Dimcl

I'm glad that you're taking your little fellow to a support group. Children are strange little creatures and because they really don't understand death, they often think that they've been deserted. It's an easy leap from that to thinking that they are somehow responsible. It makes no sense to us as adults, but children almost invariably think that bad things happening are their fault. Gently feel him out about that and make sure that he understands that he had nothing to do with it. I can almost guarantee that in the back of his mind, he thinks that maybe something he did or something he said caused all this grief. In another thread, look how many of us have posted about guilty feelings we have. If we, as adults, can feel this way, knowing that we are being hard on ourselves, imagine how a child feels, without the reasoning abilities to get past it. I hope that the counselling will help, but the assurance, coming from you, that he is entirely blameless, will do wonders for him. Let him be mad at Clint and don't try too hard to deflect that (unless he starts to get violent). We here all know that well-meaning friends trying to deflect our emotions are irritating as h*ll. Same goes for the little ones, too. Di

If he was anything like my Glenn, he probably said he would be fine and that going to the hospital wasn't necessary. I hate to generalize, but I think it's a "guy thing". In my experience, most men seem to think that they're going to live forever, and getting them to a doctor is like pulling teeth. I knew that there was something wrong with Glenn (weight loss, loss of appetite, and more), but by the time he admitted that something "might" be wrong, it was too late. What I guess I'm trying to say is that they make their choices, too. I know that I'll carry the guilt that I started this thread on for the rest of my life, but Glenn also had a hand in it, so I try not to be too hard on myself. Di

Because my parents disowned me when I got together with Glenn wayyyyy back in 1977, and his kids were scattered across the country, we always just celebrated Christmas alone. I always set up the linen tablecloth, candles, crystal, cooked a bird (Glenn always loved my stuffing), did all the trimmings. This year I won't be sending out cards, hope I don't receive many and can't imagine putting up a tree or cooking at all, for that matter. I don't know how I'll spend the day, but I'm not looking forward to it, I can tell you. Tea and toast, anyone?

I'm already worried about Glenn's tools and it's been less than two weeks for me. Glenn was always happiest when working with his hands and he has more tools than Home Depot! My brother will get a handful of the power tools but Glenn's sons would only sell them for what they could get (which wouldn't be much) and I don't have a clue what to do with the hundreds of hand tools. Some of them are as old as I am, so giving them to a school or selling them at a garage sale isn't the answer. You can't recycle tools or put them in the landfill. Anyone know what to do with old tools?

Oh, Rain, it's so good to hear of the similarities in our stories! I was 22 and Glenn was 44 and, as you say, people can be far to "wink, wink, nudge, nudge" at a pairing like that. In fact, my parents disowned me for about 10 years. No birthday cards, no Christmas cards, nothing. I tried to mend the relationship, to no avail, and when I'd finally had enough, I decided that they could go to h*ll. My darling Glenn kept discouraging me from that. He always said that family was the most important thing. My folks sucked it up and finally got to know Glenn and see how much he loved me. Since neither of us wanted children, it was just us - a team of two who went everywhere together and did everything together. Our friends always commented on our apparent love and respect for each other. Don't get me wrong - we could have some whopper arguments, but they were rarely personal. We both had interests in history, politics, etc. and could have some wonderful "discussions". Since we were both strong-willed and competitive, people who didn't know us often thought we were arguing, but it was just the way we were with each other. We loved debating (and proving each other wrong, if possible). We, too, had a date night - Fridays. Last night, I cried and cried because not being out with Glenn on a Friday night is so foreign. I am so sorry that you're in despair tonight. The last couple of days has been really awful for me, too. I guess that the shock part of his death is starting to wear off (it's been less than 2 weeks) and if this is what it's like, I'd rather stay in shock. Thanks for telling me about you and your hubby, Rain. It's comforting to talk to someone who also had that age difference with a man who was younger than his years, vital, strong and loving. Please tell me more.

Melina, given Glenn's and my 22 year age difference, we both knew this was almost an inevitability, but he was always so healthy until the last 6 months! In our 33 years together, the only health problem Glenn had was a brief bout of sciatica. Then this. He always said that he was going to live to 95 and he was such a determined guy, I guess I began to believe him. I guess I am lucky that we had as long together as we did and I'm ever so thankful that it was his heart and not the cancer that killed him. To see my strong, capable man deteriorate over the last 6 months was hard but it would have been infinitely worse to see him deteriorate even more if he had come home. I guess I should be grateful for small mercies. I'm sorry that your husband was only 62, but envy you your sons.

