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About mittam99

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  • Birthday May 10

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    Reisterstown, MD

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  • Your relationship to the individual who died
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  1. My sweet Tammy... my perfect for me wife, died on March 6, 2015. And it didn't take me long to find Marty's forum. I needed help and I found some sense of understanding and comfort from members here. One of the first topics I started was called "It hurts so bad". My life wasn't much of a life at that point. It was 24/7 of agony followed by another 24 hours of figuring out if I even wanted to survive alone without the only person that made my life worth living. The only person who gave my life joy. Tammy was all I ever wanted and needed. Every day was a struggle to find a reason to go on. Trying to find meaning in my emptiness and trying to come to grips with the question that resonated in my mind... That word was repeated over and over in my head... Why? Why was Tammy, a woman filled with amazing courage and beauty and love, taken from this world at only 45 years old? Why did she have to suffer so much? Why wasn't my love enough to save her? And then there were the woulda, coulda, shouldas that played on my mind and gave me much daily angst. This life alone just hurt. How was it possible that Tammy was gone? Didn't we just come home from an extended hospital and rehab stay? She was on the mend or so we thought. A day and a half after coming home, she died. It's been 3 years and 5 months since that day that is forever etched in my soul. Three years and 5 months without holding or kissing or touching my dear Tammy. Yet somehow, I'm still here. Coping and functioning in a world without Tammy. I've done it by living my life with Tammy in my heart. Living my life in a way that would make Tammy proud. I still feel married to Tammy and always will. She was the only one for me. Today, I felt gut wrenching pain that rocked me to my core. Pain so deep it took my breath away and I could not stop crying. I had just finished a project in the kitchen... adding a backsplash. It's something I always wanted, but never got around to doing. I put up the last tile, and stepped back to check out the room. And it look good, I mean amazingly good. Probably the best home project I've ever done. And in that moment, gazing at my work, all I could think of was how much Tammy would have loved it. And then it hit me. That deep, mind numbingly intense grief burst. Hell, this wasn't a burst, it was more like an atom bomb. I screamed out for Tammy... over and over... at the top of my lungs. Somehow hoping my voice could be heard all the way to heaven. And that word came up again... Why? Why can't this all just have been some sort of maddening nightmare? Why can't Tammy come back so we can live our life the way it was meant to be? Why is this life so hard? The hurt never goes away. You adapt. You cope. You get through the day. But, when love is this deep and forever, the pain (in one form or another) will also linger forever. Nothing is easy in this life. But... I still get up everyday and I try my very best. And I will love my Tammy for all eternity. Mitch
  2. Tammy's been gone over three years and in that time there have been many signs that she is still with me. Things that defy logical explanation. But, one thing that's bothered me is that she's rarely in my dreams. Last night though, I had a dream. One that was quite vivid and will be etched on my mind for some time. I opened the door to a house (it wasn't our house) and there was Tammy, looking beautiful and healthy and happy. I instantly ran to her with a huge smile on my face and held her and didn't want to let go. It was a moment of magic. I asked her where the heck she had been. I don't think she really answered but that dream gave me such an incredible feeling of happiness.
  3. Today was one of those days, definitely hellish. Nothing seemed to go right. The worst of it was finding out the hard way (sloshing through the flood) that my water main (inside the basement) had sprung a major leak. To make matters worse, the water shut off control had seized up and was stuck in the on position. High pressure city water was blasting into my house. I frantically started calling plumbers, holding a bucket in one hand and a phone in the other. Being a Saturday, it wasn't easy to even get somebody out to my house. Finally, a plumber came out but it was hours later. What a mess. I also was at the mercy of the plumber and he definitely overcharged me, but... based on the circumstances, what could I do? As if all that wasn't bad enough, my Tammy wasn't here to give me some sense of comfort, and compassion and most importantly of all, her love. The pain never ends. But, I'm still here and I'm still trying the best I can. But nothing about this life of grief says "easy".
  4. Tough day today. It would have been Tammy's 49th birthday. She was so incredibly young. And no one should have had to go through the medical ordeals that she had to endure. This life without Tammy by my side is so hard to bear. It's so lonely and filled with so much angst. There's no joy to be found. But I'm here and I'm trying the best I can. I love my Tammy, my sweet dear wife, forever and always.
