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How Long In The Fog?


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I'm not sure how forums work, but I have been reading so many of the posts and find so many are in the same place as me. I lost my husband, Mark on December 4. He died of a heart attack; was nothing I had ever thought would happen. Mark had some issues, but he was only 53 and I never thought I would lose him so young. We only found each other in 2006, and were married 02/14/2009. I know he is gone; I saw his body at the emergency room; his ashes sit in my entry way (where I sat them when I returned from his service). We never talked about what we wanted or how we would handle these decisions. I still felt like a newlywed with him. I know the first few weeks, I was just numb. But it will be 11 weeks this Thursday, and I still find myself just roaming through the house. I am able to function at work, but also find it difficult at times. He was such a big part of my day...he would call every afternoon when he went home for lunch to take care of our dogs. We were married in the auditorium of the building I work at (I haven't walked in there yet). The morning of his heart attack, I found him in the bathroom standing at the sink. I asked him what was wrong, and he said something felt different, he was feeling a different kind of pain. I told him to go and sit in the recliner and relax and maybe it would ease up. He had been having some gastro problems (in fact had just been in the hospital because he got dehydrated), so I thought if he sat and relaxed he would feel better. Well, when I came to see him, he looked more distressed and I asked him if I needed to call an ambulance and he said "Yes". Well, before they could get there, he became unresponsive and the 911 operator told me I need to give him chest compressions to keep a pulse until they got there. I had no chance to say goodbye...I kept calling his name as I was trying to do as the operator instructed me. When he finally went in the ambulance, I was following behind with a friend, trying to call family members and let them know what was going on. The ambulance stopped in the street and I found out later that is what they do when someone goes into cardiac arrest. I truly believe he was dead when he arrived at the hospital, because it wasn't long that the doctor came out and said they had to pronounce him. Ever since, I just have this feeling of being in a fog. I have found ways to function and get through my day, but if I am pressed to do something beyond those things, I get flustered and want to escape. We have three dogs and right now they are my lifeline. If I did not have them in the house, I am not sure how I would be doing. So I guess my question is how long and why this feeling goes on? I have always been a person who likes to have some control in my life; this is so far from that.

Thanks for listening,

Maryann

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My dear Maryann, I know that others will respond to the questions you've asked by sharing their own experiences, which I'm sure will reassure you. In the meantime, I want to assure you that the fog you're describing is a perfectly normal reaction, and in fact quite common ~ especially at this very early point in your grief journey. Your husband died barely two months ago, so you've had very little time to adjust to this major upheaval in your life. In addition, the frightening circumstances of your husband's death suggest that you're suffering a certain degree of Post-Traumatic Stress. You might think of this initial period of shock and numbness as being nature's way of protecting you from the full force of the reality that your husband has died, because in an instant, your entire world has been turned upside down. If that reality were to hit you all at once (even though I'm sure it feels as if it has) you wouldn't be able to function as well as you are right now. So I hope that answers your "why" question. As for how long this fog will last, of course that varies with the individual, since we all react to loss differently ~ but for most of us, the initial shock and numbness ordinarily lasts anywhere from three to six months. And it does not go away all at once; it diminishes gradually over time.

As I've written in my book, Finding Your Way through Grief: A Guide for the First Year,

When you sustain a sudden and severe injury, nature’s initial reaction is to send your body into a state of shock. When you’re hit hard with an emotional injury as severe as the death of a loved one, it is just as natural for you to shut down emotionally and turn off inside. It’s as if the magnitude of the loss, the fact that your loved one is gone forever, is too much to take in. As you begin to absorb what’s happened, your brain goes on automatic pilot. Somehow you do what needs to be done, but it feels as if you’re just going through the motions, like some sort of robot or automaton. There’s a sense of unreality, as if you’re watching yourself in a movie or a having a bad dream. You may feel frozen, numb, stunned and disconnected, unable to feel anything. You may be short of breath, confused and feel unable to cry or to speak.

