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Panos

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  1. Anne, Your post roused such familiar feelings for me. My wife has been gone for a almost two years and as you say, the sad feelings that we are all trying to cope with seem to reach crescendos on occasions like our lost loved ones' birthdays, our wedding anniversaries and, of course, Christmas. This second year for me has indeed been as difficult as the first; and maybe, in some ways, a bit worse. For me, it has been the realisation that the sadness and other emotions aren't waning, that I miss my wife more than ever. There is now a stark realisation that all the wonderful times, the love we once shared, are now buried in the past and that it will always be this way. Trying to remember the wonderful moments are fraught with agony. The dichotomy of how it used to be versus the way it is now only seems to underline the sadness and the loneliness. I've come to dread all those 'special' days and holidays and sometimes wish I could just sleep through them and wake up after the fact. Anyway, thanks for your post. Peter
  2. Harry and Melina, Both of your posts have touched on similar thoughts I've also been struggling with - quite a lot lately, actually. My beloved wife has been gone for almost a year and half now. Once she passed away, I at first struggled to overcome the enormous grief I felt over losing her. I am still grieving her loss, though the grief, a year and a half later, is not as 'raw' as it was at first. Over time, the feeling of sheer grief has had another dimension overlayed over top of it - the sense of utter loneliness and, too, desperation. Yes, so deep are those feelings that I have also wondered if I can go on living with this gnawing pain that plagues, it seems, my every waking moment, whether suicide would not, in fact, be better than living this way? Of course I haven't seriously considered acting on such thoughts - I could never be that insensitive to the effect on my other family members such a selfish action would have. Recently, I took an early retirement from a very stressful and demanding IT job because I found that I could no longer deal with the pressures of my work whilst I was a complete shambles on the inside. I've had a couple of months now to ponder more, sans the distractions of a working life, what I intend to do from now on and also to consider the question whether I shall always feel the way I am feeling currently, whether the grief, loneliness and despair will ever abate, whether there is some way to diffuse the emotionally wrought state of mind I seem to be afflicted with. I asked myself too, whether I would ever want to enter into another relationship; and if so, what would that possibly look like, what sorts of things, feelings, attachments I might, hypothetically form were it to ever come about? I tried to ask these things of myself in an honest, frank manner; and I tried also to consider why, in the first place, I would even be wondering about the possibility of entering another realtionship. These latter thoughts are new for me. Previously, there was no question in my mind whatsoever about forming a relationship with another woman. Last December, for example, I was approached at work by a nice, attractive woman who worked in the same building as me and who had taken an interest in me and, I assume, was attracted to me. She offered to go out for a 'drink' some time after work. I had casually made her acquaintance long prior to this incident because, of all things, I took up smoking again once my wife passed away. I happened to meet this other person - a smoker as well - during smoke breaks outside of our building. We often chatted during these breaks and, in time, she learned of the fact my wife had passed away. Anyway, when her offer was made, I knew immediately that I wanted no part of it. At that stage, it was completely out of the question. The issue was very plain: I was still deeply in love with my deceased wife, there could never be anyone else that could ever replace her and I would never even entertain the idea of betraying the love that I still had for my wife. Needless to say, I declined this co-tennant's offer, explaining as politely as I could that I was not ready for a relationship. I actually still am not; and I am almost certain I never will be. I think my feelings for my late wife, my love for her, will always prevent me from it. However, I don't profess that I have, as yet, answered all of these questions or completey understood why my mind is even pondering about relationships at all. But I have come to suspect that my even asking myself these questions is the manner in which my mind is trying to escape from dealing with my grief and my feelings of despair and loneliness. In other words, I am saying that the thought of another relationship is more like seeking the escape offered by some kind of psychopharmaceutical - it is not really about 'moving on'. And of course, that's a very bad state of mind to be in when starting a new relationship. The reality is, trying out escapism as a way of dealing with my grief, my loneliness and these feelings of despair, can never be a good thing. The metaphorical 'drug' of a relationship is not what will help me. Though, I don't know what will be of help. I go through the motions of living each day, try to keep myself busy and active. Perhaps by continuing doing that, one day I may wake up with the feeling of not being so sad and not sleep-walking my way through time.
