Thirty-Seven Months

[HAP]

Dear friends,

Jane died 37 months ago tonight. I knew it was coming. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. I held her hand, read to her unconscious form, did all that love can do. And then she was gone. Her breathing stopped. Her heart stopped. Her life stopped.

The doctor came in, listened to her heart, nodded and confirmed what we all already knew. I made the calls I had to make in the shock and numbness that makes a person look so much braver and stronger than he is. A friend drove me home to the silence of this house where we had laughed and argued and cried and loved. I threw myself on the bed. Eventually, I slept. I woke up in the dark and the silence and the emptiness and knew just how alone I was.

I knew all the theories about grief. I had seen others grieve. I thought I understood. I understood nothing. I knew nothing. There are no time limits on grief. You don't wake up one day and discover you are "over it." You get better at coping, but the hurt never really goes away.

You can bury yourself in work. You can go out with friends and family. You can laugh. You can drink. You can talk to counselors and take the drugs they offer. But at the end of the day, you come home alone, you go to bed alone, you wake up alone. Even in a crowded room at a party there comes a point that you look around and realize you are alone.

I had that moment again on Christmas Day. I was at my brother's house in Seattle. We were all sitting at the table. People were talking and laughing--and suddenly it was just too much. I got up quietly and went to another room. I sat next to the Christmas tree and stared mindlessly into space for a few minutes. My family has seen it before. They know, I think, that I am feeling something difficult in those few minutes. They leave me alone long enough to gather myself.

Over 37,000 people have died of carcinoid and NET cancer since the night Jane died. Each one of them had someone who loved them--spouses, parents, children, grandparents, grandchildren. Each of them had a precious mind and a precious soul that is now missing from the world. My grief has been mirrored at least 37,000 times in 37 months. I try to imagine that and it staggers me.

There are 120,000 diagnosed patients living with NET cancer in the US--and all but a handful will die of the disease unless something changes. That's 120,000 more grieving spouses and primary caregivers.

Someone said to me recently, "Why do you care about what other people feel? Just deal with your own grief and get over it." Someone else said, "We all have to die of something. If she hadn't died of this, it would have been something else. You can't stop death, so why try? She's gone. Move on."

I might have thought that way once. I envy them their ignorance and their ability to maintain their logical fantasy. It sounds nice until you have to live it. Once you live it, you want others not to experience any part of it. No one who has actually experienced combat wants anyone else to experience any part of it. No one who has experienced grief wants anyone else to experience any part of it, either.

So I keep working; I keep trying to make a difference. Some days are easier than others. Some days are harder than others. But none are as hard as the day you watch the one you love die, knowing there is nothing you can do--nothing anyone can do--to stop it.

Peace,

Harry

[mfh]

Harry, I know...the silence, the inability to stop death, the alone alone alone feeling...and I understand your desire to do all you can to prevent someone else from going through the hell you have been through. I know!

Mary

[kayc]

You are making a difference, a bit at a time, that's why you press on. I guess some people just don't get it. 37 months...and we never seem to stop counting.

[enna]

I understand being alone, Harry. It would be nice if we could take that feeling away from all who grieve but we can't. It is our journey. What we can do is be present as our friends grieve. Sit with them. No need to say anything. Someone being present to us is a gift treasured. I am present to you as we all are to each other. I will never forget the minute Jim died as I sat and watched him take his last breath. I kept wanting to breath for him but I knew. I knew. May peace fill your heart tonight as you remember.

Anne

[kayc]

You have no idea how alone I'd feel without all of you. Most of the time I do okay, but sometimes...

[Wifflesnook]

The feeling of being alone never leaves me, but sometimes it's in the background. It jumps into the foreground at times when I don't expect it to and it's like a searing pain in my heart which I try to muffle. My life without Pete lacks colour and vibrancy. I try to create meaning where before it just surrounded me. I feel your pain Harry, as we all do. You know you have made a difference, and continuer to do so, and that Jane is proud of you. It's 20 months since Pete died and I can't see I shall feel any different at all when it's 40. I can't see any reason why my feelings would change in any way. And it's tremendously important to me to cling to my memories of him and NOT MOVE ON! I hate hate hate that phrase.

[mfh]

You have no idea how alone I'd feel without all of you. Most of the time I do okay, but sometimes...

Part of this journey through grief is learning how to deal with being alone without the person we loved. That is a huge piece of the pain. And it is the beauty and comfort of this circle. Kay, we are here for you...just as you are here for everyone else. And I am so sorry the plumbing keeps on being an issue.

Mary

[mfh]

The feeling of being alone never leaves me, but sometimes it's in the background. It jumps into the foreground at times when I don't expect it to and it's like a searing pain in my heart which I try to muffle. My life without Pete lacks colour and vibrancy. I try to create meaning where before it just surrounded me. I feel your pain Harry, as we all do. You know you have made a difference, and continue to do so, and that Jane is proud of you. It's 20 months since Pete died and I can't see I shall feel any different at all when it's 40. I can't see any reason why my feelings would change in any way. And it's tremendously important to me to cling to my memories of him and NOT MOVE ON! I hate hate hate that phrase.