Suggestions for Coping with Shock

  • Realize that shock is nature’s way of cushioning you against the full impact of loss. It’s a temporary protective mechanism that allows your mind to catch up with the brutal reality of death. Like an emotional anesthetic, it numbs the pain and enables you to move through the funeral and some of the other tasks you must complete in the initial days of mourning.
  • Understand that as the numbness subsides, you will begin to experience more fully some of the other grief reactions as they emerge. This can happen days, weeks and even months after the death.
  • Expect the numbness to wear off gradually, as you mobilize your inner resources and gain the strength you need to accept and absorb the reality of the death. How long this takes will vary, depending on your individual characteristics and your situation.
  • You may find yourself dreaming about the person who died, forgetting your loved one is gone, or thinking you’ve seen, smelled, heard or touched the person. This is your unconscious mind trying to undo what happened, to re-write this unacceptable story.
  • Realize that others may misinterpret what’s going on with you, and may conclude that you’re stronger or feeling better than you really are on the inside.
  • Don’t feel you have to maintain a brave exterior. Holding onto your emotions takes more energy than releasing them.
  • Acknowledge your own need for safety and try to find it. For example, ask a friend to stay with you if that is what you need.
  • Allow others to nurture you — lean on them, physically and emotionally, and ask for the specific help you need.
  • If you don’t feel up to sorting through and distributing your loved one’s clothing and other belongings, it’s all right to wait until you’re ready.
  • Be patient with yourself— experience whatever comes without criticizing yourself.
  • Take an active part in planning and participating in your loved one’s funeral, memorial service or other ritual of remembrance.
  • Make no major decisions about your future life.
  • If questions about your loved one’s illness or death arise after the shock wears off, go ahead and ask them — even if they occur to you months or years afterward.
  • The more you review the details of the death, the more real it will become for you. Ask friends to let you do this, as often as you have to, and if they need a break to tell you so. If your need is more than they can handle or endure, seek help from [a counselor who specializes in loss and grief].
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Froggie,

My husband was barely 51 when he died of a heart attack...we had not known he had heart trouble, and like you, I didn't get to say goodbye. He was in the hospital the last three days unbeknownst to me as I was gone on a trip with my sisters. He didn't want me to know, didn't want to "ruin my weekend". I did get to the hospital before he died, but they didn't give us any time alone and they booted me out before I could tell him it was okay...I will always regret I wasn't allotted that.

Like you, it took our lifetime to find each other, and when we did, we never wanted to be away from each other! We knew each other just 6 1/2 years, were married only 3 years, 8 months. he was way too young to die, we thought we'd have years together first.

Marty has given some good tips above. I hope you'll feel comfortable coming here so you can express yourself, it helps us to know others care and understand, and it's important to be heard and feel validated. I felt so much "power" was taken from me when my George died, after all, no one asked ME if this is what I wanted! One way of restoring that power is to verbalize my feelings and experiences.

It's been nearly ten years for me now, whereas you are just embarking on your journey. We can't tell you when it will "feel better", but I can tell you it won't always stay in this level of intensity, we couldn't handle it if it did. Our bodies are amazing and have a way of coping even when we think it impossible to do so. There will be times you don't feel strong, and that's okay, you don't need to be superwoman or appear strong for people, it's okay to cry, okay to doubt, okay to feel anger, okay for whatever you're feeling. One of the things we've learned here is all of our feelings are valid!

Have you sought help from a grief counselor? If you don't know where to start, you can contact the hospital where your husband was brought to, they should be able to put you in touch with hospice. I contacted the hospital's chaplain, I am not Catholic, but they are wonderful to all faiths nonetheless.

I welcome you here and hope you will continue to come back. When you feel up to it, perhaps you can share a bit about your husband, your story.

