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My Introduction


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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

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Shirley, my dear, although I am so sorry for the reason that brought you here, I welcome you to this warm and caring place . It's good to know that you have that "amazing older sister" ~ your best friend "who traveled this path years ago, and was a part of this community." I'm sure she will be an invaluable support to you in the days and weeks ahead ~ and we will be here for you as well, walking beside you and sitting with you in your sorrow. ❤️

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Shirley,

I'm glad you have found your way to our group, but so sorry that you have lost Stephen. He sounds like a wonderful man who brought much joy into your life. We truly understand what you are feeling and are here to listen and offer support in any way we can.

My Ron has been gone for 5+ years and I still miss him and the life we shared for 40+ years. This is probably the hardest journey you will ever make, but you are not walking alone. Reach out any time and someone will hear you.

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Your time has been so short for your loss.   I know it feels like forever.  The people here keep me sane and that’s a huge task.  I hope you will find the safety here to say anything at anytime.  There are lots of ears, eyes and hearts for you.  Yup, welcome to the club none of us applied for.  My husbands name was Steven too.  🌹

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13 hours ago, Kieron said:

I can only echo the sentiments offered already,

I've been here awhile.  Just tell what comes to your heart.  We all are hurting.  Misery does not love company, but this company (forum) helps with the misery.  I had my Billy for 54 years.  I was getting ready for bed last night and out of the corner of my eye I saw his red shirt and his sweet skinny man legs, like he was sitting on the side of the bed, like I have seen him a million times.  It was how I keep my pillows (I stack them and sleep on a bunch of them), and one pillow on the side of the bed (beige cover) that was covering up the light to my Kindle plug in.  Of course I knew he was not there, but after so many years, in my "mind's eye" I could see him.  I'm at the point now that I still cannot believe he is gone, but of course know he is.  Just keep on writing when it gets unbearable, or if it gets to a moment that is easier to accept.  I think we have "heard/read" it all and if we did not read it, we wrote it our-self.  

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Shirley,

I am so sorry.  I lost my husband five days after his 51st birthday, suddenly, unexpected...heart attack.  he was in the hospital three days and then had another one and that was it.  I didn't see how I could survive a week...that was 13 years ago.

We are here to walk this journey with you, to listen and care.  We are those that "get it", we live it.  You described so aptly what we've all felt.  I'm just so sorry you too are in this situation, missing your Stephen.

I'm glad you have your dog and your sister.  I lost one sister in March and am afraid I'm losing my closest sister now...we talk every day and are best friends.  She has dementia and three weeks ago had back surgery, she's not doing very well.  

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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

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10 hours ago, Marg M said:

 I think we have "heard/read" it all and if we did not read it, we wrote it our-self.  

Another true Margism.  So many posts I don’t reply to because the person writing said it all.  It’s when I can add something or it sparks a new angle I do.  The REACT button I hope people notice so they see they have resonated something for those people.  

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37 minutes ago, shebert56 said:

When grief hits, it hits hard.

Sure does.  At times, it doubles you over, then brings you to your knees, and finally knocks you flat.  And then you get up and go on, and it happens again a little while later.

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14 hours ago, shebert56 said:

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

My husband left this world in a tremendous thunder and lightening storm...and a triple rainbow.  I wasn't aware of it at the time, I was in the middle of the hospital praying for him in a little room, but my sister took pictures and later realizing it was the time that he passed, she shared them with me.  Whenever I see rainbows I think of him..  I like to think the rainbows you saw was a sign from him...that he was there.
I'm glad you have Louie, Lord knows we need the smiles!  May he bring you many more, dogs are such a comfort.

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