  5. Gwen I'm not sure why but your nacho cheese joke reminded me of an old Flip Wilson joke about how Worcestershire sauce got it name... Back in the day it had no name unlike ketchup and mustard. People just called it "brown sauce". One day a newcomer to town saw a bottle of the brown sauce on the restaurant table and being the curious guy he was, asked the waiter... "what's dis here sauce??"... The rest is history. 😋
  6. Optimism. I think that's one of my better traits. I always try to look at things from the glass half full point of view. Throughout Tammy's illnesses, many of which were life threatening, I couldn't bear to think in a worse case scenario way. I had to try to be upbeat. In this grieving life, it's easy to become pessimistic. Our life has been torn apart. We're without the one person who brought joy and love to our world. If someone was already a glass half empty person, I think losing their soul mate could send them into a downward spiral of depression and despair. Being without my Tammy is so hard. The missing her never stops and never will. But, I keep plodding along... trying, hoping, pushing. There is some happiness out there... somewhere. It's just that there's no Google Maps to guide us and no definitive grief tutorial to show us the way. It's all trial and error. And it's all so very hard.
  7. I hear ya Gin. No question, we all want to feel like we matter. That someone cares even just a little about us. That we can somehow make a difference. Before our loved one died, we always knew someone had our back. We knew we mattered and we were loved. These days, we have very little true emotional support. It's us and our weakened emotional state against a world that, at times, feels like it's passed us by. A world we live in, but maybe don't feel we belong in. It's against that not so wonderful backdrop that we're expected to not only survive, but thrive. It's an uphill battle and we often find ourselves slipping trying to climb that hill. At best, it often just feels like we're just treading water. Some members here have moved forward and found love again or have decided to look for love again. And if that brings them happiness, that's absolutely wonderful. For me, Tammy truly was my perfect angel and my one and only. That's what my heart and my inner voice tells me. So for me, this grief journey will be taken alone. It hasn't been easy in any way and I know it never will. But I'll keep on pushing and trying. I'll keep looking for that elusive formula that ultimately gives me some sense that this life (after losing Tammy) will once again have meaning. And I'll do it with Tammy and her love always a part of me, always inspiring me. Telling me to never give up and to always do the very best I can. Mitch
  8. Gwen and Gin, let's face it, this existence we have is just an endless 24 hour cycle of trying to fill our time with "something". Unfortunately, that something seems mostly meaningless and repetitive and basically unfulfilling. A far cry from the life we had with our beloved where life felt like life. Where love and passion and joy and meaning was a given. Trying to find that meaning in this world of emptiness seems like an impossible task. I think we all are trying, but alone, it's hard to muster much enthusiam or energy for that seemingly impossible dream. I guess I'm emotionally in a better place than I was. I don't feel as though life isn't worth living, it is. It's just so hard to find anything that ultimately doesn't feel like drudgery. Not that Tammy and me were constantly on the go or doing amazing things all the time. We were basically homebodies. And unfortunately she was ill most of the time. But whatever we did or didn't do, we were together. Even the most mundane thing feels OK when you're with the one you love. We all ache for the one we lost. That sadness is a constant in our lives. We miss them so much. But ultimately, its also the loneliness that makes this new life so challenging. The thing is, I found the one person who was perfect for me. There is no substitute. Tammy was and forever will be the only one for me. Yet somehow, I need to find a way to make something of my life that resembles a life. And I haven't yet figured out that formula for success. And the beat goes on...
  9. Gwen, I think we're all going through the motions to an extent. This wasn't how our ideal dream of life was supposed to go. It's getting up to another day of sameness. Even if we switch things up, ultimately it feels no different. That's where I'm stuck. How do I go beyond functioning to actually feeling some sense of enjoyment? I know Tammy would want me to be happy. No doubt about that. But how?
  10. Kay, that's an impressive feat. For me, as much as I try to make things feel meaningful, they just don't. Having a life with Tammy brought love and a new meaning to my life. We were a team and although our life was far from easy, it was easy to find purpose. I guess I don't find "just trying to make it through" very meaningful. And yes, I am continually learning and pushing and trying. But there's little to no lasting satisfaction from it.