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Thank you both for your wise words, and a hand to hold. I find it difficult putting sentences together; being asked to make too many decisions is overwhelming. I know everyone wants me to do what I want, but most times I don't really know what I want. What I truly want is to have my husband back; I miss him so very much sometimes it takes my breath away. I find I go to bed early because I don't like the alone time in the evening. I have three dogs and they fill up the house with activity, but they can't converse with me. We would have celebrated our 6th anniversary on Valentine's Day. I never thought on the day we joined our lives, that it would be for less than 6 years. Mark and I met online. One lonely Sunday afternoon we both ended up in a chatroom on Yahoo. We ended up messaging each other and chatting for over 3 hours. I knew right away he was so different than any other guys I had met. He was very polite, a true gentleman. He came from a large family (he is one of 10 children). He was so very grounded; but he also suffered from alcoholism. I am not sure what he was like before we met, but all his siblings thanked me many times for saving his life. He did still drink, but he did not fall deep into the sadness. I have many cards and letters that Mark wrote me telling me how I had changed his life. He was easy to love. He was so genuine, not a pretentious bone in his body. He was a talented woodworker and loved creating items for family and friends. My very first Christmas gift was a beautiful desk made out of oak. He was a mechanic by trade, but he was a jack of all trades. And smart; so very smart. He loved to read and he was always wanting to learn new things. He taught me and I taught him. Our love just kept getting deeper each and every day. We were married about a year and half when I decided it was time for us to look for a house. I knew he would flourish with a place of his own. He LOVED being married, being a husband. And he was good at it. He gave me comfort and security and all the love I could handle. He was my everything, and I believe I was his. I am thankful that it is me who has survived, because I am afraid of what might have happened to him if it were reversed. He always told me that if I were to go before him, he wouldn't be able to stay in this house...because I made it a home and I was in everything and everywhere. Well, he was also in everything and everywhere. Some days I just wander through the house picking up things and moving them around. I re-arranged the furniture in the living room, because I could still see him laying there on the floor being worked on by multiple paramedics. That morning was a nightmare; I kicked in to autopilot. Having to give my husband chest compressions was a nightmare. I kept calling his name. When we arrived at the emergency room, I believe he was already dead. I have watched many a medical show, and the doctor comes into the waiting room and gives your the good news...they got everything under control and he was going to be fine. But that was not the case. I had a friend there with me and I fell into her arms weeping. I remember the details and who was there, but the feeling I had was that of slow motion. Then decisions had to be made and a plan had to be put into action. I was completely supported by friends and Mark's family. I remember seeing the faces of his family members as they arrived. Three of his brothers were out of town and did not get to say goodbye before the medical examiner took his body away. People kept asking me what could they do for me. My only answer was to bring Mark back. He was my everything and I feel lost. I can function and there are moments I move ahead and complete projects around the house. But when I feel pleased, he isn't here to share in it. I moved to Houston 13 years ago this coming March and made it on my own. Found a good job, a place to live and felt secure in my life...I just longed for someone to share it with. Mark also felt the emptiness in his life...he wanted someone to say goodnight to, someone to worry for him, to care for him, to love him. He told me many times that he had resigned himself to being alone. But then he met me and there was a glimmer of hope. I loved him with everything in me; and he did the same. He wasn't perfect; neither am I. But our imperfections merged, our lives fit like a beautiful jigsaw puzzle. I feel cheated for the years we will never have. He wanted to show me so much, to share so much more. And now he is gone, and I feel hurt. Mark was my cowboy. When I think of him, the tears fill my eyes. I want so much to be able to run my fingers through his hair (he loved that). He loved feeling loved...and we made sure we told each other that every single day. We left no doubt about that. I don't even want to think beyond tomorrow. I will continue to work through each day and night. I appreciate having this forum to help.

Thanks,

Maryann

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Your love reminds me of ours, he sounds like a wonderful man and together you could face the world...I know we felt that way too. George called this our "home in the clouds" (we lived in the mountains in Oregon), so it was here I laid his ashes. This was his favorite place in the world to be. I'm glad both you and I got to experience real love before they passed, and know they did too. He sounds like quite a catch, but no more than you, for as his family said, you saved his life, I believe it...to cause him to WANT to live beyond alcoholism is no small feat! My George was one of 11 kids, always thinking of others.

In the months that follow, if you run across something that needs done around the place, I hope you will take up people's offer to help and let them. Sometimes they want to do something and feel so helpless because they can't bring him back, but would appreciate being given a tangible task they can do. It's a helpless feeling isn't it.

I have a dog and two cats and can't imagine life without them in it, they really do help.

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I just want to put my arms around you and give you a big hug. I am so very sorry that your Mark has died. Those of us here on this forum know about the grief that ties us up in knots when we struggle with the loss of our soulmates. Each one of us travels our own path as we try to make sense of this cruel reality. What we can do is be here for one another.

The forum is a valuable place to come for support. We listen and share our journeys because we do understand what it means to be alone without our spouses.

Your journey will take as long as it takes and that is just fine. There is no time limit in grief. One of the things that helped me most is to read as much as I can about grief.

Your story is a love story and I for one am glad you are sharing it here.

