Gwenivere

Janka, I was so touched by your poem, I looked thru the archives to better understand your journey. You write beautifully and I understand as best I can only being a year into this, that the love never dies and the void is never filled. There are many 'magical milestone' people out there that think that this will someday be cured for us. When one finds their true soulmate, there is no other that can step into that place. This is what I am preparing myself for. Many well meaning people say I may find someone else. I know this is not true. The rest of my life will be loving the man that completed me and I him. I light a candle for him every night since he left. It isn't the same light he was in life, but it is some solace in the dark. As I go through whatever time is left for me, I hope that he is waiting for me when it ends. There is nothing I want more than to see him again. I hope the same for all of us. I sent this to you as a message, but didn't know if you checked them.

Beautiful poem, Janka. The nights are so hard for many of us. That time that is sacred with our beloved. The dark feels so much darker, cold so much colder. Waking without them being there. I hope you will find some solace here among people that truly understand.

I think the wanting to die is so common. I felt that way for a very long time. In the beginning it was for 'selfish' reasons, to escape my pain. I don't think of it as much now, but when I do I want to so I can be with Steve. That is the belief, tho there is no guarantee that would happen. But the heart overrides anything in grief. i also found I could get all the things done that used to be a part of our partnership. At the moment they were done I felt a brief triumph. But it does remind us that these were better shared triumphs and lasted much longer because of that. i have to get out every day too. I may have to come home alone, but I need to be reminded the world is there and waiting when I can more fully rejoin it.

As many have said, welcome to the club ho one wants to join. I don't mean that at all to sound flippant because all of us are suffering and if there is some good to come from that, it is the compassion and understanding you will find here. Your loss is so new and that is so hard to comprehend. I'm glad you found a place that will remind you you are jog alone, as that was the most horrible feeling when this started for me. My sincerest condolences on your loss and I hope you find some solace here with us.

I think we all have 'witching hours'. There are times of the day I just know are going to be very hard to get thru. When they don't happen it is such a relief. But I have no illusion they won't return as they always do right now. I am at a year also and fending off the 'magical milestone' people that think some transformation happens and we begin an upswing when in fact we are hit the hardest about the reality of being alone. We all want to feel better about being alone, but when you think about it, how realistic is that after years or decades in sync with someone else? We will adapt, but not quickly. It's a whole new life and one we didn't ask for. Nor did they. The sleep thing is quite baffling too. To feel such exhaustion just living day to day and find we can't count on that to refresh us. I'm already trying to figure out what to do with an extra hour with daylight savings ending. I used to love an extra hours sleep. Now the last thing I need is for a day to last longer.

Kevin, I think finding purpose again is one of the hardest parts of this journey. Having been a volunteer myself for over 20 years has really helped. I hope you find that works for you. Helping others is so rewarding not just for what we give them, but for what they give us. It's 2 days a week that I know I can do something outside myself. Much like I did with Steve. It's not the same, of course, but we need human connection. Without it, we would wither inside even more. Let us know if you get it!

I thank you all for your replies. I am still reeling a bit today after the intensity of what I experienced last night. Not quite sure of what to do with myself yet. Karen, I so thank you for posting the article you found. I have copied that to keep as it so accurately puts into words what this does to us for the rest of our lives. Having to accept this huge loss while trying to live on alone and redefine ourself. I always felt I lost my 'job' when Steve died, even the horrid one of being his caregiver an watching him slip away slowly over 5 years. The last being the ultimate nightmare when his mind was compromised as well as his body. I lost him about 2 months before his actual death. That is the time I wish I could erase and maybe time will help. Debi, I can understand your feelings about 2015 as it does become a time of when they were here and he they were not. I was still in shock mode thru the holidays last year. So in a way, they feel like they will be firsts again this year without that protection. if it worked, i would have only one request from Santa and that would be that nine if us were here. But since that is not possible and we fi have to be here, I am so grateful for all if you.

Thursday was the one year anniversary of Steve's death. There was 2 weeks of anticipation. From previous experiences with anticipation, it seemed that was the worst as I did my usual volunteer day and did fine. I was not naive that this wouldn't be significant at some point. I made til about 9pm and everything crashed in. I had a panic attack and couldn't breathe. Eating dinner is a blur. It took some Xanax to stop the fear and leave just the horrific pain. I've known he has been dead for so long, I am trying to understand why this date trumps all others. Nothing changed in the hell I have been living since he left. Is there some purpose served by taking the daily pain of a year and amplifying it to a point you feel you would rather die? Where you look at all the triggers you have seen day after day and make you blind with deep despair? Is it the remembrance (for me) of that phone call saying he had passed before I could get that day? Is it seeing that this has changed my life forever and no amount of time will ever restore the life I once lived with the only person I will ever truly love and now know that love cannot be returned in ways a human being needs like touch, talk, knowing you have someone you can trust with anything and that always was there good or bad? These are not questions I expect anyone to have answers to. I just needed someplace to say that I expected it to tough, but I had no idea how hard it could hit.