  3. Your kind and sensitive replies are much appreciated. Peter
  4. I know that there was more I could have said…but instead, The only power left in me was scant, save to permit me to take care of you, Yet, not enough to have also quieted your troubled soul. Had I possessed the greater power, I would have told you - more - that you gave me life, That you made me understand - too late now - what it meant to love, That to me, you were the very essence of every breath I’d drawn since that first time, That first wondrous moment, long ago now, when you gave yourself to me, Engendering thereby a most pure rapture that we knew could mean only one thing: That your life and mine would forever be entwined, like roots, As when one tree growing close to another cannot be uprooted without killing them both. I used to, once upon a time, tell you of these, my feelings, often, Before, that is, the leprous hand of fate drew your name. Thence, terrible heartache eroded all my greater powers and, truth be told, my very soul. In the last weeks and months I could not well speak, for my voice was muted by grief. Yet, somehow, in those final hours together, my voice did finally return to me. Was it enough, those last, final times, me tearfully telling you how greatly I loved you? --Peter
  5. Terri, Your husband sounds like he was a wonderful man and I am sorry to hear of your loss. One of the things I’m already discovering while reading through numerous posts under various threads is that a lot of other people here have expressed feelings that I am able to relate to. I guess that should come as no surprise, really. After all, it stands to reason: We’re all human, which means we’re built and wired similarly. So why wouldn’t many of us experience almost the same emotions when we lose our loved one? Saying this much seems almost trite, perhaps even rhetorical. Yet, it’s so easy to feel, once you’ve had the misfortune to lose your beloved husband, wife or partner, that no one else can possibly understand what it’s like and what that loss is causing to go on inside of you. Here I’ve encountered posts that describe so many of the things I have been going through. In some way that I can’t really comprehend, this solidarity that I’ve reluctantly entered into via this forum, via written testimony, confirms that many do in fact share much in common with me and this recognition does help to allay the feeling that I’m completely alone in my grief. I know now, categorically, that what I am going through, so too are many, many, others. That doesn’t “help” necessarily in guiding me in terms of what to do from now on, nor does it provide a recipe for how to deal with my feelings; but at the very least, it dispels the myth that I am alone and that no one else would understand me. And there is a corollary to this point: That is, if I were to write about my feelings here, chances are a lot of other people will comprehend them – intimately – because of the human commonality of grieving. This in itself is powerful and worthwhile. I’ve discovered that one has a voice here, amongst other kindred spirits who are going through much the same things as you. It’s a place you can come to whenever you feel the need to figuratively have someone silently walk alongside you as you try to deal with your personal struggles. Peter
  6. I’m already feeling a bit overwhelmed and humbled by the kind responses I’ve received and I do thank you, fae, Mary, Jan and KayC for your kind words. Your own grief is palpable and I am deeply touched by the sense I got of the depth of your love for your lost partners. The fact we’ve all experienced similar misfortunes seems to create a mysterious, albeit remote, bond (I’m reminded of a film I once saw titled “Fearless” for some reason, but I digress). What has struck me is that you’ve all had similar yet distinct experiences; and it occurred to me that the character of one’s grief must be coloured by the specific manner in which a person loses their loved one to death. In some cases, I understand that some of you were struck by it without warning and a few of you had not even the opportunity to be with their partners when it happened. How awful that must have been, especially to not have had the chance to say your final farewells! That experience must present inner conflicts that are quite different from those of us who were with our wives, husbands or partners all the way through it unto the final moment. It also makes me ponder whether one way is perhaps a bit easier to cope with versus the other, though I’m sure that how one deals with such an event is more about the individual themselves than about the manner of them losing their loved one. For me, it was, as I mentioned, not one of those sudden events. Cindy was first diagnosed in 2008. She had the bad luck to have gotten the least treatable form of breast cancer, the triple-negative variety they called it. Cindy went through surgery, chemotherapy then radiation, followed by periodic scans to keep track of how she was doing. After this first round of treatments, all appeared to have worked and there was no indication that her cancer was still lingering. Then three years later it returned with a vengeance and that’s when the realization struck with the force of a sledgehammer that I would likely lose her soon. Her oncologist told us at that point that it would from then on be a matter of just controlling the onslaught of the cancer and that the prospect of a cure was no longer on the table. He might as well have shot me right there on the spot. In a way, though I tried to keep my fears, my panic, my anguish to myself (I wanted to be as positive as I could for Cindy - on the outside), in a way, my grieving perhaps had already privately begun. I have always been a realistic person so I did appreciate the universal application of the laws of probability when it comes to predicting outcomes from very large samples of data. Despite this, there was always a faint hope that by some miracle, Cindy would be one of those few fortunate ones who defied the laws that govern the physical universe and that her cancer would go into remission. I guess even me, the inveterate rationalist, still had this innately human self that wanted to believe in the impossible, to have hope that physical matter doesn’t always abide by the laws of physics. Yet, always lurking in my mind for these next two years was the spectre of death. In a way, I was dying a slow emotional death myself. Yet, the grief I was privately going through was nothing as compared to how it manifested once Cindy at last succumbed. So long have I been grieving inside myself that I feel it has permanently subsumed my ability to have normal feelings. I have all but lost any ability to experience any sort of authentic joy or happiness. And I have lost interest in my own well-being too. I quit smoking when I met Cindy and after she died, I returned to my old habit. These days, I wonder about what my life will be like from now on and, to be honest, I do not look forward to living as though going through the motions, the way I am doing now. But I can’t imagine the future any differently for me.