Anne

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Mark said the same thing...one evening we sat in our backyard and he said it was his own piece of Heaven...no worries there. When I sit on the swing I keep watching for him to come from the garage and sit next to me. He would engage the dogs in play and then come back in and start dinner. Mark's mom arranges with his brothers to see what things can be done. He always had multiple projects going at once. I have been sharing Mark's possessions with various siblings...so they have something to remind them of him. I am going to help a relative make a quilt from his many t-shirts. We did not have children, but he has a God son and many nieces and nephews. I will honor him in any way possible.

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Your love story is beautiful. I am very sorry for your loss of your dear husband Mark. We will be here for you as you make this grief journey. Remember to eat well, take good care of your precious body, and be very gentle and patient with yourself. You have had a lot of trauma and loss, and right now, your heart needs all the compassionate care your can gather around you. I hope you are finding time to journal and to talk with at least one friend or relative each day. Yes, do let friends and family know when you need help, and ask for help when you feel you could use some help. Also, when people come to help you with things, it is an opportunity to visit for a bit with someone who cares about you.

There is something that I think is from Aa, about not getting too Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired. So, take care of your precious body, and give yourself lots of lovingkindness.

Peace to you through these difficult, foggy days of numbness and uncertainty.

Blessings,

feralfae

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I am so sorry for the loss of your husband Mark. My heart goes out to you not only for your loss but the trauma you suffered with the loss. You may not think so right now but it shows to me tremendous strength. I think we get that strength from the love we share with our spouse. I lost much of my strength when I lost my husband Bob this past September. He was my rock, my best friend and the true love of my life. As others have expressed here, it will get easier with time. I look forward to that. It is not easy for me yet. The hardest times are just the simple things, sitting at the table for a meal, sitting outside, going grocery shopping. All little things we always did that I now do alone. I have a dog and like many of us here, he is a great comfort. He is by my side at all times. He was my husband's service dog. I find it easier to still take one day at a time and not look ahead yet. I am glad you have found this place to come. Sharing helps me, the people here are very comforting and generous to others. It is also validating to read what others are experiencing. I hope you find peace and comfort here. I am so glad you have the special desk your husband made for you that first Christmas. What a precious gift to have. Please take good care of yourself.

***Hugs***

Shalady

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This morning I went out and sat in the car (I don't drive yet...but like to sit where Mark sat. His jacket that he wore sits in the passenger seat) and put in one of Mark's Jimmy Buffett cds and cried. Mornings are very hard. He used to drive me to work and before I got out of the car, he would kiss me multiple times and then tell me he loved me. He was not the type to wait for me to say it first. I miss that in the morning time. One of the last gifts that Mark left for me was a tree. I had no idea he had ordered it. After he died, I was going through his emails, looking for things I might need to take care of and found an email from an orchard company. I emailed them to find out what it was all about, explaining that Mark had passed and I was hoping they could tell me what this was. This order had taken place back in October, over two months before he passed. Well, it turned out that he ordered a tree, the same tree that had grown in the front yard of his parents house, a tree he had spent many youthful years climbing. He was heartbroken when it had to be cut down. We had discussed putting a tree in our front yard; he knew a lot about trees and plants since he had worked with a lawn company as one of his many jobs. So to find out that there was a tree coming took me by surprise. One of his brothers came by after his service and put it in the ground and now I am watching over it, hoping spring will bring a rebirth. He was very thoughtful in that way. I know he would have done anything for me.

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The quilt sounds like a great idea.

I so hope his tree thrives and brings you comfort each time you look at it.

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I made an appointment to meet with a grief counselor March 5. I wanted to do it on a day off, but she is out next week. So I scheduled it for the end of the day; figuring I might be emotionally ok to return to work mid-day. She has been kind and told me to email her if I need to and to continue keeping a journal. I will try it and see if it is something that I feel comfortable with. I find some days at the end of the work day I feel exhausted because I have been trying to control my emotions. As I have said to friends at work, I am not a "woe is me person", but this makes me feel that way. I have a lot of people at work who care for me; almost all of them attended Mark's service. He was a part of our work family and everyone here was shocked when they got the news of his passing. He had just been here the day before, talking to the folks at the front desk and always cracking a joke. The day before he died, we had a staff luncheon. I was on the committee and it is one of my joys to plan events and use my creativity to make it special. Well, he even helped. He was here the night before helping to hang banners and seeing the rehearsal for the presentation. So for everyone to get the message that Thursday that he was gone, everyone was in shock. I don't like making people sad, so I try not to when I am work. I have begun to allow myself to accept assistance when it is offered and not feel like a burden. One day at a time is all I ask.

