My First Time Posting

[Panos]

Everyone here must feel that their loss, their own personal grief, stemming from their special relationship to their lost loved one, is unique and that only the grieving individual themselves can really appreciate what he/she is going through. I feel the same way. It’s been going on eleven months since I lost my beautiful wife to metastatic breast cancer after a brave, courageous five year long battle with the disease. She died right in my arms, in our bed, at home, for that was her wish. I know you will all understand how difficult it was to try to fulfill that last wish of hers. Yet, feeling completely powerless to know what else I could do to ease her suffering in her last few months, I found at least a small purpose for myself in caring for her and doing this one last loving act for her and to help her to pass on surrounded by her loved ones in our own home.

Eleven months have elapsed, yet I am still haunted by that last night we spent together and by the memories of her ordeal those last few months. I’m not going to go into the details. I’m sure many of you would be able to fill in the blanks. Why I chose to come here is that, like the other members, I am grieving and feel I need some kind of an outlet and also to hear back from other people who understand what it’s like to lose the love of their lives and to be alone, haunted, in despair and lost. I’ve tried the alcohol route and of course that didn’t help much (at least not for very long). At times I feel as though my head will explode, yet what to do? Distractions like work, etc are merely ephemeral escapes from it.

On the surface, I am maintaining a semblance of normality. Yet, it is a false front that I present to the world. I suppose I know that most of the people I interact with daily would never have the slightest notion of what it’s like, therefore to avoid the entire subject, I act normally with them. But what they see is not what is really going on with me. Here, however, I think I will find other people who would indeed understand and there will be no need for explanations, rationalizations or apologies.

My wife – her name was Cindy – comes to me often in my dreams. Occasionally (but only rarely) the dream will be a good one. I once dreamed we were dancing and ended our surreal, ethereal, dance with a rapturous kiss. But mainly, my dreams of Cindy are sad, disturbing, tear-filled; and when I awaken from them, I feel as though I want to shed even more tears. I miss her so...

One’s grief, I have determined, is in proportion to the degree of one’s love for the person lost. I think that’s why years may go by, yet one’s grief remains poignant and great. For this reason, I do accept that I will grieve over my own loss for the rest of my days, for there was only one ideal woman in this world meant for me and I gave her every bit if the love I have in me to give. I am lucky to have once found Cindy and to have had the years we did spend together. But I do miss her so very, very much and the void her loss has created in me feels as though it will never be filled. My existence without her is now barren, cold, melancholy and filled with despair. So be it – I suppose. Maybe it’s the flip-side of loving someone so greatly, then losing that person forever.

[MartyT]

Your post is beautifully written, my friend, and I am so pleased to know that you've found your way to this warm and caring place. I hope you can feel our loving arms wrapped around your broken heart. As you so wisely observed, this is one place where you don't have to put on a happy face or a stiff upper lip, and you don't need to explain why you're in so much pain. I know you'll soon be hearing from others in our "tribe" here, but I just wanted to acknowledge your presence, express my heartfelt sympathy for your loss, and extend a very warm welcome to you. You are not alone on this path, as we are walking with you. ♥

[enna]

What an absolutely heartwarming expression of your love for Cindy. Welcome to this place where we open our hearts to those who listen. As Marty said you do not have to pretend how you are feeling. Those here know all too well the heartache of losing a spouse.

When I first came here I took time to read some of the posts of others and it gave me the courage to be open with my feelings. It is amazing how much healing goes on around our circle.

I am so sorry for your pain. It is a pain too immense to even put into words when one has lost a spouse.

I lost my beloved Jim almost two years ago and I can tell you that if you do the work of grief things do get better. Acknowledging our pain, reading and learning about grief, sharing with those who do 'get it' are ways that we heal.

We will always miss them but we learn to carry them in our hearts in love. Memories are wonderful to hold on to whether they be sad or happy because those memories are the expression of our deep love.