  7. Fae, Thanks for replying and for sharing some of your personal experiences involving your husband Doug’s life and death. I note that for you, it’s been 26 months since you lost Doug. It’s still relatively early on in my case as, for me, a mere 11 months have elapsed. As I read your words, a psychological term, “sublimation”, would keep coming to mind. In its positive aspects, I understand sublimation as attempting to transform an impulse into something socially acceptable. So really, if it applies to how I perceived your coping with Doug’s death, I obviously only think of “sublimation” in its metaphorical sense. In which case, I would understand something of how you’re attempting to glean something life-affirming out of Doug’s life and death and from your loving memories of him. In a way, a similar prospect occurred to me a while ago, that began with a question – i.e. what can I do that would not only be a tribute to my love for Cindy, but also create out of that love (and, now, grief) a positive, creative testament to her. So a few weeks ago, I started taking electric guitar lessons. It seemed fitting. Cindy adored music in many of its forms - as do I. We attended so many live performances of bands and soloists that would be touring Toronto and that were favourites of ours. We went to concerts featuring John Legend, Anita Baker, Carlos Santana, Matchbox 20, Los Lonely Boys, Bryan Adams, Earth, Wind and Fire, The Temptations, Chicago, Prince, John Mayer, Yianni, The Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Jesse Cook, The Funk Brothers, Todd Rundgren, The Toronto Symphony Orchestra, and others. Thus it came to me one day recently, almost “out of the blue” as it were, that I could learn music, learn to play the electric guitar and then, maybe one day in the future, I would become proficient enough to be able to create my own music and write a song that I would dedicate to my beloved wife. So I’ve been devoting a lot of my spare time these days to that end. The prospect of one day writing and performing my own personal yet quintessential love song for my Cindy keeps me motivated and provides a direction for me. Before I set off on this new path, I was hopelessly foundering, not knowing what to do, always deeply sad. I am still always sad, still lost and still foundering. But somehow, now that I have dedicated myself to learning to play guitar, I can “sublimate” these feelings of mine into, hopefully, something good and creative. Anyway, Fae, I noted also that Doug passed on while in your loving embrace at your home. That really touched me deeply as Cindy went away in just that manner also. So from opposite ends of cyberspace we are, in that commonality and in some strange way, now connected. Peter (Panos)
  8. I do appreciate your responses. Already I sense that maybe this was a good action on my part, arriving here to bare my soul to people who no doubt do understand and can relate to the emotions occasioned by the loss of one's soulmate. I have never in my life been comfortable with talking openly about my feelings. This trait of mine, however, has not served me well thus far. Several times during visits for other health related issues, my doctors have mentioned that they would be able to hook me up with someone to talk to if I felt the need. I did not outrightly dismiss their offers, however, in spite of feeling tempted, II could not help but wonder about the efficacy of speaking to a professional who in all likelihood had never personally experienced the same specific loss as me. Many of the people here on the other hand have also lost husbands, wives and partners and are likely in a similar mind space as myself, so I feel anyone here who might take the time to read something I post would definitely "get it". Thanks again.
  9. Everyone here must feel that their loss, their own personal grief, stemming from their special relationship to their lost loved one, is unique and that only the grieving individual themselves can really appreciate what he/she is going through. I feel the same way. It’s been going on eleven months since I lost my beautiful wife to metastatic breast cancer after a brave, courageous five year long battle with the disease. She died right in my arms, in our bed, at home, for that was her wish. I know you will all understand how difficult it was to try to fulfill that last wish of hers. Yet, feeling completely powerless to know what else I could do to ease her suffering in her last few months, I found at least a small purpose for myself in caring for her and doing this one last loving act for her and to help her to pass on surrounded by her loved ones in our own home. Eleven months have elapsed, yet I am still haunted by that last night we spent together and by the memories of her ordeal those last few months. I’m not going to go into the details. I’m sure many of you would be able to fill in the blanks. Why I chose to come here is that, like the other members, I am grieving and feel I need some kind of an outlet and also to hear back from other people who understand what it’s like to lose the love of their lives and to be alone, haunted, in despair and lost. I’ve tried the alcohol route and of course that didn’t help much (at least not for very long). At times I feel as though my head will explode, yet what to do? Distractions like work, etc are merely ephemeral escapes from it. On the surface, I am maintaining a semblance of normality. Yet, it is a false front that I present to the world. I suppose I know that most of the people I interact with daily would never have the slightest notion of what it’s like, therefore to avoid the entire subject, I act normally with them. But what they see is not what is really going on with me. Here, however, I think I will find other people who would indeed understand and there will be no need for explanations, rationalizations or apologies. My wife – her name was Cindy – comes to me often in my dreams. Occasionally (but only rarely) the dream will be a good one. I once dreamed we were dancing and ended our surreal, ethereal, dance with a rapturous kiss. But mainly, my dreams of Cindy are sad, disturbing, tear-filled; and when I awaken from them, I feel as though I want to shed even more tears. I miss her so... One’s grief, I have determined, is in proportion to the degree of one’s love for the person lost. I think that’s why years may go by, yet one’s grief remains poignant and great. For this reason, I do accept that I will grieve over my own loss for the rest of my days, for there was only one ideal woman in this world meant for me and I gave her every bit if the love I have in me to give. I am lucky to have once found Cindy and to have had the years we did spend together. But I do miss her so very, very much and the void her loss has created in me feels as though it will never be filled. My existence without her is now barren, cold, melancholy and filled with despair. So be it – I suppose. Maybe it’s the flip-side of loving someone so greatly, then losing that person forever.
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