TerriL

I don't know. Today is just a weird day and I'm not even sure what to say about it. I'm feeling so bad for Marg (SW). I've been through that with my parents, too, and words alone can't convey the feeling of what you go through when you are "waiting". Waiting for someone to breathe their last on this earth, being encouraged by hospice people to tell them to go or realizing that you're about to begin another countdown once they have gone, (one hour since, two weeks since, ten months since ,etc.). The first thing I was greeted with this morning was an email informing me that yet another friend of Paul's and mine (another man that he had worked with for years on the FD) had passed away in the hospital overnight. As of yet, there aren't any details, but does that really matter? He's gone, either way. It feels as if there's a lot of that to life now---loss, hearing of others' losses. And yet, there is always something to remind me that life keeps going on, like discovering your dryer isn't working. I did a whole load of towels last night and 70 minutes in the dryer didn't do anything for them. It steamed them. The dryer was hot, but the towels were still wet and there was a lot of condensation on the inside of the door, hardly any lint in the lint trap. I left ti and decided to wait until his morning when it would be light enough to see and I tried cleaning out lint from the outside vent. I guess the slats were old and dried out, because two of them cracked and fell off, leaving the exposed hole. I don't need iguanas or squirrels crawling inside my dryer vent, so I covered it with a small box and duct tape, called the repair people and they will come out tomorrow to look at my "situation". Just this past February, my 17 year old washer quit and I had to buy a new one. Now, it appears that my 17 year old dryer is heading the same way. I have my fingers crossed that it's something fixable. Paul, I NEED YOU!!!

Gwen, the nurse called me and asked if I wanted to be present when they removed the life support. I declined also. I've spent many a night as it is sitting awake, reliving the moment when Paul began convulsing from the seizure, never regaining consciousness. When Paul's body had been picked up by the funeral home and I went over with my niece the following morning to make the arrangements, the funeral director also asked if I would like to view Paul before they went ahead with the cremation. They also asked if I wanted him to be cremated in the hospital gown he still was wearing or if I wanted to bring over special clothes. Special clothes for him to be cremated in? I could hear Paul's voice inside my head, "Are you crazy? Just let them burn the stupid hospital gown! I hate it anyway." So, I said just leave him in the gown. I just wanted him left alone as much as possible. I wanted him to be at peace, with no one doing "stuff" to him any longer. He had been through enough at the hands of medical "professionals" already. I chose a really nice, masculine urn for him in gunmetal and had his name engraved on it, along with the Maltese Cross that symbolizes firefighters. If it's allowed, when I'm cremated, I'd like for them to place my ashes inside that same urn. I've instructed several people as to my wishes for us to be scattered into the Everglades (specifically the Everglades Holiday Park). The way I see it, there are already so many bodies out there, what harm will some ashes do? lol And it was one of our favorite places to go and just spend a morning or afternoon.

Being a deep thinker is my way of life and I have to admit that it's both a blessing and a curse. I've looked at the comments from people who are devout in their chosen faiths and sometimes find myself envying them. How easy and peaceful would it be to just all-out believe what you've been taught, without questioning, without worrying about it? To be so sure all the time in your mind about having all the answers. :::sigh::: That isn't me. I was a born questioner/thinker/fighter with a justice gene that never quits. My mind does not rest easily. I believe I was with Paul when he drew HIS last breath, but I was not with him when he stopped breathing after the life support was removed. In the ER, Paul was still responsive but then had a major seizure and at that point, he stopped being able to breathe on his own and they intubated him. That's when they rushed him into surgery in one last attempt to try and save his life, but it wasn't successful. The last time I went in to the ICU to see him, at first I tried to talk to him and tell him to come back, but then they had a doctor speak with me over the phone, telling me there was no chance of him even coming back. So, most likely, he was already "gone" at that point. There was no more brain activity and the only reason he gave the appearance of any kind of life was because the machines were doing it for him. I kissed him so many times on his forehead and cheek (I couldn't kiss his lips because of the ventilator), I stroked his hair and his arm and tried to hold his hand. It was the first time in 34 years that he didn't squeeze my hand back. I lifted the sleeve of the hospital gown so I could see his tattoo one last time---memorize it---and I whispered to him how much I loved him and would always love him. At that moment, I knew he was no longer in there and I let him go. That was the last time I went up and the next day, they officially declared him dead and removed him from life support. I know he had a thing against people staring at him while he was just lying there and I'm not sure he would have wanted me to go through that.

