shebert56

Had my annual GYN appointment yesterday. The office asked me to review the information they have on file and for me to update. Emergency Contact - yes, that needs changing. Marital Status - yes, that one too.... My GYN and I had a cry together. After I composed myself, she couldn't stop crying. Very kind and compassionate physician. Today I polished some furniture. Stephen liked dusting/polishing and did that often, so now I carry the torch. The only thing I despise more than dusting/polishing is ironing. Thankfully I don't pull that thing out more than once or twice a year. ~Shirley

Kieron, yes, I feel you. The evenings are not as bad for me, because I think thank goodness, it's the end of the day. I know to take it a day at a time. When I feel trapped, I go outdoors as well. I always was the "lawn person" of our family, so I continue on with those items. Hot here in Florida, but I'm accustomed to it and it provides a release for me. Reading I do as well, but I definitely understand the focus thing so I read slowly and sometimes one or two pages at a time, then put it down. I, like you, acknowledge the feelings (and they are hardly easy). I'm not sure there are any answers. We'll all make our own way in time, whatever that "way" is. MartyT, slowly learning how to navigate. I know it's a marathon, not a sprint. And I know I must keep myself in mind now as well. I am not over expecting of myself. Also conscious of the weight I'm losing through grief. Hugs to all. ~Shirley

Friday was Stephen's gathering of family and friends. It was a lovely gathering, and although I try to recall all of it, most of it is foggy. Today is Monday. Today is the day with no more planning for final goodbye. When everyone has moved on to their normal day (work, family, etc.). And the quiet is sometimes deafening. And the continuation of dealing with the "business" end of everything. I can admit I've done a huge amount in a short period of time. And hope tomorrow doesn't bring yet another something new that needs attention. I'm beginning to recognize "enough" and "get off the hampster wheel." But then I'm left with what do I do next? I can't stand the pacing or feeling of being trapped. I'm not ready for deep socialization. I've pushed past my comfort zone in going to the grocery store, etc., albeit when it's not crowded. And I smile and say hello to people as I pass by. I tried to watch a movie earlier, but nope, not ready for that. TV is on for the noise only. On Friday I had that your body is telling you to crash and burn. I listened and had a long hard sleep. Not so much since then. Today is just a day feeling drained. I know to give myself permission to feel drained. Still doesn't make it feel any better. Thank goodness for the generosity of neighbors who brought food that I could freeze. I'm getting ready to cook another hash brown cassarole, because it's the one comfort food I can eat. Looking in the freezer is pointless, as I'm definitely not ready for cooking yet. Cooking for one, and eating alone, isn't even in the cards yet. I can hardly bare looking at some of the frozen foods that were Stephen's favorite, so I'll just keep closing that freezer door. I' am eating and I'm keeping hydrated and I'm taking vitamins and I'm getting some exercise. A day at a time..... ~Shirley

Hi Katie, I am so sorry for your loss. I lost my husband August 10 and am still entrenched in the grieving process. It's been recommended to me by friends who lost a son to be open to all possibilities. Just be open. Also a dear cousin who lost her husband 20+ years ago said be watchful for angels; they come in many shapes and forms, and you may not know the impact until much later ( for example, on Friday when we had our final gathering in honor of Stephen, I returned home to an empty house. I went out to check the mail, and I found four flat stones in a plant bed next to my door. These four flat stones were painted to look like ladybugs but in different colors. I've no idea who left them, but an "angel" in my neighborhood knew I needed that.) I search and call and search for Stephen. One night last week I went out on my back porch a little after 9 pm. for a smoke. It's been perhaps six years or so since we've seen fireflies in our back yard. On this night, I was thinking of him, and suddenly a firefly appeared and blinked three or four times. I stayed outside for a while, but I never saw it blink again. I truly believe it was a sign. And I smiled. And what about while checking if we have jumper cables in the SUV that he drove, I find a bottle of wine where the spare tire is stored, that he must have tucked away at some point. And I smiled. Or how I used to fuss him for leaving kleenex in his shorts, then I'd find bits of paper all over the dryer. When in week one of his passing, I was wearing his shorts around the house, washed them, and lo and behold, yep, I had left a kleenex in the pocket and had bits of paper all over the dryer. I looked up and said to Stephen "Looks like I picked up some of your bad habits!" And I smiled. Open your heart to all possibilities. I know it's painful, trust me. There are moments when I want my heart closed so it stops hurting so much. But by keeping my heart open, I manage to find not only reasons to cry and grieve, but reasons to smile. Hugs to you Katie. ~Shirley