I had to get rid of anything that was left used to fight the demon cancer that took over our lives. I would see the medical supplies and feel so much pain. I hated they were ever needed in this house. I haven't changed much if anything else because I need to feel Steve is still a part of this home. His desk was never neater, his bathroom still has his toiletries and his coffee cup still sits on the counter. I framed some more of the artwork I did a long time ago and wish I had thought of it years ago so he could see it all of the time too. Today is the one year anniversary of Steve's death. I feel numb and I think that is a protection. I don't know if it will last or hit me tomorrow or whenever. What I do know is it makes me see that there is no more denial (unconsciously) and from what I have read of other people's journies, I have a long road ahead. I also discovered there sure a lot of 'magical milestone' people out there that think the worst is over for me. If only they had any clue. But as I remind myself, they lost a buddy, not a soulmate. There is no way they can understand. And instead of anger or frustration about it, I feel more a sense of compassion because someday they will know and I will truly understand.

It has long been known that music is a powerful force. I have a hard time listening to it now, but I hate beeping alarms worse and sometimes a blaring TV for company is really obnoxious. Steve also was a musician so I cannot listen to any of his recordings yet. But, I did get thinking about what song or songs we considered 'ours'. I don't know if all couples have one, but we did. It is Urgent by Foreigner. It was very popular when we met and described that intense love/lust phase that created the foundation of the partnership. It's not just the words, but the music behind them that so perfectly could describe the intensity between us when we found each other. Every time we heard that song (I have it on my fav mix CD and computer) we would both get a knowing smile of that time when all there ever was in the world was the need to be together. Time mellowed things to realistic love, but that moment you know you found the one for you is phenomenal!

One of the things I grew to hate with such intensity is that damned death certificate. I had obtained 4 that I thought would cover all the legal proceedings. Something else would come up and I'd have to order another one. I can't count how many times I have had to send copies of the original. Part of it was for each thing it was making him not a part of this living world anymore, like I needed a reminder of THAT. But the very worst is that it started to become what he was now, a name on a piece of paper. My husband that was flesh and blood and forever lost to me is an official document with a seal on it. The repetitious notifying places just cut deeper and deeper. Removing his name from our home, cars, accounts, bills. I knew these things had to be done, but it was like rubbing salt in the wound. And it starts to extend past that when organizations call for him. I couldn't even use the politically correct word 'deceased'. I say...he is dead. It really shocks people, but I tire of the reminders. Last night I got a call from a breast cancer group seeking my support and stopped the woman mid script and said....my husband died from cancer. That is that is the last thing I want to talk about sitting here alone for another night. Of course they are more than that piece of paper, but it is so very hard to have that instead of a nice note they left us reminding us to pick up some milk or something. If I never have to look at that thing again, it would be a gift in itself.

And no parole. Couldn't have said it any better.

Kevin...what an interesting question. My world right has no color. It's all shade of gray. Like living in an old TV show. What is hard is knowing there was color. Hoping it will come back someday even if not as intensely.

Exactly K! I am incomplete right now. Steve was retired too so we finally had so much time together. We never dreamed it would be spent with doctors and treatments that robbed us of time we planned to enjoy. You are not alone in that weight of grief in the moving about from one thing to another. A big part of me died when he did. So hard to navigate the world when so much of yourself is missing.

Brad, one of the hardest things for me was watching all of Steve's guitars disappear to the people he willed them to. He left me his favorite. But I walk into the recording studio now and all the stands are gone. I see them now and then when someone comes by to use the studio. You are right, so things have taken on a sacred significance. I still have his cell phone and laptop. They sit on his desk all charged up in (case he will need them?). Odd but I just cannot move those because it is a small way I still see him in my life. The phone has been disconnected, but his contact list is there and I have used that. I cannot remove the 2nd placemat from the dinner table. It's too much. A silly placemat! But yet, not silly at all.

Debi, I so want to believe we don't puff out of existence. It seems impossible that such vital life forces could just vanish. But I struggle with that. I think that is a lot behind my sobbing late at night. I just want to know he is there and I don't. The love I feel for him is, there is no doubt about that. Maybe part of it was when he was here I felt safe in the world. I always knew he was here for me and that is gone. This journey sure takes us to so many places I never thought of before. I never had beliefs about what happens when we die, so this does weigh heavy on me. It is the pain that wants to know. Wants him to know how much I miss him.

One Saturday, I don't even remember what month it was this year, I loaded all of Steve's clothes into my car and took them to a homeless mission downtown we support. I kept his favorite jacket, shirt, fedora and one T shirt from The Big Lebowski. I don't remember why I got that burst of wanting to do that. I was hardly ever in his closet, but when I was there were all these clothes were just hanging there without an owner. I know he would be happy they are getting use now. I also had purged the house of all medical supplies from that ugly cancer. The sight of them flooded my memories with so many emergencies and how it changed our lives. I'm glad I did the clothes. As the time has passed and the pain more intense, I don't think I could do it now. There are times when it crosses my mind that it would appear I was trying to 'erase' him. It hurts because it is another step into that reality they will never come home to us, but they didn't provide me comfort. All these things we do or don't are so motivated by the loss, and what were maybe just daily laundry take on so much more meaning. I'd love to complain again about having to do the laundry.