Laura, I wanted to say that I think the way people are under normal circumstances will be who they are in extraordinary circumstances. Every so often, someone will surprise you, but mostly, they are who they are. I should have known how my sister and her husband would be since they are usually all about themselves anyway. The thought crossed my mind today that, when Paul first died, my sister, who lives only ten minutes away and works rather close to my house, never once stopped by in person to comfort me or see how I was doing. The only way I could see her is if I accepted one of her dinner invitations and went out to HER house. Yet, my beautiful, caring, compassionate goddaughter, upon receiving the news of her godfather's death, immediately made arrangements and flew here to South Florida from Washington D.C. and stayed with me for four days so she could help me in whatever way I needed. I did not ask her to do this, she did it on her own and told me about it after the details were finished. When she arrived, her future mother in law, whom I had not met yet, picked her up at the airport and brought her here. The MIL had made me a large container of vegetable soup and she had purchased fruit and Marie Callender dinners for me to place in my freezer so I'd have something hot to eat without having to cook. Now THERE---right there---is the difference in people. The difference between putting on an act and genuine caring. Paul was like a real father to our goddaughter and his passing devastated her, as well. With her, I can talk about Paul all I want and she is happy to keep his memory alive. That neighbor, Mimi, is WAY out of line! If someone came up to me and said, "I think your dad is going to die soon", I think I would have told her, "You know, you don't look so well either. Maybe you should get checked out!" HAHA! And Marg thinks SHE'S mean! Honestly though, that neighbor sounds like she has issues of her own. I'd ignore her if I were you. Are you living in your dad's house? I'm just wondering, if she's your dad's former neighbor, why you still have two put up wth her at all.

Gin, Ten months ago is when I lost Paul, too. I shake my head thinking how fast that time went.

Marty, that article made me cry. It reminded me of the deaths of my grandmother, mom and dad. After my own personal experience with hospice in their cases, I was relieved in one way that Paul and I were spared that. Marg, to paraphrase Jessica Rabbit: "You aren't mean, you're just drawn that way." With everything you've been going through, I just think you have pretty much reached a limit and now, you nod your head up and down in response to everything. What more can they do to you that hasn't already been done? Hang in there, SW. WW is counting on you when things get crazy.

Anne, you are so enlightened. After reading this post, I wish I could meet you in person, have you place your hand on my forehead and instill me with your wisdom and peace. Unfortunately, I'm also aware that you are in the place you are now because of the hard and sometimes painful work you have done along the way on this long journey. My journey is still rather fresh and I'm not at the point where I definitely know what will work for me and what won't. Music does help me, I know that much. Even if it makes me cry, it helps. I used to draw and my goddaughter has been encouraging me to take it up again. So, I may try that. I want to thank you for sharing your healing process with all of us.

Kay, I wish there were solutions for your friends. I sit and think sometimes about the pain and suffering that's out there and realize that, even in my grief, I still can find many things to be thankful for. One thing that sprang to my mind about your disabled friend with the water leak: as George had mentioned previously, is there perhaps a church or a temple or some other organization nearby who could step in and help her with this situation/? Perhaps the city itself knows of someone or some group who could help her? If the floor has rotted, this is a safety hazard and a potential health hazard, as far as mold growing or what have you.

The tone and expression does make all the difference. How well you know the person saying it also is a big factor. When I tried to deactivate Paul's cell phone, I started with call number one early in January. The woman told me she was "sorry for my loss" and I was crying and said thank you for her understanding. Fast forward four months and just as many phone calls later (I had to repeatedly call and I was still getting billed for two phones) and whenever the conversation would start with (as usual) "I'm sorry for your loss", I was now saying "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Who can I speak to who will be sorry enough to actually do their job?" Police, firefighters and others who see death on a regular basis are trained to not become overly emotional. They're trained to keep a level head as much as possible in the midst of chaos. There are extreme circumstances, obviously 9/11 comes to mind, when you will see policemen and firefighters openly weeping and they also get very emotional when it comes to children. My husband was a firefighter for over 26 years, so I know that he would carry a lot inside of him that he didn't always want to talk about.

Marg, I can't imagine that it would be any different from pre-planning. Maybe you could call the funeral home and ask to speak to the Funeral Director. Explain the situation as it stands now and see if he can advise you on what steps to take. Did your mother write down or tell anyone her wishes as to what she wants as far as burial/cremation or any services? It was relatively simple for me when Paul passed because he only wanted basic cremation in a plain box and no viewing or funeral service. My parents were the same and I will be that way, too, when my time comes down the road (although, I am not averse to an Irish wake---lol). There are many things I will never understand, SW. Maybe that's just the way the Universe operates? Even my magic lasso doesn't have the answer to that.

