nobodys sweetie

I've no doubt at all your emotions are up and down. You'll probably feel like a kicked anthill for some time yet. Yes. That seems to be common to most here. People care, but grief is debilitating. Sometimes it's hard to muster up a meaningful reply. The energy's just not there. I know with me, too, reading this forum makes me cry, and I never was much of a bawl-baby, so that's kind of disturbing. Thank you. The past few days have been good, and we've shared some laughs, so hey. Hang in there.

How are you doing today, Novi?

It's very humbling to read you-all's stories. It's so good to have a place where you can tell them. I know the people out in the "real world" don't hear these things. They don't want to, either. But it's so hard to be isolated, it almost feels like you're being punished for something when you're all alone with it.

Dave--they say you "can't take it with you". It almost sounds like Mike was taking it with him.

I'm sorry to hear that she's gone. The numbness will wear off, as others have noted, so no worries there. Be gentle with yourself, you're apt to find yourself doing odd things for awhile. You may find your shoes in the refrigerator and a sandwich in the closet. Your mother wasn't much older than I am. You're young to have to bear this. I hope your brother and you can be comforts to one another.

Bless you for being there for your mother. I know exactly what you mean about friends. And I know exactly what you mean about anger, though you've moved past that now. Please don't feel you've betrayed your mother--she had said she wanted to be comfortable, you've done what you could to assure that. You're looking out for her. You're doing the right thing.

And now the well pump has burnt out. Hahahahaha. Did you guys have that kind of stuff happen when you were going through it? It's like everything decides to go wrong when you're least able to deal with it. It's enough to make you paranoid.

Thank you, and please accept my apologies. I seem to have developed some "abandonment issues" over the past several months. ;-) It's very hard for me to write these things to people I don't know, but I have so badly needed someone to talk to who will understand what I'm going through. There's nobody like that where I am. When I came back yesterday to see that no one had replied, I burst into tears. Which isn't like me at all. Anyway, thank you again. No doubt I'll be posting more.

Wow, folks. Thanks for the warm, understanding welcome. I'm overwhelmed. You must be related to my inlaws. An online friend suggested I find a grief support group since I don't have anyone to talk to in my real life, but it looks like I'm going to have to keep searching. Thanks a whole hell of a lot. What, 18 views? How hard is it to spell "Welcome"? I guess if they're not actually dead yet, you don't rate, it doesn't count. It's not painful because they're still here. That's great to know. That helps a lot. I feel ever so much better.

Hello, I'm soon to be a member of the club nobody wants to join. My husband was diagnosed with end-stage liver disease in June of this year. The doctor told me that while he expects Joe to last six months, he doesn't expect him to last twelve. In the meantime, my 93-yr-old mother who lives with us has the beginnings of congestive heart failure. In my lighter moments, I reflect that it may be a race to the finish between those two. I am sole caregiver to both. While his cousins and several aunts have been helpful and wonderful to us, his mother and siblings have been awful. They do not call, will only visit when specifically asked, and one brother even lives right next door and goes a mile out of his way to see their mother every morning while ignoring his brother. Fortunately, in this instance, Joe doesn't know he's terminal. I do, though, and find their behavior both inexplicable and inexcusable. I haven't told Joe because in the 30 years I've known him, he's never been able to countenance the idea of his own mortality. He has struggled and made great strides since his six weeks' hospitalization last summer. I feel that if he knows, he'll give up and die faster. And be frightened and miserable during. He doesn't deserve that. He knows he coded in June and that his health is precarious. That's enough. I had always considered his family my family, but after seeing the way they've treated him (and treated me, too), I am no longer able to do so. His mother even ran into his best friend from high school who was making his first visit "back home" in three years, and didn't say a word to him about Joe's condition. It's bad enough she won't visit, but she's also effectively running off those who would, isolating us further. I emailed him after I heard about that, and he said that had he known, he would have come right out. Now he probably won't see him before the funeral, if then. This time of year is hard, not because of the impending holidays, but because we'd travel in October and November for a couple of large book sales, making a journey and a fun day of it, and this year I've realized we've already done that for the last time. It is hard to see how thin and wasted he's become. It's hard to see his once-fine mind (near-to-genius IQ) and quick wit corroded and dulled by disease. It's hard to bear when his genial nature and wonderful sense of humor are overwhelmed by toxins and turned into irritability and paranoia. He's been my best and primary friend for 30 years, and he's going away. My mother and I aren't especially close--neither she nor my father particularly wanted kids, but that makes things with her both easier and harder. It's hard to have to fight the medical establishment (treatment so bad that I had to send a letter of complaint to the Board of Medical Licensure), Social Security, his family, and, when both he and Mom are out of touch with reality, my own household. Not only that, but the power company had tree trimmers come out and clear 20' either side of the power line on this road. While they told me they were only trimming some poplars and "brush", they took out most of my dwarf fruit trees, and left all the debris lay, so if I still have the energy, I get to fight them too. All those in my immediate life who loved me are leaving, and are taking the person I was in relation to them with them. Everything in my world is disappearing except for bills. Any more, I feel like the slow antelope in the herd, with the lions converging, and have no one in my life I can talk to. So here I am.