Ruth T

Yes, the "bilingualism" is really something. I have many friends who are so supportive and who have been mourning for me all this time, but that can be exhausting. Meanwhile, I've grown much, much closer to his family and friends, because they are mourning with me.

All of you speak of more or less shutting yourself off from the world yet you're so open and caring here...I understand that completely. I think that's why, after months of not being able to make myself go to a support group in town, I tried this. I don't dream of him often but I saw him last night. By day I feel myself forgetting bit by bit exactly what he was like and what we were like, but in my dreams everything is just as it was when he was alive, and when I wake up I'm so, so happy to have had him back for a moment, to remember him so clearly again. Of course I'm sad too, but oddly happier than sad.

Gwenivere, what you wrote is beautiful and also resonates. I don't know what else to say except I think I will return to reading all of these answers many times.

scba and Karen, these answers really resonate with me, thank you. As I implied I have always been really, really good at being alone, and sort of always thought I eventually would be. Then Brit changed all that and I thought I'd grow old with him. I never felt much loneliness before him. Now I feel it terribly, but I think I'm lonely for him and only him...not lonely in general. My parents divorced in 1984 and neither ever remarried, and to this day they say they love each other, they just couldn't live with each other. This detail is and isn't relevant.

Oh, Karen, the unfairness of losing them both is incomprehensible. I'm so, so sorry. Gaining more empathy as mentioned by Gwenivere can only be a good thing, and greater self-reliance per kayc—I thought of myself as so very independent before Brit died and now I know exactly how much he did for me. Both of us had jobs that required us to be relatively social, yet both of us considered ourselves loners by nature. It turns out being a loner isn't the same as taking care of yourself, and I'm doing a pretty bad job of it right now. Also before Brit, I had been in a series of more or less serious relationships, but never anything that, deep down, I really expected to "stick"—I never wanted kids and assumed that if I just went from relationship to relationship until I was too old to, that would be fine. Brit showed me that true love is what matters and means most, not career. Which is why, as all of you are suggesting in one way or another, life now feels meaningless—I wake up, I complete the daily routine, I go to bed, repeat, with no idea why I'm bothering. As you said, Gwenivere, there's nothing promising or rewarding about it. Did any of you ever try to seek a life companion again, or did it feel pointless compared to having found your soulmate, or maybe like a betrayal of them? Please don't feel you have to answer this if it's too private, or maybe there's an already existing thread I should read that delves into this subject...

Whew. These are such...powerful responses. Your perspectives mean a lot—thank you. They make me feel a bit less panicked if no less miserable—I'm sure you know what I mean by that. I have cried more in the past 9 months than I cried in the first 48 years of my life put together. It's exhausting. I'm sure you know what I mean by that too.

Thank you...Since you mention the softening of mourning, I would love to ask any of you regulars, if it's not too painful to revisit: How do you feel you have changed from the moment your loved one died to this moment? In some ways for the better? In some ways for the worse? Have you grown in some ways, been thwarted in others? I suppose I'm beginning to feel as though, without his love and support, my psyche (I've always tended to be anxious, antisocial, and depressed) is taking a sharp turn for the worse, and I'm worried it's going to be permanent rather than just part of the cycle. In any case I would be honored to hear your answers to my questions if they are of any interest.

Thank you both so, so much for welcoming me. I will definitely explore the Tips and much more on this site—grief is such a lonely business even when close friends and family are trying to help. There are certain ways in which they just can't.

Hello. I'm not too sure about this and haven't registered yet. Sadmaiden, I don't know if you're still here but I am in a similar position. My name is Ruth, and I lost my person of 12 years—14 if you count the two years we spent emailing one another from across the country, having known one another vaguely years before—back in March. I am 49; he was 50. It's hard for me to even call him the love of my life or my soulmate, though he was—I wish there were an original term just for us, but there isn't, so I call him my person (we were common-law married). He had a late-onset seizure disorder; he was on medication that kept him from having seizures...until, I guess, it didn't, and he had one while driving. It is small consolation to me, as to you, that he likely didn't suffer—seizures are terrifying to behold (I saw my share) but the person having them has no idea what's going on—and of course that it was a one-car accident and he didn't hurt anyone else. After nearly 9 months the shock has mostly worn off and the grief is shifting toward deep depression. On the one hand the pure sadness of mourning him remains; on the other hand is the much-less-pure, guilt-ridden despair of feeling my own life to be over, loveless and lonely. I am getting ready to start therapy but I figured it was time to share with people who might understand. Thank you for listening. Ruth