Anne

[Panos]

I do appreciate your responses. Already I sense that maybe this was a good action on my part, arriving here to bare my soul to people who no doubt do understand and can relate to the emotions occasioned by the loss of one's soulmate. I have never in my life been comfortable with talking openly about my feelings. This trait of mine, however, has not served me well thus far. Several times during visits for other health related issues, my doctors have mentioned that they would be able to hook me up with someone to talk to if I felt the need. I did not outrightly dismiss their offers, however, in spite of feeling tempted, II could not help but wonder about the efficacy of speaking to a professional who in all likelihood had never personally experienced the same specific loss as me. Many of the people here on the other hand have also lost husbands, wives and partners and are likely in a similar mind space as myself, so I feel anyone here who might take the time to read something I post would definitely "get it".

Thanks again.

[feralfae]

Dear Panos,

We do "get it." Thank you for your trust and openness here.

I lost my magnificent and amazing husband Doug almost 26 months ago, and I still count the days, find each month anniversary very painful, and miss him every day. There is nothing that will fill this void in my life or heart.

Panos, I was greatly helped by my grief counselor, who had lost her soulmate husband two years before I lost mine. He had Alzheimer's and she cared for him for many years. My Doug had colon cancer which metastasized to his entire abdomen, liver, and then he developed leukemia from one of the drugs he was being given as part of chemo. He put up a heroic battle. He stayed until nothing was working any longer, and left from our bed, in my arms, while I sang to him and kissed his face. He left exactly the way he wished, and while I remain healing from those last days and some other health issues, I do not regret anything it has cost me in any way. I was so happy I could do this for my wonderful husband.

Thank you for sharing from your heart, for your love, and for joining us here. Welcome to this wonderful fire that Marty and Mary keep for this tribe.

Blessings, and, yes, we are here with you as you make this journey. The Love does go on.

*<twinkles>*

feralfae

[kayc]

Panos,

I am so sorry that you lost your wife, Cindy. You're right in that you will grieve the rest of your life, but that grief is a journey and will take different form. It's been nearly nine years since I lost my husband, George, he was my soulmate and best friend, and I will never stop missing him. It's as if there's a George-shaped void in my heart and soul. I'm sure you feel the same way about Cindy. I also believe that the grief is in proportion to the love shared, time shared or time gone does not seem to equate as heavily as the love you shared together.

I am glad you were able to fulfill Cindy's wishes. I wish so much that I could have been with George when he died, but he was in the hospital and they threw me out and locked the door behind me when he had his heart attack so they could work on him without me being there...I will never forgive or forget that because George and I went through everything together and I wanted more than anything to be with him as he was ushered in to his next life. It will haunt me always that they deprived me of that, he would have wanted me by his side.

You're right about the alcohol, it doesn't help, it's a depressant so it doesn't improve one's mood or equip them to handle anything better.

You say it doesn't come easy for you to share openly, here I think you will find it different as we all do truly "get it". Being able to express myself here gave back some of the power I lost the day he was taken from me without my say so. I hope you will feel you can come here any time and express yourself...sometimes we cry, scream, share our frustrations, we also encourage and care for each other. This has been a very healing place for those of us here, and I hope you will find it so also.

[Panos]

Fae,

Thanks for replying and for sharing some of your personal experiences involving your husband Doug’s life and death. I note that for you, it’s been 26 months since you lost Doug. It’s still relatively early on in my case as, for me, a mere 11 months have elapsed. As I read your words, a psychological term, “sublimation”, would keep coming to mind. In its positive aspects, I understand sublimation as attempting to transform an impulse into something socially acceptable. So really, if it applies to how I perceived your coping with Doug’s death, I obviously only think of “sublimation” in its metaphorical sense. In which case, I would understand something of how you’re attempting to glean something life-affirming out of Doug’s life and death and from your loving memories of him. In a way, a similar prospect occurred to me a while ago, that began with a question – i.e. what can I do that would not only be a tribute to my love for Cindy, but also create out of that love (and, now, grief) a positive, creative testament to her. So a few weeks ago, I started taking electric guitar lessons. It seemed fitting. Cindy adored music in many of its forms - as do I. We attended so many live performances of bands and soloists that would be touring Toronto and that were favourites of ours. We went to concerts featuring John Legend, Anita Baker, Carlos Santana, Matchbox 20, Los Lonely Boys, Bryan Adams, Earth, Wind and Fire, The Temptations, Chicago, Prince, John Mayer, Yianni, The Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Jesse Cook, The Funk Brothers, Todd Rundgren, The Toronto Symphony Orchestra, and others.