Someone telling me they're sorry for my loss doesn't bother me, except when it's spoken in a robotic tone by some customer service rep I'm dealing with on the phone. I have also responded with, "Me, too. More than words can convey." Many just nod and some have placed an arm around my shoulder. In the first several months after Paul died, when I was filled with more rage, I didn't want to hear ANY of it. I'm the one who had lost her husband and my family---who were actually one of the biggest offenders, mores than friends or strangers---would keep telling me how everyone "meant well" and I was being a bit "harsh" toward people. It astonished me, how, even while I'm in a real life nightmare, once again I'm being asked to consider everyone ELSE. All I kept thinking was, "So, let me get this straight. I'm now supposed to be focusing on making sure everyone else feels good about themselves?" That would make me more enraged. I saw a very unhealthy pattern from my family repeating itself at the worst possible time in my life and I chose to kick it to the curb. The neighbors next door are religious fanatics. The wife has constantly tried to tell me that Paul is in a better place and the husband, who isn't right mentally, kept telling me that I was "doing it all wrong and needed to be HAPPY for Paul, because he graduated and is building a home for us up with the Lord". All that went through my mind was "Poor Paul doesn't even get a break from work when he's up there?" The husband also actually said that he was jealous of Paul and couldn't wait to graduate, too, because Earth is Hell and suffering. Wow, I never realized just how unhappily married they are next door. lol Knowing they aren't exactly "all there", I simply considered the source and remained silent. I do understand that it isn't realistic for me to think everyone is going to feel my grief the way I feel it. After all, the loss IS biggest for me. I did expect better from my family, as I said, but even that doesn't truly surprise me. Leopards and spots and all that jazz. I even have a friend right now who recently lost a grandchild (stillborn, which is beyond tragic) and I have tried to console her, but cannot be there for her as I would like to be, because I'm still wrestling with my own grief. I do understand the need people have to distance themselves somewhat from my pain, since constant exposure can drag an extremely empathic person down into depression. It's how some people can distance themselves emotionally to become doctors or nurses and others, like myself, know they could never do it and would live every day in a deep funk. Similar to that. I did not tell my friend about a "better place", although she is very religious and has said it herself. I told her how genuinely shocked and sorry I am about what happened and that I would not insult her by saying I know how she feels, because I have NO clue. She has already experienced the loss of one of her sons and now this. I did offer her an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on if she needs one (she lives in the North part of my state so we aren't close in proximity). I also sent her a card saying the same as a reminder that I have not forgotten about her. I attempted to text her, but received no response, so I'm taking that to mean she is in the pace I was in a while back. I wasn't ready to talk about it. I just wanted to "be" for a while.

Exactly, Joyce. Everyone is different and no one---not a one of us---should do anything until we are ready to take that step. Just an added note: none of my cats have ever been replaced. They're such unique little individuals, that couldn't be done anyway. I just consider the next cats "new additions to the family".

I know, Joyce. I think about that all the time myself. Right after Paul died, I was hyper vigilant about the cats. because I didn't know what I'd do if I lost one of them, too, so soon after. I've had cats for almost 34 years now (not the same ones as now, of course) and I have had to deal with their deaths, as well. But, I always seem to end up with more. I suppose I have the same attitude about them as I do about Paul. Yes, if I hadn't had him in my life, I might not be in so much pain right now, but I also would have missed out on so much love, passion, laughter, wonderful times. This is how I accept my pain. I see it as the price I'm paying for the amazing experience of having a man like Paul for my husband. My cats bring me so much laughter and love, too. Animals will die whether or not we adopt them. If we can give them a happy, love-filled life before they die, then i think it's worth it. It's much better than having them die in a shelter cage, never getting to experience the love of home and family at all.

