Dimcl

The only consolation that I have in Glenn's death is that he died of heart fibrillation, not the cancer. Had he come home from hospital after his surgery, he would likely have had the "life-prolonging" chemo, blood transfusions, etc. He was already down to 120 pounds when he had the surgery, and I'm just so grateful that he didn't have to go through the psychological torment of seeing his life waste away, of worrying about me, of losing his dignity and his faculties. Some days, that thought is the only thing that keeps me sane. Lainey and mfh, when I read the stories of Lars and Bill, I realize how truly lucky I am that I didn't have to watch my darling man die that way and I'm so sorry that you had to go through that. Why is it considered humane and merciful to "put down" our pets, but that we must be less humane and merciful to people? There is no question that if I'm ever diagnosed with terminal cancer or some other incurable disease, I'll not be throwing myself on the mercy of doctors and hospitals. I think they do what they do just because they can.

How I envy you that your "firsts" are done, Deb. I've only accomplished Christmas and New Years and still have all the others to get through yet. I still haven't been able to get my mind wrapped around the fact that "normal" doesn't mean the same thing as it used to. When Glenn died 2 months ago, I tried to keep things as "normal" as possible and it's only in the last couple of weeks that I've started consciously understanding that the "normal" that I knew before isn't "normal" anymore. There's the "old normal" and the "new normal" and although I recognize that, it's not something that I'm really ready to accept yet. I feel like I'm in a kind of limbo where my old life and my new life aren't marrying up. I'm glad that your todays are better than your yesterdays, because that give those of us new to this journey a reason to keep on plodding.

Martina, not letting go of our loved ones things is an extremely common occurance. My Glenn still used an old-fashioned shaving brush until I bought him an electric razor for the hospital stay (he only used it three times and now what do I do with it?). The brush with the scent of his shaving cream is still in the medicine cabinet and when I smell it, the image of Glenn is so strong for a second that it's almost like I have my arms around his neck in a big hug. I do the same with his deodorant. The sense of smell seems to be very evocative and can almost break your heart at times. Until yesterday, I wore Glenn's old wristwatch that he'd had for 20 years. It finally stopped working for good about 2 months before he died, so he bought a new one. The new one means nothing to me, but I bought the old one for him years ago and he wore it forever. I've lost weight since Glenn's death, however, and the clasp had started to wear and I've been having problems keeping it on my wrist the last two months, so I put it away in his shaving kit this morning, along with his glasses, the pair of socks (unwashed) that he was wearing in the hospital, his pocket knife, etc. I know what you mean about wanting to keep anything that David wore. For me, it's shoes and slippers and gloves that are the hardest. Glenn's slippers are still sitting on the bedroom floor where he last took them off. They were moccasins and one leather lace was always coming undone and I'd point it out to him and tell him he should retie it because I didn't want him tripping on it and breaking his neck. That darned lace was untied when he last took those slippers off and they're sitting there, looking like he'll walk in and slip them on at any moment and I'll have to remind him to fix that lace. Please don't expect too much of yourself, Martina. You are very new to this experience and NOTHING you are talking about is the least bit crazy. I'm past 2 months into this journey now, and I'm finding that, if anything, it's getting worse instead of better. There are probably a lot of reasons for that (early darkness, lots of snow keeping me housebound and giving me cabin fever), but before this happened to me, I thought that "getting over" something like this was a slow progression. Since being on this site and now experiencing it for myself, I find that's not really the case, at least in the early times. It's a roller coaster and you never have any idea where the ups and downs are. I don't want to scare you with this news, but simply let you know that you might experience this. Please just keep coming back here as your first step. We want to hear about David and we want to help you as best we can and, in time, you'll be able to help us, too.

How lucky you were that you were with David when he died. And how lucky for David. My Glenn died all alone and that is something that I will regret until my dying day. He was getting better. He'd been in hospital for 5 days after surgery and when I left him on Sunday evening, we were talking about making arrangements with the doctor in the morning to have him come home. I got a phone call at 2:15 in the morning, telling me that he had died from heart failure. How I wish I had stayed! Glenn had never had anything wrong with his heart and his death came as a shock to everyone. How I wish he had been able to wait until I was with him the next morning! David sounds like a lovely man. A guy who loves animals and nature and knows about the constellations sounds like a terrific guy. And your comments about him teaching you things really hit home for me. There was a 22-year age difference between Glenn and I, and because he was so much older, he had oodles of life experience that I didn't have when we started out. He was a brilliant man and taught me so much. I don't know how long you two were together, Martina, but try and focus on the memories. It sounds trite, but focusing on the fears and regrets gets us nowhere. I've spent the last two months raging at the world, at the unfairness, at being 56 years old with no future in front of me, and I know that I'm only hurting myself. I think that all of us here have been through this anger and have realized that it's fruitless. And the reason that talking about David calms you is because you're telling us about your love. You're passing on who he was and that is very important to all of us. We need to be able to tell whoever will listen about our loves.