Thus it came to me one day recently, almost “out of the blue” as it were, that I could learn music, learn to play the electric guitar and then, maybe one day in the future, I would become proficient enough to be able to create my own music and write a song that I would dedicate to my beloved wife. So I’ve been devoting a lot of my spare time these days to that end. The prospect of one day writing and performing my own personal yet quintessential love song for my Cindy keeps me motivated and provides a direction for me. Before I set off on this new path, I was hopelessly foundering, not knowing what to do, always deeply sad. I am still always sad, still lost and still foundering. But somehow, now that I have dedicated myself to learning to play guitar, I can “sublimate” these feelings of mine into, hopefully, something good and creative.

Anyway, Fae, I noted also that Doug passed on while in your loving embrace at your home. That really touched me deeply as Cindy went away in just that manner also. So from opposite ends of cyberspace we are, in that commonality and in some strange way, now connected.

Peter (Panos)

[kayc]

Peter, what a great idea! I can't think of a more meaningful tribute to her.

[Wifflesnook]

Dear Peter I'm in England and at the moment am away from home with our daughter and grandchildren but after reading your post I just wanted to say that you will find this a good place to share. My beloved Pete died after a stroke almost two years ago. I won't tell you that the grief gets any less, only that we bear it maybe better as time passes. Maybe. Pete was and remains my soulmate. I feel for you. We all do. Please share more about yourself and Cindy. Jan

[Queeniemary]

Peter, so very sorry for the journey you have joined us on. No one wanted this journey, but you will find great help here on this site, and people who definitely "get it". My husband Mike died in January, 2010. It was an unexpected, and sudden death, a massive coronary. No warnings or symptoms. I was in the hospital just having had knee surgery about an hour and a half away from our home, and had to learn of his death by phone. No last words, no goodbyes. Miss him every day, but after just over 4 years, am learning to cope pretty well. As you said, others, who have not walked this journey, think we are doing fine, back to normal. What they will not understand until they walk with us, is that the old normal is gone, and we are learning the new one. So sorry that your Cindy had to leave, and I know you are grieving. We are all grieving here, but sharing that grief helps more than you know.

Mary (Queeniemary) in Arkansas

[Panos]

I’m already feeling a bit overwhelmed and humbled by the kind responses I’ve received and I do thank you, fae, Mary, Jan and KayC for your kind words. Your own grief is palpable and I am deeply touched by the sense I got of the depth of your love for your lost partners. The fact we’ve all experienced similar misfortunes seems to create a mysterious, albeit remote, bond (I’m reminded of a film I once saw titled “Fearless” for some reason, but I digress). What has struck me is that you’ve all had similar yet distinct experiences; and it occurred to me that the character of one’s grief must be coloured by the specific manner in which a person loses their loved one to death. In some cases, I understand that some of you were struck by it without warning and a few of you had not even the opportunity to be with their partners when it happened. How awful that must have been, especially to not have had the chance to say your final farewells! That experience must present inner conflicts that are quite different from those of us who were with our wives, husbands or partners all the way through it unto the final moment.

It also makes me ponder whether one way is perhaps a bit easier to cope with versus the other, though I’m sure that how one deals with such an event is more about the individual themselves than about the manner of them losing their loved one. For me, it was, as I mentioned, not one of those sudden events. Cindy was first diagnosed in 2008. She had the bad luck to have gotten the least treatable form of breast cancer, the triple-negative variety they called it. Cindy went through surgery, chemotherapy then radiation, followed by periodic scans to keep track of how she was doing. After this first round of treatments, all appeared to have worked and there was no indication that her cancer was still lingering. Then three years later it returned with a vengeance and that’s when the realization struck with the force of a sledgehammer that I would likely lose her soon. Her oncologist told us at that point that it would from then on be a matter of just controlling the onslaught of the cancer and that the prospect of a cure was no longer on the table. He might as well have shot me right there on the spot.