Joyce, My heart goes out to you having to come home all the time to a totally empty home. That emptiness must magnify the loss for you. If and when you are ready, you may want to consider adopting a cat or dog, maybe an older cat or dog, who need love and companionship as much as you do. My elderly friend, who just turned 89, God bless her, has had a myriad number of health issues and surgeries and she was always very depressed and lonely. She doesn't live close by, but I talk to her on the phone all the time and she would always be crying or despondent---just so lonely. Her daughter recently took her to a shelter and she adopted a 9 year old male cat. She had had him for about a week when I called her and when she answered, she sounded like a completely different person. She was upbeat, happy and sounded all-around better than she had in years! She continues to rave about her new little boy and how loving and affectionate he is. He sleeps next to her at night and she has him to talk to and do things for. Taking care of him gives her a purpose. It's just something to consider. I know having animals isn't for everyone and it definitely depends on your physical ability to care for them, too, if you have no one to help you. I feel fortunate that, living in the suburbs, surrounded by cities, I have many more conveniences and delivery services than someone living in a more rural area. I order most of my cats' food and supplies online, not only because of my anxiety, but I've discovered that they are actually cheaper and always have the exact brands that I want, unlike brick and mortar stores. If I order enough, I can even get free shipping, so cost-wise, it's the same as if I had driven to a store and bought it myself.

Marg, back in 2000, my elderly neighbor, who was under hospice care at home for pancreatic cancer, took an overdose of morphine and ended her own life when she was ready to go. She had always said when she began suffering more than enjoying life, it would be her time. We all knew that's what happened because she had laid out all the necessary paperwork on her kitchen counter, in perfect order, and was found on her couch by her sister with her hands folded across her chest. It was so obviously planned out. A longtime friend of mine---he'll be turning 82 on the 16th of this month---is now in hospice care. He has been battling for years with COPD, diabetes, kidney problems and recently, he was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. He was receiving chemo and radiation for the latter issue (which surprised me, given his other ailments and his age) and seemed to be doing rather well, but then, a couple of medications the doctors had put him on had a serious interaction and he wound up back in the hospital with Coumadin toxicity. Now, as I said, they have placed him in hospice care. I have a birthday card for him, but I'm sure it would be grossly inappropriate to send it at this point. My sister has worked at our local hospital (she's a medical transcriptionist for surgical pathology) for over 40-something years now and she always talks about how she's "surrounded by science" all the time and that's why she has a practical mind. She swears by doctors, always excusing them for this or that, saying how they have to "follow specific protocols" or "they go by extensive scientific case studies". I call that "not treating patients like the individual beings with feelings that they truly are". And even science is fallible. It's subject to human error like anything else. How many decades did science tell us that Pluto was a planet? Then, it wasn't planet. Now, it's a planet, just not a MAJOR planet. Oh. brother! Pluto IS a planet, a major planet, my favorite planet (other than Earth, obviously)! That's MY scientific opinion! lol (And the moon is not a planet, but a natural satellite!) Doctors are no different than any other profession, in that there are good and bad.

That was an excellent article, Kay and Anne. And how many of us have said a few of those things at times to people who are grieving when we are at a loss for words? I know I have. I do have to take exception with Number 10. It depends on the individual involved, but doing things unprompted for someone could be disastrous, as well. My neighbor was at my home the day after Paul died. I received a phone call and became distracted. My neighbor took it upon herself to do the dishes that were on my counter. One of those dishes was the coffee cup that Paul had used the last day he was ever in our home. I had chosen to not wash it and leave it on the counter for him. When I hung up and came into the kitchen and saw that coffee cup washed and sitting in the dish drainer, my heart suddenly felt like someone had grabbed it and was squeezing it hard with both hands. I just remember not being able to breathe for a few seconds. I wanted to scream at her and call her every name in the book for touching my stuff, about which she knows nothing. (I didn't do that. I just said a weak "thank you". She never realized she had just stabbed me in the heart.) Plus, in a time where so much of what is happening to someone is beyond their control, someone else attempting to take control of their household or their personal belongings could actually have the opposite effect than what the giver intends. It could be devastating to the grief-stricken person. Look at the recent power struggles I have had to engage in with my brother in law. Only I get to decide what happens with Paul's car and truck or with my home or yard. So, I don't think I would do anything unprompted. Always ask if they WANT you to do something or ask if there's something specific they want left alone. Consideration for the person's feelings is always the most important factor.

I meant I've had both dogs and cats, not masters and staff.