I never thought about this separation in relation to getting older either. We took it for granted we would grow old together and would joke about walkers, canes, sagging skin, etc. Now Steve is frozen in time. He has become ageless. I am turning 60 next month and already miss the him I knew before he got so weak because we could conquer those tasks that took one person together. One of the things I did after he died was destroy all pictures of him when he was ravaged by cancer. He hated how he looked because people saw the disease and the treatment, not the vital life force he was. That is where I want him to stay if he has to be lost to me and this world. I'll never know what he would have looked like as I age, but that is OK. I love the guy I see in my head. That is who he will always be.

I am amazed at all the stories and memories that have been shared. It warms my heart reading of the times everyone shared with their grown up 'kid' and how they kept us kids too. Steve was like a Santa because he would remember things I'd mention or think of things that would add to my interests. He was very big on presentations often writing silly poems on the tags of gifts or cards. When he gave me our 30th anniversary ring, he strung some ribbon in the card to hang it on because he thought the ring box was too boring. He was a musician so I got to hear his magical moments. I have songs on CD he recorded and a couple he wrote for me. I haven't been able to listen to those yet. But someday I will. I will always miss sharing the special things I see in life now. I am raising a new dog that he would have loved. He was the best dog dad I ever knew. I wish she could know him. I want to believe our partners have some awareness of not just our pain, but the things we taught each other to savor because of our special love with them. We can't know that, so it is a time to make a leap of faith and try and believe. Like Peter Pan needed everyone to believe in fairies for Tinkerbell.

Panic attacks are one of the most horrible things I have ever felt. I've lived with them for 29 years now and take Xanax daily. What I hate most is it feels like our minds are betraying us. It amazes me how under control they were during the stressful caregiving years that presented many emergencies. But when you need to act, you do. It seems it is now that I have all this alone time they are having a field day with my fear of the future without Steve in it. I truly hope yours, Margaret, was a fluke as I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.

It has been hitting me that even tho we are all grown up and don't believe in fairy tales anymore, that the loss of our partner strips away a remaining link we feel to the magic and beauty of the real world. No, we don't believe in Santa or the tooth fairy, but when you love someone that deeply the wonder of the world takes different forms. Those sunsets are more beautiful. We have time to savor more what is around us because we are sharing them with someone. Dark winter nights don't feel so cold when you have them with you. You can make silly jokes and laugh about the smallest things. You can cry and feel better just for being in their arms. So when that is lost, it feels to me the last of the magic and innocence we still had as full grown men and women has been taken. I struggle with that every day and night now. The world was more what we took on together and could make into a place to find joy in. It's still out there. I see people seeing it all the time....with their partners or knowing they can bring home what they saw to them. I see things and often abandon them on the side of the road because bringing them home is meaningless. It's so sad to come home so empty because there is no one to tell about them. Even worse are the times they were with us to see what we did. The 'remember when we saw, did.....' are gone.

Marty, you might have more insight on this, but I find anger so much better because it gives me energizes me, tho perhaps not n the best way. But at least I feel something that is not crippling. Not that I want to be angry all the time. But in those times I have felt that I'm don't feel as helpless. I don't even know if that makes sense.

I thank all of you for your replies. This craziness has gotten so out of hand it frightens me. I look back on everything I got done over the last year and am amazed. From legalities to yard projects. Even had some intense health problems that required many hospital trips. Someone wrote in some thread here about the 2nd year being harder. I feel some switch has been flipped and now the things I did just intensify the reality I am alone now. I've lost all motivation to do anything. I don't care about anything. I've never had to push myself so hard to do the simplest things. And as Brad said, the triggers just keep coming, down to a piece if mail with his name on it. Having no family or close friends makes this a harder challenge. Even as I sit here writing this I wonder why I bother. Maybe I was counting on that magic year thing. That accomplishments made during that time would empower me. All I know is it feels like I die every day over and over again. The strong woman everyone called me over the years of care taking and the year he's been gone has vanished.

Marg, I know the fear all too well. On top of the horrendous grief of losing Steve, I have panic disorder. I get paralyzed with fear often. I had fear anyway from the 'normal' grieving' process. I once read an article that said anxiety should be added to the steps Kubler Ross made famous. She herself said there are so many more than what has become the model. Often I don't even know what I am afraid of, can't put my finger on a specific thing beyond I don't want to live my life without him. It's a horrible feeling to be afraid, but we become so intertwined with our partners and when that is ripped away we are lost. The world becomes unfamiliar and cold. I wish I had some great words of wisdom, but I don't. I just know many here feel fear. Our lives will never be the same and that is devastating.

We all read so much saying we are not going crazy but we keep feeling it. I saw my counsellor yesterday and said it was the only word that truly describes how I feel and how frustrating it gets at times to constantly be told it is 'normal'. She said...OK, then you are crazy with grief. At last! I just want to be able to say it. Scream it or whatever. It's like political correctness. Sometimes it goes too far. After a year I am going crazy without my soulmate and no one can tell me I am not. I still get thru day after day and am not delusional. I just want to use the most descriptive word and that is it.