I agree with you, Jan, that feeling of being alone without the person we love is always there leaping (or slipping quietly) to the foreground and back again all day every day. I am not so certain that "muffling" the "searing pain" helps a lot, however. I think allowing the searing pain and feeling it does help to heal the "searing" part of it. Everyone is different but walking through the pain has, in my humble opinion, a better chance of helping it to subside. I think it is like a wailing infant at times and instead of ignoring the baby, picking it up and rocking it, holding it, kissing it calms and quiets the baby. It then seems to linger but does not always feel so devastatingly "searing". (I do like that word you chose) It just sits more quietly most of the time (not all for sure). Jan, I suspect at 40 months you will miss Pete and there is nothing wrong with clinging to your memories of him. We still have a relationship with the person we lost..including memories. It is approaching 48 months (4 years on March 27) since Bill died, and I miss him terribly but the pain is quieter, less "searing", most of the time...not all the time, believe me. Keep on keeping on, my dear friend. Mary

[HAP]

I dreamed of Jane again last night. We did not talk, just walked through the neighborhood I lived in when we first met. It was, somehow, comforting. i'd like to get to the cemetery today, but I am not sure my health is up for it today, despite the balmy (mid-50s) temperatures.

But dreaming of her two nights in a row…that's never happened before.

Peace,

Harry

[kayc]

Jan, I think it's semantics...when the experts used to say we needed to "move on", it angered/disturbed me, and my response was the same as yours. I've since come to learn they mean something different than what that sounds like...I wish they'd just use a different term, I hate the "move one" term. To us it sounds like leaving our loved one behind, which those of us who loved so deeply will never do! But instead I think they mean adjusting to our new life and finding our new normal, which to me is something we HAVE to do unless we want to stay utterly miserable. I think that's something you've found and been working on, like all of us here.

It helped me greatly when I learned I carry George within me all of the time and he has never left me, only his physical presence is gone. I am still impacted by the things I learned from him and how he felt about me, it carries me. For the rest of my life, I may be alone, but I will always know I am loved by him. I know he has faith in me and is cheering me on, and that brings me comfort and encouragement through everything I go through in life.

Mary, I think I've had six different leaks under the kitchen sink. You fix one and it is jarring and it doesn't take much to spring another leak somewhere else, it's stressful to the plumbing system...I just want to NOT TOUCH IT again! It started when we had the zero temperatures we aren't accustomed to here...here it was record setting and many many people had plumbing problems afterwards. It's been over a month and I'm still dealing with it! Last night after spending all day on it, it sprung one more tiny slow leak in a place I cannot fix...and then it stopped. It's been 12 hours and not a drop. I'm praying...

[Wifflesnook]

Oh thanks Mary and Kay especially. Mary you always focus on the bits I need to hear. I know that muffling isn't the right thing to do. After 20 months I'm still not dealing with the pain, but somehow veering away. It amazes me how I do that when I'm living alone in this lovely cottage we shared and loved so much. I'm trying to inch a bit closer to my grief. That hole that we all know about. I can't even acknowledge it is there sometimes. Today I wrote an email to a friend in which I said something about not having been to somewhere 'since Pete died' and I realised I still don't beleive he died! How can this be?

And Kay! yes it's all about semantics. People say things so glibly without thinking how they are received. I'm still at the stage where I want to go back rather than moving forward. But I know I have to live. And I do live. Despite how I feel inside I still live in this world somehow.

[Wifflesnook]

Harry, how wonderful to dream of Jane. I wish you more dreams.

[mfh]

Oh thanks Mary and Kay especially. Mary you always focus on the bits I need to hear. I know that muffling isn't the right thing to do. After 20 months I'm still not dealing with the pain, but somehow veering away. It amazes me how I do that when I'm living alone in this lovely cottage we shared and loved so much. I'm trying to inch a bit closer to my grief. That hole that we all know about. I can't even acknowledge it is there sometimes. Today I wrote an email to a friend in which I said something about not having been to somewhere 'since Pete died' and I realized I still don't believe he died! How can this be?

And Kay! yes it's all about semantics. People say things so glibly without thinking how they are received. I'm still at the stage where I want to go back rather than moving forward. But I know I have to live. And I do live. Despite how I feel inside I still live in this world somehow.

Jan, you will do what you will do in your own time. I think you certainly know Pete has died but you used the word "realized" in this message and perhaps you feel you do not fully realize it. You speak about "that hole" and I wonder what you think will happen if you do choose to "go there". Whatever you choose, we are here for you and trust you will do what you need to do for you.