Martina, your loss is so fresh, so new, so raw, that right now you probably don't know what you need. Do you feel that a counsellor would help? If so, go see one. I thought about that when I lost Glenn a little over 2 months ago, but I'm a fairly well-read person and realized that there's probably nothing a counsellor could tell me that I can't read about and figure out on my own. It's an individual decision. I like to think that I'm fairly self-sufficient, so I choose to go through this without outside help. Except for this forum, of course. The folks here have been much more help than I could have believed possible. But, if you think a counsellor would help, by all means, you should do it. The pain doesn't really "ease up", Martina. It changes. And it changes from day to day. You develop coping strategies to get you through the days and some days, none of them work. I told myself early on that I wasn't going to feel sorry for myself, but realized fairly quickly that's just silly. I have every reason to feel sorry for myself, as do you. Now, when I'm having an especially hard day, I let it happen. I don't expect much of myself and I cry the tears I have to cry and I have my "pity party" and it helps. And, you know what? You won't likely be done with the tears for a long time. And they'll strike you at the oddest moments, moments that you're not expecting. Those moments have been the hardest for me. But, I get through them, each and every time. Please tell us about your fiance. Talking about our loved ones is something we can do, and none of us here on this board ever gets tired of listening. Please tell us about him and about your life together and about your plans and dreams. It my hurt like crazy while you're doing it, but you will also be reinforcing his life, and your lives together, in your mind. And believe it or not, it will very likely help.

Aside from my physical "aloneness" these past two months, I've begun to feel an intellectual loneliness, as well, and it's really starting to get to me. Glenn and I were always curious about the world. We'd watch all those shows on The Discovery Channel and we'd do research online and we'd talk Canadian and world politics and we were both very interested in all manner of things. Yesterday, I received our monthly National Geographic and found an article on the world's present and future population to be of interest. Glenn would have, too, and we would have discussed that article at length. When we'd meet friends at our local pub on a Friday night, they'd come in and the first thing they'd say would be "So, what are you two arguing about tonight?" We would be "passionately" arguing the pros and cons of some subject and people just knew that's what we did. And, much as we loved our family and friends, none of them were the least interested in that kind of thing. Now, when I read an interesting article or watch a documentary on the tube, I so desperately want to talk about it with someone and there's absolutely no one I can do that with. If I asked my family or friends what they think of the situation in sub-Saharan Africa or the state of the Russian Mafia, or the latest in stem-cell research, they'd look at me like I had three heads. My lonliness is not just physical - I'm afraid that I'll start losing interest in things outside of myself, because I've lost my intellectual partner. No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear - C.S. Lewis

Oh, I feel for you, wmjsca. It almost seems that the mundane, daily acts of living that we always breezed through previously are what causes the greatest difficulties now. I went to a dr.'s appointment this morning - no big deal - just a long-ago-scheduled checkup - and I didn't think much of it until I got home. Invariably, with such things, Glenn would have asked me "how it went" and then he would have said "Well, I'm glad to hear that you're going to be with me a while yet." Now, there's nobody to know about it, let alone care. Then I had to go out and shovel the driveway and sidewalks for the third time in less than 24 hours and although those two things seem relatively benign, they wrecked my day. I guess it was a "poor me" day, but the idea that my future holds nothing but extra work and nobody to care how my checkups go, really set me off. I've cried more today than I have in the last three and I feel like you. I don't have a youngster to take care of, though, and that must be hugely difficult for you. It might be a blessing, though, because you have to plow on, for his sake. Except for the little guy, I know exactly how you feel and I just want to say how sorry I am. Di

You and Melissa are my inspiration. How brave you are! Di

I am happy that you're in a place where you can celebrate that day in some way, Laurie. Unfortunately, my Glenn's very sudden diagnosis of cancer precipitated surgery that just happened to fall on his birthday. He turned 79 the day of surgery and died 5 days later. I know that when 26 October rolls around this year, the only memory I will have is of my husband, in tears because I wished him a happy birthday just prior, being rolled off to surgery that was pointless and that contributed to his death. I guess I'm a "glass half-empty" kind of person.