Gwen, I'm sorry you have had to go through all of the anxiety and this grief, as well. We all have a Heinz 57 of physical/mental ailments tossed in along with the wrenching pain of grief, which makes moving forward alone even harder. I'm still angry with myself for not listening to my inner voice when Paul first woke up with no vision. Something deep inside of me was telling me he needed to go to the ER. Paul thought I was overreacting. I got him to his eye specialist first thing Monday morning and when that doctor wanted to send him to yet another eye specialist, my alarm bells were clanging inside my head. I mentioned that I had wanted Paul to go to the ER, thinking it would nudge the doctor's thinking so he'd turn around and say, "Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea." or something to that effect. But, he didn't. And Paul believed the doctor knew what he was doing. I had a really bad feeling that next morning when we were going down to Miami to the second eye guy. I tried to just shake it off, for Paul's sake. I tried to remain upbeat and positive---be his strength. And of course, I'm here on this forum now. I think I'm having a very difficult time forgiving myself. I, too, feel as if I failed my husband and now, we've both paid the ultimate price for it. You know there's a perfect saying in the "cats vs. dogs" argument: "Dogs Have Masters, Cats Have Staff". I've had both and I can vouch for the fact that it's 100% true! lol

Gwen, Okay, I've had panic disorder, too, complicated at times by agoraphobia, for---wait, I'm counting---lol---42 years. When I originally began having panic attacks in school at 15, no one knew what was wrong with me and it wasn't until my early 30s that I finally discovered what I had and that I wasn't alone. As is the case with anxiety, I've had good and bad periods throughout my life. I was able to date Paul, help raise my goddaughter and take her places, but when I hit perimenopause, my anxiety increased. Now, with the loss of my husband, I notice that my tendency toward agoraphobia has increased a bit. This is why I've been using a grocery shopping/delivery service to get food and other necessities. Paul was my support person. He would drive everywhere except when he was going through his eye treatments and when he awoke without his vision. Obviously, I drove then. I know I need to get back into driving again, but I don't feel as safe or secure as when Paul was still around. The world outside seems so overwhelming now that I no longer have my partner to share it with. I don't need an entourage. I was happy with just my kindred spirit. Oh, I understand what you mean about coming out of the doctor's office and looking right into the eyes of someone you know and love, waiting to see what happened and how you are. And then. I'd ask the same of him. If he'd get a prescription or needed a procedure done, I'd be online as soon as we got home, researching it and making sure it was safe or seeing if there were other options available. I thought I was doing everything in my power to help keep him well, to keep him alive and in the end, nature played a cruel trick on us, one that neither one of us ever saw coming. At least your dogs go bonkers when you come home. My cats have always pretty much just looked up or the psycho ones run and hide, thinking we might be a burglar! lol (We had one cat a while back who would always be in the window looking out when we pulled in to the driveway. She was already there, so she must have sensed that our car was close by before we even got to the house.)

Marita, that was such a nice thing to say. I certainly don't hold myself up as inspiration, I'm slogging along like everybody else, but thank you so much for your kindness. It lifted my spirits!

Mitch, I was worrying about that same issue recently. I felt guilty, because I didn't seem to be crying as much over missing Paul. But, the other day, I was playing Pandora radio as I balanced my checkbook online and a Fleetwood Mac song came on that I associated with the first summer Paul and I ever spent together as a couple. I was trying so hard to concentrate on what I was doing, but I finally put down my pen and burst into tears. I just called out for him. I'll think I'm handling my situation, adjusting to being alone, but I never really do. I feel as if all I do is bury it and the right song or the right moment in a movie or TV show, kicks the dirt off and exposes every raw nerve. It's always there, just below the surface. Kay, right after Paul died, I spent all my time in abject terror. I'd wake with a start in the middle of the night (if I got to sleep at all) and there would be this tight, gnawing knot of dread and fear clutching at my stomach. I would be shaking. I was the same way---"How am I going to live the rest of my life without him? What is there left for me if he isn't here alongside of me?" Then, the images of all the places we'd visit regularly or things we enjoyed doing together would start to play in an endless loop in my mind and it would dawn on me that that life was suddenly over--for good. The only thing that worked for me, the only way I could doze back off, was to stop myself in my tracks and say, "Don't think so far ahead. For NOW, you can take a deep breath in and breathe out. For NOW, you can relax the muscles in your arms and legs." Forcing myself to remain in the moment was the only way I could keep my head together and stay sane. I've written before on the forum how miserable I was the entire month of January, dreading the impending 34th anniversary of our first date on January 25th. I was constantly playing the music popular at that time (music is one of my passions, so it's always a trigger or touch stone for important memories), remembering how we got together and the feelings of being giddy and head over heels in love with each other. I was sobbing and wallowing in it all. The day of the actual anniversary, after a very anxious night with little sleep, I suddenly felt this calmness come over me a half hour after getting up, almost as if Paul had his arms around me. I was able to make some strides in a few areas I'd been dealing with and actually ended up having a wonderful day. That night, I sat quietly, reading, and every so often, I'd look up at the clock, thinking about what we were doing at that time----when he picked me up, when we were eating dinner, when we were sitting and talking, when he took me home and especially when we both realized the depth of our feelings for each other. I remembered it all. It was comforting and it made me realize I'd do it all over again, good and bad, just as long as I could relive those feelings and my life with him.