  11. We kind of have to accept that this life will never be what it was. There's no way to go back and moving forward, alone, there's no way our life could ever have the same appeal it once did. I guess the trick is to somehow mold what we have and elevate it beyond meaninglessness. And that's a magic trick that as of now is not in my bag of tricks. It's beyond elusive and feels downright impossible. What's that saying? Make lemonade out of lemons? Unfortunately for us, our lemonade stand isn't open for business due to lack of motivation.
  12. It's so hard. When we had our soul mate, no matter how difficult things may have gotten, we were where we wanted to be. We felt happiness and comfort and love. We were part of what felt like a perfect team. Not that we were perfect people but we were perfect for each other. Tammy and I used to say we were two peas in the pod. She was the peanut butter, I was the jelly. Now alone, this existence we trod through is some sort of odd mix of loneliness, emptiness and meaninglessness. Along the way, mix in those grief waves that hit you in a gut wrenching way. And people who don't truly understand the enormity of our loss or the pain we're in. It's amazing that we even roll out of bed and face this world. But we do. And all you can do is face it to the best of your ability with that love your beloved gave you tightly wrapped in your heart. We can never let go of that feeling. Never.
  13. Kay, none of us signed up for "this' for sure. But, the worst happened and we're left behind to somehow find our way in a life that's nothing like the life we had before. A life that feel like so much going through to motions of existing. We're here, but at times (actually most of the time) our heart really isn't into it. The passion and the zest is missing. Without our soul mate we feel so empty and the love that we had in abundance, is nowhere to be found. I know It's a bit of a dreary, dismal picture I'm painting. Yet somehow, we're supposed to find comfort or even happiness within these walls of grief that surround us and to an extent, imprison us. I wish I had the answers or had the key to finding happiness. I've read the books, listened to the lectures, had grief therapy, read the posts... and still, I'm clueless. I'm searching but coming up empty. And so it goes...
  14. It's been over 38 months since that dreadful day of March 6, 2015. The day that my life changed in so many ways and none of them good. Tammy made everything better for me, plain and simple. She gave me love I never dreamed of and allowed me to shower her with my deep love for her. The only way I'm surviving in this new world is to live with her in my heart with the hope that we will reunite in some way. I wanted to discuss an observation I've noted that may or may not be unique to my journey. On the one hand, we all talk about those anniversaries like our loved ones death, birthdays, holidays etc. as being days we dread. And they are. Yet I find it's the anticipation of those days that's actually as painful or more so then the actual day of the event. What I've noticed is my most intense moments of sadness and tears happen during a very particular type of scenario. A perfect example was yesterday watching the Preakness horse race (an event that happens in my city). As the horses lined up at the gate, the tears started to well up and got more intense. I started crying out "Tammy should be here... Tammy should be here"... It's events like this or historic moments in the news... or a new season of a TV show that we liked... or me cooking something that I know that Tammy would love. It's those moments when my grief bursts out from deep in my soul with an intensity that takes my breath away. After I calmed down yesterday I tried to understand why this happens. Why are these the moments my angst and pain are the worst... It's those moments I would have shared with my Tammy. Moments we might smile about or cry about or talk about. Now these same events happen with me surrounded by no one. It's emphasizing both the extent of my "aloneness" and the permanence of it. And it hurts. It hurts knowing that the woman I loved more than life itself is gone. It hurts because Tammy was a wonderful, beautiful person who suffered so much throughout most of her life. No one should die at 45 years old in our modern world. It hurts because I had a life I loved with Tammy. And now I have "this". "This" being whatever you call this often meaningless world I live in. The enormity of my loss and my grief is often too much to bear. Yet, I do bounce back. I do continue to try my best. I push forward in a way that I hope would make Tammy proud because she is and always will be my inspiration. And she's my perfect wife, forever and always for all eternity. Mitch
  15. Robin, my heart goes out to you. It's not easy. I think sometimes the anticipation of these anniversaries is actually the worst part. Not that the actual day is easy, it's certainly not. It's more to the point that all of our days since we lost our beloved are already incredibly painful and challenging. Hoping you can find some semblance of peace and comfort tomorrow.