Steven, I loved the proverb. And, yes, you're right - I guess I do believe that perception is everything. I am quite analytical and "scientific-minded" and always want to know the "why" of things, but when I saw so many people here who believe that they have received signs, I had to ask the question. I'm also interested in why the brain reacts as it does. A short story... back in the days of the dinosaurs, when I was about 20 (before Glenn), I had that whole "first love" experience. I was devastated when we broke up (little did I know!), but I dreamt about him for about 2 years afterward. It's been a little over 2 months since Glenn died, and I'm upset that I haven't dreamt about him once. I know that there's a small bit of my brain that hasn't accepted what's happened, and because of the circumstances of his death, I am left wondering why it happened at all (an answer I will never have), and I'm thinking that perhaps I haven't dreamt of him for that reason. Maybe when I fully accept what's happened, I will, but it almost feels like a betrayal. I adored that man and I want so desperately to at least see him again in my dreams, but haven't been able to. This whole journey is so frustrating and confusing and I know that I will likely never find the answers, but I have to keep trying. It'll either cure me or kill me.

Martina, I feel so badly for you. I'm just past the two-month mark and I still wonder if I'm going crazy at times. Glenn and I were together for 33 years and I still have a hard time believing that this has happened. In times of such stress, your brain can play big tricks on you. The people on this forum have been very kind and supportive, though, and have assured me that nothing is crazy so long as it doesn't hurt you or anyone else. You have to use whatever works for you to cope. We all know about the anger at your loved one, at the world, at everything and everybody. This is quite normal. You lash out at everything, because you need someone to blame for your grief and loss. Please come back and tell us about yourself and your fiance. Talking always helps. Di

Carol Ann, please just know that when you walk into that room and give your impact statement, we here will all be thinking of you and hoping against hope that this vile creature stays where he is. From what I now know of your story, I can't believe that anybody could be as strong as you are. I know that we often put on a mask for the outside world, but what you and Melissa endured, and what you've come through since her death, proves that your strength isn't a false cloak. My heart goes out to you. Di

I've had what I call a "brain problem" in the 2 months since Glenn died. I know that this awful, horrible, thing has happened. I know all the gory details, right down to obtaining a copy of the hospital records setting out what happened the night he died. 99% of my brain recognizes this and accepts it. There's 1% of my brain, however, that keeps saying "This isn't real", "This can't be true", "This is a nightmare that I'll wake up from". I find myself standing in the middle of a room, shaking my head and saying to myself, "This isn't true, this didn't happen". Tonight, I was speaking with a family member who said that part of my frustration is that I seem to be fighting with myself, and I had to acknowledge that this is true. Then, later in the conversation, he asked me if I had changed anything in the house. When I asked what he meant, he said, "Have you moved any of Glenn's things?". I admitted that I hadn't, and he asked "Why?". My answer was that if I did, things wouldn't seem "normal". He didn't pursue it, but after I hung up, I got thinking that perhaps seeing Glenn's glasses on his nightstand, seeing his slippers on the floor, seeing his shoes under the bench in the entry, seeing his coats in the closet, is what's keeping that 1% of my brain from acknowledging his death. To be honest, I think I'd feel guilty, I'd feel like I'm betraying my darling man, but I know that's an illogical emotion, and I really wonder if just slowly putting things away (I certainly wouldn't get rid of anything at this juncture), would help me get past that little bit of denial. My question is this: Has anyone else experienced this aspect of denial and, if so, did it go away upon putting your loved ones things away? Did you feel guilty? Was it terribly difficult? How long did you wait to do this? Any advice is most appreciated, because I want to be sure of myself before I make a decision. Thanks to you all.

wmjsca, I think it's great that you're already in a place where you can change Clint's photo on your Facebook page. Your Clint has only been gone slightly longer than my Glenn and I haven't reached the stage where I could do that, yet. This issue of others' expectations has recently been discussed in another thread. My brother phoned me last evening and when I said I wasn't doing well, he said, "What's the matter?"! I wanted to throttle him and say, "When your wife dies, you tell me how you're doing two months later, especially if it's on New Year's Eve!" I think I've given up on guessing what my time frame should be. But, I've also given up on expecting leopards to change their spots. People are uncomfortable around us, and as we've all discovered, notwithstanding that we're the ones suffering, it's also up to us to be the ones to make sure that others don't feel uncomfortable. Unfair, but that's the way it is. I intend to just carry on and if someone I know needs a reality check, I'll be sure to tell them exactly what I think. And I won't be shy about it, either.