I've told nobody this, but it's something I absolutely have to get off my chest. Even if nobody reads this, I need to see it in black and white. Two days before Glenn died, I was at the hospital, sitting on his bed, talking to him. He was still hooked up to the I.V. You have to know that my husband was not a talker. He had difficulty saying what he wanted and was very stoical. He looked at me and said, "Are you tired?" and I said, "Yes, Sweetie, I'm exhausted." He said, "Well, why don't you lay down?" and I said, "I'm afraid of hurting you.". He said "You won't hurt me", and I DIDN'T DO IT! I don't know why. When I look back at it now, I realize that he was asking me to do it, but I was so stupid, that I didn't pick up on it. I was afraid of hurting him, but I think I was also concerned about what the nursing staff would think if they came in and saw me lying with him in the hospital bed. God, I feel so freaking rotten about this. The last time I put my arms around my husband was the morning of his surgery on 26 October and I had the opportunity to comfort him and myself and I didn't take it, and I can't stand the guilt. He died on 1 November, all alone, and I can't stand the thought that he couldn't bring himself to tell me plainly that's what he wanted and that I was too blind to read the clues. I am going to have this guilt for the rest of my life and it's eating me alive.

It's too soon for me to have bored my friends yet (I hope!), but I tend to hold back, to not want to bother them with my grief. I know that they would willingly listen and sympathize, but I just can't seem to unburden myself. It's been less than 2 weeks and it even hurts just to look at Glenn's car. He had a junky old 1995 Ford Escort hatchback that he only used to haul trash to the dump or to run errands around town (we always took my car when going anywhere together), but I have only been able to go into the glove compartment to remove his insurance papers. The idea of cleaning that car out just gives me the horrors. Glenn and I had one of those routines, too. Whenever one of us drove away, the other always stood in the window and waved. It was almost a superstition, like if we didn't do it, something bad would happen. Now, when I go out, I still wave when I drive away. Glenn's car wouldn't fetch $400.00 if I tried to sell it, but I haven't had the gumption to cancel his insurance and license. I guess I'll just have the car junked when it comes time, but the very thought leaves me stricken. He loved that old beater. I tried for years to get him to buy a new car but he always said that since we went everywhere "important" in my car, there was no point. I guess I just think that my friends wouldn't understand, so I don't tell them this kind of thing. Part of the problem is that all of my friends think of me as strong and they look to me for that. I guess that crying on their shoulders would be a big disillusionment. I'm sorry that it was a rough day for you. I can't imagine what you went through. I guess I still have to find out.

wmjsca, You don't need to pack his things right now. I haven't touched a thing of Glenn's... it gives me a sense of "normalcy". That first day, a week and a half ago, a good friend came to be with me and I happened to mention how it was the small things that upset me - his shoes in the hall, his keys on the kitchen table. She meant well, but while my back was turned, she put his shoes away. I didn't flip my lid, but when I saw they were gone, I simply asked where they were and put them back where they BELONGED. Glenn's antiperspirant is still in the medicine cabinet and I smell it every morning when I get up because when he was alive, he'd give me a hug in the morning (along with my cup of tea)and that was part of his smell. His slippers are on the floor in the bedroom exactly where he took them off that morning before we went to the hospital for his surgery. The way I plan to deal with it at some point is to simply move them. Just a little, but to change "normal" gradually. I don't think there are any timelines and to heck with it if there is. I don't know your grief, wmjsca, as you don't know mine, but I don't think life has a master plan. What we like to think "supposed to" means is just a joke. I think the fates get a kick out of knocking us nilly willy and then seeing what happens. I can only put on my most pugnacious attitude and say "To hell with you". I don't think I could function otherwise. It's not fair, it's not right. I'm 56 with (hopefully) many more years in front of me. You're 52. What do we do with our lives? I could wallow in self-pity, but Glenn would be very disappointed in me. I could cry at every obstacle and challenge, but Glenn would just encourage me to work it through. It sounds like your Clint was much the same. I believe in the old adage, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger". Please give that little fellow of yours a hug for me. How is he dealing with Clint's death? Is he okay? Children often internalize their feelings and your emotional state will effect him greatly. My heart goes out to you. Di

I'm very glad that you had those 6 wonderful years, wmjsca. As everyone else has noted, when you find "the one", you wouldn't trade any of it. I like your use of the word "taught". Clint taught you that there was another way to have a relationship and that is a very valuable lesson. Before my Glenn went into hospital, we talked and I told him that one of the things that I loved so much about him was that he had taught me so much. He was much less volatile than I and taught me more patience. He was less ready to fight and taught me more tolerance. He was such a hard worker and could do anything he set his mind to, and he taught me the value of persistence. One of his best lessons to me over the 33 years we were together was to teach me the value of moving on. Because of our age difference, his parents and brother died years ago and he dealt with it and moved on. When we left the city we'd been living in for 26 years (because I wanted to), he dealt with the fact that he loved our home there so much, yet he moved on to our new home here. He worked his butt off doing renovations and making it a loving home for us. He just moved on. That's the one thing I keep in the back of my mind - Glenn had dealt with many sadnesses and disappointments in his life (some caused by me)and still, he moved on. This gives me strength when I'm down. Take solace in having your youngster to look after. I sometimes wish that I had someone more than myself to look after. No kids, no pets, just me and the memories. I truly hope that your therapist is wrong. You know more now than you did before you met Clint. I'm sure that you're stronger for having had him in your life. Make a point of proving him wrong.