George, I'm a lot like the kids----so I completely relate to them----and when Paul and I could not have kids of our own, we helped raise our goddaughter. She was and still is the shining light of our lives. I enjoy my great nephew (he just turned 6) and now, my great niece (although she's a newborn and doesn't do much but sleep, eat, poo and sleep again---hmmmm, much like a cat--lol) and I run around with my nephew and yell, too. I've always been an active person with a high adrenaline output and kids help me channel that energy. I feel better after being around them. They treat me like I'm one of them, which makes me feel that way, like my reality is suspended for a short period of time. For those moments I'm playing with them or watching them play, I experience and lose myself in the other side of life for a while. The happy, fun side. I will return to grieving for my Paul, but for a short time, I laugh and act goofy. Anyone who knows me well, knows that at holidays, I've always preferred to sit at the kids' table to the adults'. It's more interesting and way more fun.

Gwen, I have had a lifelong anxiety disorder and was diagnosed several years ago with an autoimmune condition (Crohns). Back in 2013, I began losing weight for no discernible reason, every joint in my body was so excruciatingly painful and stiff that I could not walk or sit down and get up from a chair without great pain and struggle. I could not raise my arms, could not cross them over my body in front or in back. I was basically crippled. Strangely enough, a year after I got this and was slowly recovering and regaining my range of motion in my joints, Paul came down with all the same symptoms, even the unexplained weight loss. (He was only told he had "bone spurs", but I feel now that he had diabetes and was not properly diagnosed or treated. Of course, I cannot prove this, so there you go. But, bone spurs do not cause unexplained weight loss and he was never given a reason for that.) We spent our last several years together going to the lab together for our blood work, going to the doctor together for our check ups. I was supposed to go the end of last year for my appointment (Paul and I both were scheduled to go), but of course, Paul passed away and I have just not had the energy nor the inclination to deal with all that. I don't want to go to the lab where Paul and I would sit together, waiting for our names to be called. I don't hear that great in my right ear and Paul would kind of "be my ears" for me when we'd check in and the receptionist would ask information. Now, I'm going to have to deal with all this alone. Im having a difficult time going anywhere that Paul and I went together all the time. I'm thinking of changing doctors because of this deep despair I feel at the thought of sitting, for the first time, in a place where Paul and I always sat together. George, I love how you put it. That carefree, full-on joy of life I used to have is no longer there. Everything---the grief, the decisions and dealing with day to day life alone, take so much energy and you become depleted much more easily than before. It's a lonely life, even in the company of others. It's like I have had three lives: BP, WP and AP. Before Paul, With Paul and now, After Paul. And if you have a strong intolerance for screaming, pout-y, tantrum prone children? I hope you never meet my brother in law! Haha!

Gin and everyone, At the risk of being repetitive---I know there were complaints about "not enough dialogue"---I'm not sure what more I can say than "Me, too." Especially when you already have people telling you that you are "less than", even though you know it isn't true, you think you're the only one not knowing what to do with the days you've been given. I wake up---late this morning, because I had a hard time sleeping. Not because of stress of the day but because of making the mistake of watching the news before bedtime. Horrible. But, day after day, I know I've been wanting to go through my old books, my clothes, whatever else to throw some things out and make room. But, I have no focus, no energy, no enthusiasm for anything. Like most of you, I look out the window at the world going by and I don't know what to do with myself. Anywhere I would go, it would be alone. All the things I loved doing with Paul would not be the same without him. My daily life is no longer the same without him. It truly is more of an existence than a life. My essence went with Paul and left an empty shell behind to walk the house. Kay, thank you for the information about weed whackers! Paul's weed whacker is still in the shed, but I'm giving this lawn service a try and see how they do. They whacked everything yesterday. You are so right about being careful about strangers who might be casing your place with ulterior motives. I'm always aware of that. In fact, right after Paul passed, I was wondering how long it might be before neighbors would realize he was no longer here and that I was alone. The neighbor woman next door to me helps those kinds of things along, since she gossips. I haven't had any problems so far, knock on wood, but you always need to be careful. I hear a lot about how I "need to get out of the house". And go where? And do what?

Gin and Marg (SW), In a week or so, it will be the 10 month for me, as well. I'm trying to not think about how fast October is approaching. Is it still possible to have some leftover shock at this point?