I've found myself falling prey to these feelings and thoughts, too, redwind, but I honestly think that I'm feeling the pressure from society about this. Glenn and I were together for 33 years. How I progress is a totally unknown factor. I've always prided myself on being logical, pragmatic, and objective, but that's not how I feel now. Problem is that my family, friends, and acquaintances don't know the "new" me. They only know the "old Di" and I think she's going away, at least for a while. I think my frustration with myself comes from other people expecting me to be "better" (than what, I say), but also from my confusion at my reactions. I've come to realize, though, that this is a road I've never been on before. I have no idea what the terrain is, how many twists and turns the road has, or where it'll end up. I guess I'm learning to expect to get lost once or twice. Please don't be too hard on yourself. Di

Dearest Goldsunshine897, my heart goes out to you. My Glenn was diagnosed in September and left me on 1 November, so I'm not long into this journey either. We were together for 33 years (and I'm only 56 now)and he was the absolute love of my life. I adored that man and in the past 2 months, I've found my life changing in ways that would have never occured to me. We used to eat out a lot - not anymore. We used to love going to movies - not anymore. We loved taking road trips - not anymore. I don't mean to be a downer, dear Goldsunshine897, but you will discover all of this and more in your trip down this road. I, too, didn't cry much at the beginning. In fact, even after 2 months, when I do cry (and it's often now), I don't cry for long. I'm not a big fan of crying because it seems like a lot of pain for little gain, but it sneaks up on me at the most unexpected times. I think I'm still in some form of shock. God knows that I know what's happened. My emotions and most of my brain knows this has happened. But even now, when I look at Glenn's pictures, a tiny part of my brain still doesn't really believe that it's happened. It's too senseless, too random, to be easily absorbed. Please tell us something about your boyfriend. Please tell us about your life together. Believe it or not, although you may shed tears, talking about him and about your life together will help. And we here will listen for as long as it takes. And something that might help... many of us here either keep a journal or write letters to our loved ones. I found journalling to be too self-centred, but I write long chatty, newsy letters to my darling man. I tell him how horrible I feel. I tell him how angry I am. I tell him that he's the only one who will listen to me. If he were alive today, he would have listened until his ears fell off if I needed him to. So, those are a couple of coping strategies you might want to try if you need them. Please keep coming back and talking. Hugs. Di

It's beautiful, mfh. It really does say it all, doesn't it? Di

My brother called tonight, and that was nice of him, but when he asked how I was and I said "not good", he said "What's the matter?" God, he was here to help me the day Glenn died, but two months later, on New Year's Eve, he asks what the matter is? When I said, "Well, it's New Year's Eve and I'm doing lousy", he said "Well, why don't you call me tomorrow?", and that was the end of that conversation. It's responses like that that make me want to lie to everybody so as not to feel the tension and awkwardness from other people.

I read Ron and your story, Sue, and I must say that your Ron has a lovely face. I'm so sorry that his death was so sudden. My Glenn was diagnosed with cancer in September and died of heart fibrillation on November 1st, so his death was very sudden, too. He'd never been sick in the 33 years that we'd been together and so, I think I'm still in shock. For whatever reason, Glenn had a fear of having his body "mutilated" after death (he died in hospital, so no autopsy was required), so organ donation was out of the question. Your and Ron's story has made me think more seriously about it, though. Thank you.

mfh, I am only 2 months into this and am already experiencing what you're talking about. Fortunately, my parents are still alive, so I spent Christmas with them. They were very good and pretty-much left me to my own devices while I was with them, but at one point, my mother made the mistake of asking me if "I was feeling better". An innocuous comment, perhaps, but I said "Feeling better than what? Feeling better than I did 7 weeks ago, 4 weeks ago, yesterday?" She's never gone through this and doesn't understand that it took a month just for the shock to wear off (and I'm not certain that it has yet, to be honest), so I found the question irritating. I told her that if she wants to know how I'm doing, she should ask, but to ask me if I'm "feeling better" implies to me that that's what she wants to hear - that I am feeling better. I'm not one to publicly display emotion, so everybody thinks that I'm doing pretty well, "considering". I know it's partly my fault that I'm not honest with people, but I've already gotten the impression that people are no longer interested, so I deceive them. What else can I do when I'm convinced that they really don't want to know, but are simply asking to be polite? Tonight will be especially hard as Glenn and I always stayed up until at least midnight to bring in the new year. Glenn was a morning person, so he was usually in bed by 10:30 or 11:00, but he always stayed up with me New Year's Eve. Tonight, I'll likely be in bed by 11:00, as seeing in the new year alone will be too painful. I've spent much of today writing my letters to my darling man, and it's helped. He would be the only person in the world who would hear me out and who would patiently listen and who would try to help, so while I put pen to paper, I feel a connection because I know he'd be listening if he were here. God, I miss him terribly and still can't believe that this has happened. Di