In a way, though I tried to keep my fears, my panic, my anguish to myself (I wanted to be as positive as I could for Cindy - on the outside), in a way, my grieving perhaps had already privately begun. I have always been a realistic person so I did appreciate the universal application of the laws of probability when it comes to predicting outcomes from very large samples of data. Despite this, there was always a faint hope that by some miracle, Cindy would be one of those few fortunate ones who defied the laws that govern the physical universe and that her cancer would go into remission. I guess even me, the inveterate rationalist, still had this innately human self that wanted to believe in the impossible, to have hope that physical matter doesn’t always abide by the laws of physics. Yet, always lurking in my mind for these next two years was the spectre of death. In a way, I was dying a slow emotional death myself. Yet, the grief I was privately going through was nothing as compared to how it manifested once Cindy at last succumbed. So long have I been grieving inside myself that I feel it has permanently subsumed my ability to have normal feelings. I have all but lost any ability to experience any sort of authentic joy or happiness. And I have lost interest in my own well-being too. I quit smoking when I met Cindy and after she died, I returned to my old habit. These days, I wonder about what my life will be like from now on and, to be honest, I do not look forward to living as though going through the motions, the way I am doing now. But I can’t imagine the future any differently for me.

[Wifflesnook]

Dear Peter

You sound as though you will be like most of us here. We have suffered the very worst that we ever imagined could happen to us. We have no alternative but to carry on somehow. Our love for those we have 'Lost' if indeed we have, will never die until we do. I can't write much. It's late here in England. But as you get to know us you will find we share your feelings. It helps to share. How long were you and Cindy together? Mind you I don't think that time is important even though my Pete and I were together for 50 years. What counts is the depth of love.

[kayc]

Peter,

I was my MIL's caregiver for nearly three years when she was bedridden with cancer. What they'd first thought would be weeks turned into years. We literally lived with death during this time, my kids were age 1 & 2 3/4 when she was sent home from the hospital on hospice, age 3 1/2 and 5 1/4 when she passed...their memories of their childhood were of being quiet so as not to disturb grandma and knowing she was going to die. It was hard on us, but harder on the kids.

It's hard to say which is worse...unexpected jolt with no preparation or warning, or living with immenent death at your doorstep...each is hard in it's own way, but different.

All I do know, though, is I wouldn't trade one moment I had with my MIL in those last three years, it was a special time, although difficult. Looking back, I don't know how I did it, but you do what you have to do and live in the moment, one day at a time. At least I taught my kids that you honor your parents/grandparents, and that everyone has value, and life is precious.

[TerriMac59]

Peter, I am new to this forum and have been struggling to write my feelings down. I do believe that I could take your words and put my name at the end of it because I have gone through a very similar journey.

My husband was diagnosed with colon cancer in February 2006. The gastroenterologist who performed his colonoscopy ruptured his colon, cancer cells spread throughout his peritoneal cavity and our journey began. We too thought he would beat all the odds. He actually did for awhile. The last five months I stayed at home taking care of him. He battled for 7 years and 9 months. I lost him on November 9, 2013.

I am lost. The memory of his last days and of his dying play in my head every day and through my tears at night. No one was in the room with us when he died. We spent his last day together. I played music that we both loved all day and tried to get a football (soccer) game on the computer so he could hear what he loved most. He was a soccer coach and a very good one, actually the best. He won two Gold Medals in the Deaflympics with the USA Women's team. He did not want to be on display for all to gawk at. He said only a few words in the 4 days that he was in hospice and some of those haunt me. I did not want him to go to hospice but he did not want me to have the memory of him dying at home. He probably was right because for months after he died I slept with all the lights on and every door in the house open, not outside doors of course, but every room, every closet, every bathroom door; wide open.

My husband was a British citizen so I held two memorials; one here in the states and one in England. The things that happened surrounding those two events most people would not believe. Sometimes when I think about them, I don't believe myself. Funny how death brings out the true colors of everyone.

I too, don't know how I will go on. My life has forever changed and it is a change that I did not sign up for. People around me don't understand. I sometimes think I want to "talk" to someone but always fall short of actually contacting anyone. Unless you have walked in my shoes how can you know how to help me? I want this pain and anguish to go away but at the same time if it does, does that mean I am leaving him behind?

I can only hope that by writing our feelings here and in private it will somehow become more bearable, because it will never make sense.

