Eagle-96

That resonates with me in a big way. Lori and I could do and say things around each other that we would never dream of in public or even around close friends. We too would just reach out and hold hands on the couch for no particular reason. Never had to say a word. I guess I am in a "little things matter" stage or mood this week because it's those little things I am missing so much right now.

Tom, 1. You already know this but it's ok to cry no matter where you are. If others around you can't handle it then it's their problem, not yours. In our state it's brutally difficult to stop the tears when they want to flow. 2. It reminds me of the saying(I'll paraphrase here), "Do not judge the person standing next to you for you know nothing of their struggle". I used to hear that saying but it never really resonated. After 04/01/17 it rings truer than almost any quote. I hope that I can now display the compassion I yearn for from others as I know all to well the deep meaning behind the saying.

The way I see this aspect is that a marriage is a melding of two lives and personalities into one. Over time we take on the traits and personalities of our spouses. We find ourselves using the same phrases. Having the same interests. Having the same sense of humor. Eating the same food. Its not true for everyone but Lori and I were very different in our personalities on 04/01/17 than we were on 07/02/03. That's just my take on the subject and I hope it gives you some insight.

Adele, Those times are tough for me as well. It's the little things I miss. I opened a cabinet this weekend to take out a bowl and saw her popcorn maker sitting there and lost it. No rhyme or reason to it. I guess our lot in life is that these moments will hit us when they hit us and we have to just roll with the punches. I try to turn these grief filled moments into a positive even though it's difficult sometimes. My first reaction to the microwave popcorn maker was, "She'll never use that again". But then I thought, Lori really loved making homemade popcorn and it brought a smile to my face to think of the little things that brought her joy. The happy moment was fleeting but, then again, so was the moment of despair.

Butch, I am so sorry for your losses. I know you've heard it all before but know that I am thinking about you and praying for healing comfort for your heart.

Thanks Kay, I've noticed some familiar faces here and some new perspectives as well. I'll check the rest of the site out and see what I can find. I told a close friend of Lori and I that is having a hard time with Lori's passing about the site and gave him the link. He's just not ready yet as he's not quite ready to accept that it's over. I told him that he can join when he is ready. Was able to have a REALLY good conversation with him and we both gained some perspective. Just another step on the journey.

My wife Lori and I met at work in 2002 and were married for 13 years. We all know the story; wife, lover, best friend. We did everything together. She still made me feel butterflies up until the end. Thick as thieves, partners in crime. You name the sappy, dopey, saying about people madly in love and it was us. We decided early on not to have children. Nothing wrong medically, we just chose to go through life as a party of two. Lori's medical history had always been fine. Her family medical history was a different story. Her mother had a massive heart attack at 50 but survived with complications. Both of her aunts had died of heart attacks in their early 50's. Her brother had a heart attack at 52 and survived. You see where this is going. On March 31, 2017 she complained of chest pains. We went to a stand-alone emergency room(not the one in a hospital) because it was close to the house. She had just gotten over bronchitis that week so we thought it could be related to that but wanted to be sure. She had gotten a clean bill of health from a cardiologist a month prior so we thought, "let's just make sure". The ER sent us home just after midnight with a benign medical diagnosis and we were relieved it wasn't her heart. We stayed up that night as she was still in pain. She went to the bathroom like she did a million times before. I heard her making sounds I knew were not right. That's when I found her on the floor struggling to live. I called 911 and started CPR. It seemed like hours before the EMTs made it but I felt a sense of relief that it would be ok now. We got to the hospital and they went right into the cath lab and found a 100% blockage in in artery. The docs came out and said they were able to place two stents and I thought GREAT, she made it and she's going to be ok. We'll get through rehab and nurse her back to health. There were so many meetings with the doctors for updates throughout the morning. Each one got a little more bleak. The news became worse and worse. Much of that day is a fog. I was a zombie just going through the motions, signing forms, trying my best to just make it to the next minute. There was to much damage to the heart. She died on 04/01 at 10:43 AM. One thing that is crystal clear however is the "oh no" moment I found her and fought along side her to keep her here. That image will forever be burned in my memory. Upon reflection those 5 minutes were, at once, both the worst and best moments of my life. I know that sounds strange but hear me out. It was the worst in that I felt so helpless even while giving CPR. I felt terror and fear that she was slipping away and I was powerless to do anything about it. It was the best simply because my sweet wife was not alone during that time. I was with her trying desperately to save her. We were together like we always were. She Was Not Alone. I hope she found comfort in me being there as I always had been. That is one shred of peace that I hold onto knowing that she may have felt some small bit of comfort having me there. Another thing I hold onto is that although this pain I am feeling is deeper and more agonizing than anything I could ever have imagined, she is not the one that is grieving me. I would never wish ANY amount of pain or heartache on Lori, let alone the depths of despair I am in now. I find comfort knowing that I am the one that bears the grief of losing a spouse and not her. It's what men are supposed to do. We're supposed to check out the noises in the middle of the night. We're supposed to put our coats down in the puddle so our damsel won't get her feet wet. THAT is what gives me an ounce of peace in this sadness. I also hold onto the fact that even though she was taken suddenly, we left nothing unsaid. We both knew exactly how we felt about each other. There are no regrets. We said I love you often and made sure we both knew how we felt about each other so I have no feelings of sadness that we could or should have said more. For me it's still not day to day but moment to moment. I feel like a nuclear blast has leveled everything around me, but I'm still here. I never in a million years could have imagined the amount of sorrow and grief I feel right now. Everyone around me tells me how to "deal" with it. DEAL with it? This is not something you deal with. This is my life, not some insignificant blip on the radar. I think about her ALL day EVERY day. That's what her friends, co-workers, family don't understand. They saw her weekly, monthly, sometimes daily for short times. I was with her ALL the time. That's what they don't get. They had a piece of their lives taken. I lost the whole thing. I know they mean well but as I have seen on here in many posts, "you can't understand this level of loss until you've been through it". A small part of me WANTS everyone else to feel my level of hurt. I want to scream, "Don't you know what's happened? How can you carry on?" But at the same time I don't wish this pain on anyone. It's something that challenges me. Then there are the reactions I get from co-workers, acquaintances, etc... They don't know how to act. It's almost like I have a disease and they don't want to make eye contact. I get that fact that they may not know what to say, but I wish there would be some sense of normalcy. It's strange to say the least.