Oh, I can so relate. I got up this morning and started another letter to my darling Glenn, and told him that I didn't know whether to be happy that this horrible year in our lives is over or sad that he and I will never have any other years together. That is the scariest thing in the world to me. How could the vast majority of my life just be gone in 2010 and yet, the world goes on spinning and I have no say in the matter? My love has only been gone since November 1st, so I haven't been through all those "firsts" yet and to think that I must do them in a new year that Glenn will never see breaks my heart. He promised me for years that he'd live to be 95 and he was only 79 (the day of his surgery) when he died. Although we were 22 years apart in age, I figured I'd be in my 70s when he left me, but here I am, 56 years old, with a new year staring me in the face, and the thought of all those new years to come without Glenn just fills me with such sadness.

Hello all. I've noticed in the last few days that there are posts from those of us who believe that they've received a sign from their loved ones or who feel some kind of connection that others don't feel. Is this a matter of belief in a higher power? As I think I've said on this forum before, neither Glenn nor I believed in anything after death. Yet, I write my darling man letters every day and somehow feel closer to him for it. I have not, however, received any "signs" or am able to feel any "connection" other than the one I feel in my brain, in my memories. I don't intend to make this a discussion about religion, but I wonder if those who feel that connection or see those signs, do believe in an afterlife. I just ask this question to clarify, for those of us who don't "believe", whether there is something we're missing that we're not looking for. Personally, I am desperate to see some sign, but I wonder if my lack of belief in an afterlife is the difference.

I wish to thank all of you who've been here for me over the past couple of months. I hope you all have as happy a Christmas as you can. I will be playing old videotapes of Glenn and I in Christmases past and am very thankful that I have the ability to see my darling man walking and talking and laughing and goofing around for the camera. I know that many people don't even have that, and it is my Christmas consolation. May all of you find your small comforts. Thank you again for all of your kindness and support.

Carol Ann, I'm so sorry that I was feeling so very self-centred last night when I mentioned the fact that it's been 7 years since you lost Melissa and that you're still here. I read your reply and am horrified with myself that I didn't think about anyone but myself when I wrote that last night. I am so sorry for what you've been through. It makes my situation seem paltry by comparison and I am ashamed of myself. Thank you for giving me a wake-up call and a different perspective. You must be an incredibly strong woman, and if you can go through the nightmare you've been through, I guess I can get through losing my love. Thank you for sharing your story with me. How you can be so strong is a mystery, but you've given me an incentive to feel less sorry for myself. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Thank you for your replies, but quite honestly, I don't know how I'm going to go on with this day in, day out, week in, week out. The really depressing part for us "newbies" on this site is to realize that so many people are going through the same thing months and years after their loved one's death. I look down the road and wonder how my psyche is going to be able to handle this. I've lost 10 pounds since my Glenn died and I'm losing tons of hair (stress, I presume) and my heart hurts so badly that it's an actual physical pain. The lump in my chest never goes away and my sleep patterns are all screwed up and sometimes I just wish I could die. I don't want to go through anymore of this and it's been less than two months! God, I used to be such a strong person. Now, I feel weak and helpless and totally out of control. If Christmas weren't the reason for my despair, it would be something else. I write letters to my sweetie, and I just wrote that thought this morning. I told him that once Christmas is through, it'll be New Year's Eve, then it'll be my birthday, then our anniversary, then his birthday (which has been forever spoiled as the day he had his surgery). It'll be the day I sell his car, or the day I try to get the lawnmower started, or the next snowfall when I have to shovel the driveway. There can never be any respite, any relief from this endless, endless pain. And to hear so many people who are so much further down the road than I am, talk about how this goes on and on, is so disheartening. Posters like Sunstreet are so kind and encouraging, but to know that she's still here after 7 years makes me feel so hopeless. Glenn was my heart for 33 years. He was my soulmate, my destiny, and I'm only 56 years old and my life feels like it has ended. How can I possibly go on for years with this pain? How can I function without my darling man? Oh, I do function but only because there's no choice. I've lost interest in everything and wander the house aimlessly and write and write and write letters to Glenn because that's the only thing I want to do now. Maybe I'm becoming delusional, but when I'm writing, I can pretend he's "just away". I don't really believe it, of course, but you know, I wish I did. Forever thinking that he'll be back would be preferable to the truth. I'm alone and really don't care. It was always just Glenn and I and I want it to stay that way. I feel much better when I'm alone with just Glenn for company. When I'm with people, I feel naked. Oh, what's the use? It is what it is and all the tears and pain in the world won't bring him back to me. It's a crappy world and after going through the crap, you die. Yippee!!