Terri

[Panos]

Terri,

Your husband sounds like he was a wonderful man and I am sorry to hear of your loss. One of the things I’m already discovering while reading through numerous posts under various threads is that a lot of other people here have expressed feelings that I am able to relate to. I guess that should come as no surprise, really. After all, it stands to reason: We’re all human, which means we’re built and wired similarly. So why wouldn’t many of us experience almost the same emotions when we lose our loved one?

Saying this much seems almost trite, perhaps even rhetorical. Yet, it’s so easy to feel, once you’ve had the misfortune to lose your beloved husband, wife or partner, that no one else can possibly understand what it’s like and what that loss is causing to go on inside of you. Here I’ve encountered posts that describe so many of the things I have been going through. In some way that I can’t really comprehend, this solidarity that I’ve reluctantly entered into via this forum, via written testimony, confirms that many do in fact share much in common with me and this recognition does help to allay the feeling that I’m completely alone in my grief.

I know now, categorically, that what I am going through, so too are many, many, others. That doesn’t “help” necessarily in guiding me in terms of what to do from now on, nor does it provide a recipe for how to deal with my feelings; but at the very least, it dispels the myth that I am alone and that no one else would understand me. And there is a corollary to this point: That is, if I were to write about my feelings here, chances are a lot of other people will comprehend them – intimately – because of the human commonality of grieving. This in itself is powerful and worthwhile.

I’ve discovered that one has a voice here, amongst other kindred spirits who are going through much the same things as you. It’s a place you can come to whenever you feel the need to figuratively have someone silently walk alongside you as you try to deal with your personal struggles.

Peter

[KarenK]

Peter,

Those four words you spoke in the beginning of your post say it all for me. Alone, haunted, in despair, & lost. How else could I feel after losing the person I spent the last 40+ years with? And yes, there are others who care, but they don't understand as we do here.

It has now been almost 11 months since I stood at Ron's bedside for 19 hours & held his hand as he took one less breath each hour. In my mind's eye, I still see him in the Hospice provided bed that was set up in my family room shortly before. He was not conscious & was kept pain free by the caring nurses. Having spent the last month in 2 hospitals trying to fight the sepsis brought on by chemo, he aspirated & was put on life support. All systems were failing. Knowing he would spend the rest of his "life" this way & knowing that he would have absolutely hated it, I made the hardest decision of my life, the one to remove him from life support. I was able to honor his wish of dying at home with the help of the Hospice group. Muddled as my thoughts are most days now, I barely remember what I did afterward, except that I know I kissed & hugged him goodbye. I went outside to smoke & standing by the side of the house, watched as the mortuary vehicle arrived. I will never forget the vision of them carrying him out in a black body bag.

I am so sorry that you, also have lost your soulmate. What a nice idea that you are taking up a new interest in tribute to your beautiful wife. I have yet to find much of interest. I am retired & on a short financial string, so try to occupy my time with family & errands. And of course, with the wonderful friends here & those at Cancer Survivors Network, of which I am a member. My daughter is also a cancer warrior.

Please share anytime. Some of us are night owls, not necessarily by choice. My sleeping pattern is completely upside down since Ron is not here.

Luv,

Karen

[kayc]

Terri, I am so sorry for your loss as well. I do hope you will continue to come here and write, there are several new here and it helps to have others with similar time frame that understand what you're currently going through, although the rest of us can certainly remember...we never forget, although the early days are sometimes a bit of a blur as we were in shock.

[Wifflesnook]

No we never forget. In fact it's so etched into our minds, bodies and hearts that it's part of us. And Peter summarised well how this site can help. Every loss is so very different, and I'm sure we all feel, like me that ours is the greatest and most devastating loss which could be in the world. But of course that isn't true. By reading others' feelings we do find some help in our sorrow, because otherwise the world just seems to go on blissfully. I used to be that way, living my life happily with my soul mate. Now, alone, I do feel I'm not entirely alone with my friends here keeping in touch.

[TerriMac59]

Thank you everyone. I do know that although my grief is mine to carry alone there are those who have their own grief and have similar journeys.

The walking silently alongside is exactly what I need. Thank you.