[LarrysGirl]

Harry, you sent me hugs the last time I posted and poured out my pain. I'll send one back to you, from someone who knows the pain and sorrow. Deborah

[HAP]

Thank you, Deborah.

[feralfae]

Harry,

Perhaps, since you could not go to visit Jane, she came to you, just when you needed her love to help you get rid of this bronchitis/lung infection. I hate to call it pneumonia if it is something less.

Be well,

fae

[Queeniemary]

That is a wonderful thought, Fae, that Jane came to visit since Harry was not able to go to the grave. I think you are right. She knows you are not well Harry, and what better medicine than visits from her in your dreams.

Back at the beginning of this journey, 48 months ago tomorrow, I had in my mind that somehow in a few months, or a year or so, I would lose this ache in my chest, and the dark feeling that comes unexpectedly when it hits me once again that Mike is gone. I wish I had been with him when he died, but was not, he died alone surrounded by our dogs. I was in a hospital in another town, and (I am repeating myself I know) I had to get the news of his death in a phone call. There are times, and today is one of them, that I think back to that moment, and still do not believe what happened, and still struggle to get my mind to accept the fact that he is gone. I think I have accepted the fact that none of this is going to change. I did not understand before, so I do understand why people who have not suffered this kind of loss think you "get over" it, and "move on". We just learn to cope, some better than others, or maybe I should say quicker, but we do learn to cope. As Harry said, we laugh, we mingle, we drink, we join in things, but there always comes that moment when you are hit anew that something is not right, someone is missing, and it just takes away your breath.

So sorry any of us have to go through this, and so grateful that we have each other here, who understand.

Mary (Queeniemary) in Arkansas

[Wifflesnook]

I wasn't with my Pete either, when he died, Mary, and it's one of my regrets. And I didn't choose to see his body either, because after we went to see his grandma at the funeral parlour many years ago, and looked at her and it wasn't her, we decided together that we would never do that again. And so I thought I couldn't betray that decision. But sometimes I wish I had gone to see him becUse I still seem to be denying his death, and sometimes I wonder if it would have helped me. But regret for that is futile. And I couldn't even bring myself to go to the nursing home where Pete died (where he was for respite care for only two weeks whilst I was our daughter's birth partner) to ask how it happened. I couldn't bear to hear what they would tell me. I know that he had a sudden onset of a chest infection and they called in a doctor who prescribed anti biotics. And I know that shortly after that he died. But I can't bear to even think about anything else. I don't wish I had acted differently because I couldn't have prevented it, and I've been told by several people that the probability was that if he had come home to my care he would have died anyway. But I can't bear to think about it any more than that. And it's a deep deep pain which surfaces when I'm least expecting it. And one which I can do nothing to heal. So dear QMary, I truly truly feel for you.

[mfh]

Jan, I do know that deep pain that surfaces when least expected. We are all here for you....Mary

[feralfae]

Dear Jan and HRHQMary,

You are both having times of memories that pull on your hearts. I am so sorry for all the pain you are feeling right now.

Peace to your hearts, and know for absolute certainty that the Love is still there, and that is really all that matters.

Namaste,

fae

[Wifflesnook]

Thanks. Those messages mean a lot to me, as you know.

[kayc]

fae, you may be right, I like to think so.

[feralfae]

[Queeniemary]

Dear Fae, you are so right, Love is still there, and that is what matters. My love for Mike will never go away, and I will always feel him in my heart. I have you also in my heart right now as you struggle with PTSD.

Jan, thank you for sharing, you truly do understand how I feel about not being with Mike when he died, nor seeing him afterwards. It is a regret we will always have.

Talking about dreams, I was so hoping for a dream, where I was sure that Mike was there. I did have a crazy mixed up dream last night, but not sure he was really there. Think it was just my mind conjuring him up. (and the Benadryl I took right before sleep) It made no real sense, as dream often don't. We were traveling somewhere, and stopped at a liquor store for wine. After that, we were putting things in a very loaded car, and I realized that he was expecting me to drive, even though it was getting dark, and I don't like to drive in the dark. I remember very clearly in the dream him telling me that I would have to drive, because he had drank some wine. So not Mike, as he would never want me to drive! Other things happened, that I cannot quite remember, but we wound up at a hotel, and I was with my daughter, and when they brought our car, it was no longer loaded, and Mike was not in the car. Also something silly about having to climb a fence to get to the car..........anyway, I saw his face, even if the dream made no sense.

Mary (Queeniemary) in Arkansas

[mfh]

QMary, I am glad your day, yesterday, was not as difficult as anticipated. I find that often true...it is the anticipation...that period of time where we relive and remember and that our entire being dreads the moment of loss.

I see lots of symbolism in your dream and lots of sense but mostly just seeing Mike's face in the dream is such an incredible and blessed gift. Hang on to that feeling and memory. It is yours forever along with all the ones you already have.

Peace from a very very very windy Wisconsin...snow coming...more snow. Something new

Mary