Gary Posted February 22, 2010 Report Share Posted February 22, 2010 Sharon died two months ago after her second lung transplant. I was her full time caretaker for the past three years. Her death, although not unexpected, sent me into that bottomless black hole from which I have painfully clawed my way out. The light of day felt good but I now fear that I am not really out but instead, I'm back teetering on the edge and I fear the blackness that seems to be enveloping my heart. I cry watching the evening news - not from seeing earthquake victims but a story about a lost dog just found. Stupid things. I am regressing. I know that I must do this alone. The homily about my having no shoes until I met the man with no feet is balderdash. I'm sorry for him but my feet still pain me greatly. I have tried breavement groups. Again, other's pain does not lessen mine. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
mlg Posted February 22, 2010 Report Share Posted February 22, 2010 Gary, Just know that you are not alone. There are many of us teetering on that edge. It seems like sometimes you take 2 steps forward and 10 steps back. At other times we can march forward for quite a while. I don't know what sends us back to these forlorn places but I know I am worse when I get overly tired. It doesn't say how far out you are, but I am a little over 2 years and have many "dark" days (more so at night when I'm all alone in the house). Just breathe and keep marching even if it is just in place for a while. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Korina Posted February 22, 2010 Report Share Posted February 22, 2010 Gary: Just because you cry at "silly" things does not mean you are regressing, if you ask me. If you feel like crying, so be it. We need to have some kind of physical outlent. (I cried at silly things before, so you can just imagine what I am like, now.. ). My emotions have been all over the place since my husband died, 8 months ago. Somedays, I could barely get off the couch. Other days, I didn't cry at all, and wondered what was wrong with me. And I am currently feeling like I miss him more that the day he died. All I really know is that I can only do this one day at a time, and to try and take care of my health (it is so easy to not eat or exercise, and sleep is often difficult). I never really know how I am going to feel from one day to the next (what degree of grief, I mean, because although I can now enjoy myself at time, the sadness is always there). Hang in there - we are here for you. Korina Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Susie Q Posted February 22, 2010 Report Share Posted February 22, 2010 Dear Gary Today is 6 months since the day my husband died after a cerebral haemmorhage only 3 days before. I know for me that the black hole is always just one step away. Sometimes I avoid it, other days, well, I guess I just surrender to all the nasty things it brings my way. My worst cries and depressions (which I can now hide from most people) seem to give me strength to pick myself up and start again the next day. Just getting through the day is what is important to me now. What I do know is that clawing out of the black time for the first time, is by far the hardest. So you know that you can do it again. My hope is that your feelings of inner strength make a comeback soon. And come back here to 'talk'. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Gary Posted February 23, 2010 Author Report Share Posted February 23, 2010 Thanks for the kind thoughts. I find that I cannot say the words to anyone but writing seems to be cathartic. You sharing your feelings, even though,(or especially so) with me have been truly heart-warming. Thanks, Gary Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
mrspapajohn Posted February 23, 2010 Report Share Posted February 23, 2010 Gary - My husband, Stephen, died after a liver transplant just a little over a year ago. Although I get through most days o.k., like you, that black hole is never far away. I still cry often (when alone), but still remember how terribly, terribly difficult those first months were. Time certainly does not heal all wounds, but we do get stronger. In fact, it is amazing to find personal strength that you never knew was there. Peace. I will be thinking of you. Kathy Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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