Mitch, I feel you. I'm new here so my journey is just beginning. Today was really tough. Then when I had myself in a good place, I opened the back door to see "rabbit squirrel" on the fence. Rabbit squirrel showed up this year. A squirrel who somehow lost his tail. He's got a tiny little nub. But boy, you should see him move. I opened the door, Louie ran out barking as I said out loud "look, it's rabbit squirrel!" Then I fell apart, completely, that deep down in your soul sobbing. Stephen got the biggest kick out of odd that little squirrel. I'm learning a day at a time isn't near enough. It's more a second at a time. Sending you warm wishes. ~Shirley

Thank you all for your kind and generous words. I feel the love from this community. Today I saw Stephen off. He was cremated early this morning, but beforehand, I got to see him. All dressed in a suit and tie, lying there so peacefully. It was striking contrast to seeing him in ICU hooked up to so so many machines. All day I was pretty okay, until now. When grief hits, it hits hard. He had lost his parents, his mother (to whom he was extremely close) a year ago August. He didn't have time to grieve properly. During a storm last night, and a double rainbow, I told him to go to his brother, because he needs him most. Then to come back to me when he's ready. But I want all of Stephen. I want him now. My head knows that's not going to happen, but my heart still wants. I am comforted that over the years of bringing Louie into our lives, I took a number of small videos with my camera. One of them at feeding time, one where Stephen was running up the road while walking Louie, one of them tumbling around in the grass, one of the day we brought Louie home. And one we call Family Love. Each time Stephen and I would kiss, Louie would come up between us to kiss too. So you see us smooching, and Louie's tongue in there as well. I smiled. I really smiled and it felt good. I want that feeling all the time. ~Shirley

How does one begin an introduction, when introduction just doesn't seem fit. I lost Stephen on August 10. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Details too long and tender to post, but Stephen had in May been diagnosed with myeloma. He had back surgery to remove a tumor, and had just finished his first cycle of chemo treatment. Week of August 5 was his off treatment week. On Thursday, I awoke to find him unresponsive. He was rushed to ER, spent two days in ICU with just about every complication imaginable, and by Friday, we let him go. His brother was here from New Jersey, and his business partner/best friend were with me at the end. Stephen went quietly and peacefully, even though that description is a blessing, it's not comforting in the core of me. A little about Stephen. We were "seconds" in each other's lives. We met online in 2001, and in 2006, we moved in together, then married in 2009. We have no children either past or together. We have an 8 year old furry child, a westie named Louie. Stephen was the kindness, funniest, most caring, empathetic man I have ever met, and he treated me like I was the most important person in his life. We never argued, seldom were snippy, laughed, cooked together, danced around the house, had good wine. We fished, worked in the yard, cleaned house together. He wanted to share everything with me. It was an amazing life. I am 61 and just retired October of last year, as Stephen's work gave me that blessed opportunity. He was 55, with a full life ahead of him. I am devastated. I go to sleep, but wake early. The mornings are horrible in this house without him. I look for Stephen everywhere. Everywhere. I try to have moments of normal in each day, cleaning the house, cutting the lawn, washing the car, giving attention to the pup. But it fills just the smallest bit of the day. The grief sometimes is beyond bearing. It feels like my guts have been ripped out. Any food I managed to get into my mouth is hard to swallow, then feels as though it won't stay down. Sometimes I'm doing something, then I feel paralyzed and can't move forward. The walls close in, so I spend at much time as I can sitting outdoors. I allow myself to grieve, letting it pass through me. I have good neighbors who have brought food and checked in on me. I don't have a circle of friends. I have an amazing older sister, my best friend, who traveled this path years ago, and was a part of this community. She lives in another state, but she has been my rock in validating everything I'm experiencing. She's there for me 24-7 if I need her. Everything happened so so fast. I am not angry with God. I'm not religious, I'm more spiritual. I don't question any of the care Stephen received in ICU, because I saw it first hand. The doctors and nurses worked nonstop and did not give up until the end. I am just numb, and my heart is broken into pieces. I loved him so much, and I miss him terribly..... ~Shirley