Not much of a coincidence, KayC. November 11, 1918, was the day WW1 ended, so it's natural that we share the same day. Di

How long were you and Clint together? I'm so sorry for how you're feeling. I guess I'm lucky... I'm still numb because Glenn's been gone less than 2 weeks. I can't imagine how much worse it will get, but I know it will. I'll be presumptuous, because I don't know you, and say that you're not alone, if only because of your child. How old is your boy? Please tell me about him. That young person needs you and I know that sometimes, being needed also seems a burden, but please talk it out with us. Di

My husband spent 27 years in the Canadian Military and today being Remembrance Day in Canada, it's an especially bad day for me. Glenn and I always attended a service at the local cenotaph and last year, for the first time, he put his medals on and wore them proudly. I should explain that although Glenn was very proud of his service, we in Canada aren't as outwardly "patriotic" as the US seems to be. We have what I like to call a "quiet pride". As a result, Glenn and I always made the effort to honour the fallen, but last year when I asked him why he decided to wear his medals, he said "It's just the right time." Of course, today I couldn't bear to attend a service so I sat at home and watched the service at the National Cenotaph in Ottawa on TV, crying and clutching my husband's medals. It seems an apt name for those of us here, doesn't it? "Remembrance Day".

I think you're being very kind by using the word "inconsiderate". The only way I could think of such insensitive people is "What goes around, comes around". One day, they'll learn. Di

I can't help thinking that I am facing a world of hurt for the rest of my life. Knowing that some of you are still hurting so badly after years is very scary, indeed. Glenn has only been gone for a week and a half and I already feel like I'm a shadow. I wander around the house aimlessly, no ambition to do housework, see people, involve myself in anything. Now I find out that this could go on for the rest of my life and I'm only 56...

I am wearing Glenn's wedding ring on a chain around my neck, but am I nuts in thinking of buying a piece of cremation jewellery? I've no plans for his ashes yet but the container is sitting down on his workbench in his workshop and I'm thinking of buying something to hold a small amount of ashes to wear around my neck. Is this totally bizarre?

I've started talking to my darling Glenn, but I do feel silly about it. All of my friends have been very kind and have promised that I can call anytime, but I don't want to burden them with my problems. I have found it very difficult to be out among people. Speaking to the clerk at the grocery store or dealing with the lady at the post office is just such a strain. It's like I have absolutely nothing in common with them and normal day to day activities are just so much effort. I talk to Glenn in my head all the time but do sometimes talk out loud. Of course, it's only been a week and a half since my love left me, so I really don't know what on earth I'm doing. T.V. and radio help some but I don't think there's any answer to this.

I'm not sure if I'm cuckoo or not, but have any of you folks found yourselves setting photos of your loved ones out and about the house? I've put pictures in all of the places where Glenn would normally sit - on the chesterfield, downstairs in our family room, propped up at the dining room table. Is this weird or what? It gives me some comfort to walk into a room and "see" him right where he always was in that room, but I'm wondering if I'm turning into a nutjob.

Thank you for your replies. I guess I'm finding out that there is no "right" or "wrong" way to get through this. I just am so confused. For an hour or two, I'll feel "normal" and then some tiny thing will flip me over the edge. I'm not much of a cryer, so haven't put my head down and bawled yet. I think I'm afraid that if I start, I'll never stop. I'm trying to keep busy with the paperwork required when something like this happens and I've found more chores to do around the house than I ever knew existed. Spent an hour today rolling coins, of all things! Talk about desperate... Thank you for your kindness. I'm not sure whether being here will help, but it sure can't hurt, right?

Hello. I find it odd that I'm here at all, but feel the need to talk to people who have been or are going through the same things I am. My husband of 33 years died less than a week ago and I'm devastated, but feel like I'm in some kind of "Twilight Zone". Sometimes I think I'm handling it as well as can be expected and others, I feel like I'm falling apart. My husband and I had a "May/December" relationship. He was 22 years older than I, but it worked so well. We had no children together (both our choice), so we were a team of two. We were so compatible, it was spooky. He had always looked 10 years younger than his chronological age and was never sick a day in our life together. About a year ago, he started losing weight but, being a typical man, refused to go to the doctor. By the time my nagging and foot-stamping got him there, it was too late. He had surgery for bowel cancer, but that's not what took him. He survived the surgery and we were talking about getting him home from hospital in a day or two when he died in his sleep from heart failure. I only wish I'd been there... I guess I should be grateful that he did go that way because if he had come home, the next steps would have been blood transfusions and drug therapy to keep him alive for a paltry few months. I'm glad he didn't have any more suffering but he'd never had a heart problem in his life so death by heart failure was such a shock. He just didn't have enough reserves of strength and his heart gave out. I guess I just joined this site to be able to talk about my darling man. We don't have a lot of friends in the town we live in and although friends and family have been great on the phone, it's not the same as having someone to chat with over coffee or whatever. I guess my husbands death is too recent for me to help anyone else with their grief. I just wanted to say that I'm only beginning to understand what some of you are going through and, as time goes by, I'm sure this will be quite the learning experience. Because of our age difference, I always knew this day would come but Glenn always said he'd live to be 95 and he was such a determined, strong man, that I actually started to believe him. Unfortunately, he turned 79 on the day of his surgery and only lived another 6 days. One of the rare things he was wrong about...