even happening much anymore) and even with my Mom and my good friends, I'm keeping close-mouthed. There was just Glenn and I for so many years and I guess it's going to stay just Glenn and I. I tell you these things so that you'll know that what you're going through is pretty normal, I'm afraid. I'm glad, though, that you have a job to get up and go to because it keeps you occupied and your brain functioning. I'm only 56, but am retired and although I try to keep busy, filling the long, lonely days is very difficult. The only way that you and I differ is that I don't for a moment believe that there's any purpose at all to this. The gods of fate simply pointed their fingers at my husband and me and said, "Let's mess with these folks" and there is no rhyme nor reason to any of it. I'm so sorry for what you're going through, Tina. I know that 7 weeks feels like an eternity to you, but you just have to continue doing what you're doing - one foot in front of the other, day in and day out. What other choice do any of us have?

I continue to have difficulty with the injustice, PopPop. We all know the value of being a good person and doing what's right, but it would be so easy to throw that all away and do what's easy. My Dad is ailing and I think I'm trying to rush my healing over the death of my husband in order to prepare myself for my Dad's death. I'm not sure whether that's a good idea or not, but I'm terrified of having to deal with my husband's and father's deaths in a short time-span. On top of that, there's only me to look after my Mom when that happens. So, as you can see, I'm already scared spitless about the possibility of what you've already experienced, so I can't imagine what you're going through. I guess I can only reiterate (for you and myself) to take it one day at a time. And, quite frankly, I don't believe that these horrors happen for a reason. They are simply the random vagaries of fate and that's the way I best deal with them. If I believed that they happen for a reason, I'd spend the rest of my life trying to figure out the reason, never come up with an answer and be doubly unhappy. Please hang in there. I know it's not much help, but it's the best I can do for now.

Please don't go away, Melina. I know it sucks. I know it's horrible and you probably just feel like hunkering down and dealing with your pain your own way. But, you know, someone like myself just three months into this horrow show, doesn't just need hope and optimism. We need to know what you're going through and we need to be able to talk to someone like yourself who is further down the road, and who can help guide us and whom we can learn from. I know that you probably don't feel one fig like teaching anybody anything right now, but please help us nourish each other. Hugs. Di

Nick, this is exactly how I feel. I have oodles of pictures of Glenn scattered around the house, but I look at them and they are so static. Don't get me wrong - I'm so grateful that I have so many photos of my darling man, but I'm afraid that I'll forget the expression he'd get on his face if he found something distasteful or the way his moustache would poke up when he was fiddling with it, or even just something like the shape of his fingers. He had such beautiful strong hands and it's that kind of thing that I'm so afraid of forgetting. I know that the look of his hands is not important in the big scheme of things, but it's part of who he was and I know that as time goes by, these things will start to fade and it terrifies me. I guess this just goes to show that I haven't yet moved past the stage of missing his physical presence and learning how to just accept that my memories, as fallible as they may be, are all that I have left. I don't want to accept that and am struggling with it. Thank you to all who responded.

My Glenn has been gone for almost 3 months now, and I've developed a fear of forgetting. I look at his photos and worry about forgetting how he fiddled with his moustache, how he walked, how he moved his hands when he was working. I don't want to forget a single thing, but it occurs to me that when people say "time heals", what they really means is that time fades our memories and I just can't bear that thought. I have a notoriously bad memory, anyway, and although the big picture of our life together will never fade, I'm so scared of losing the intimate memories that made him who he was. I know there's nothing I can do about this, but being afraid of it is becoming a concern. Have others had this same fear? Di

I am so sorry for this huge burden on you. I can't imagine your regret about your husband's lengthy hospital stay and the errors and/or ignorance of the medical system. What I can understand, though, is your feeling of a protracted anniversary. My Glenn was only in hospital for a week, but the day he was admitted and had his surgery was his birthday and I could only give him a card that morning. No birthday dinner, no birthday cake, no making him feel extra-special that day. Six days later, he was dead and his birthday is utterly ruined for me forevermore. I am dreading that week in October because although it was only a week, it will be a one-week anniversary as yours is a two-month anniversary. And, yes, you are very lucky to have that good friend. Hopefully, you can spend Sunday evening with few tears and much laughter and perhaps that will help you to get through the remaining weeks. I am so, so, sorry that you must go through this. I will be thinking of you and your husband on Sunday. Hugs. Di

No, no, Carol Ann, I understood exactly why you were angry with your manager. What I was trying to say (badly, by the looks of it), is that anybody that obtuse and insensitive is a moron and he may or may not have understand why you hung up on him, but he will incorporate that part of the conversation into the reason you can't come back fulltime. That was his reason for calling you in the first place and I would bet that all's he's thinking about is that an employee hung up on him. Given his attitude about you and Melissa, he's bound to think that you weren't justified in that action. I was just trying to caution you about that. Sorry.