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I am so glad you are making plans for a counselor. That should help a lot. The fact that you have such great support at work must be so comforting. I agree, it is very exhausting to control your emotions for the day. I would like to keep a journal. I guess you just write when you feel like. It sounds silly that I don't know how to keep a journal, but I never did it. I read here all the time about others here doing it. I have to look into it. I wish you much peace and comfort. You are in my thoughts and prayers.

Shalady

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Dear Ones,

I think you will find resources on the internet about keeping a journal.

My journal, which I have kept since before Doug left, but after we knew it was only a matter of time, has these components:

I find things every day to be grateful for, and I list them;

I look for beauty in the day, usually in nature, and I write about that;

Doug's presence is still very much an energetic force in my life, and so some of my writing is stream-of-consciousness of whatever comes to mind when I think of Doug;

Because I have "projects" going, such as recovering from surgery, my trauma recovery, and also sorting and simplifying my life, I usually write a little bit about that;

I write about my day, usually talking to Doug as I write;

I write about friends, events, lunches or dinners out, my feelings about leaving or coming home alone;

I write about the present state of my emotions, which can change every hour;

I generally find one concept about my healing and finding a way to carry my grief as I slowly return more to the world around me, and I write about that a LOT, because there are insights and feelings that come up which I might share nowhere else, except my journal, and which help me to track my progress and my healing.

I strongly encourage you to look at some journaling suggestions on line, and I imagine others here will have more information to share about good, healthy, therapeutic journaling.

My other daily practice that has helped a lot has been meditation. I did not start meditating daily until about a year after Doug left, when I found this wonderful forum and began to read about the meditations others were doing. There is an excellent meditation thread in this same subject area.

Peace to your hearts as you find ways to ease your grief.

fae

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Is it the fog that makes me feel so "muffled". It is the only word I can think of. Is it the reason for my inability to make decisions? I sometimes just want to sit and escape.

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Dear,

The fog is, I think part of the shock that we go into when our Beloved leaves. Muffled is a good word to describe it. Yes, I think it is a very normal, healthy part of grief to be in a fog, to feel muffled, to be in shock, to seek refuge in sleep.

And it is probably good that you cannot make decisions yet, because you are not ready to make any decisions other than those required for your day-to-day existence, and only think about other decisions when it is time. A lot of things will sort out in a while. Your main job is to stay in as good health as you can, restore your body and spirit, and be very gentle and compassionate with yourself.

I think I was in a fog for more than a year, but its intensity varied day to day, and sometimes hour to hour. We each experience grief in such a unique way! But the fog, I think, is fairly normal, and sitting and escaping—especially into good books or films, music or art, is also healthy and normal.

Blessings,

fae

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Fog is not only normal, but common, I think we all experienced that, esp. when shock is involved. Writing does help, whether in a journal, here, or a blog. It just helps to get it all out and express ourselves.

You mentioned one day at a time...that is so important. The whole future is too much to look at or take on, right now, today is enough to handle. That's how all of us make it!

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Last night I went to bed at 7:30 to escape. I was outside watering the bed of pansies that Mark had planted for me, and an ambulance drove by with its lights flashing. I just kept looking at it and my heart sank. Today is 12 weeks that he died and Thursdays are not my favorite day. I feel more irritated and unbalanced. When I walked inside the building I work at and looked at the display in the lobby, the time changed to 7:11, Mark's time of death. I know I am probably just extra sensitive to things, but it just seems everything on this day just hits me.

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:wub:

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Dear Froggie, wish we could tell you that the fog will lift very soon, but it is different for everyone. My story is similar to yours. My husband was 62. I had just had a total knee replacement in a hospital about 1 1/2 hours away from our home. He was with me that day and evening, and then had to return to our home to care for animals. We talked the next day, several times. However on Wednesday I was unable to reach him by phone. My daughter found him on our dining room floor in the afternoon of the 13th. He had been gone since just after midnight. The authorities said it was a massive coronary. He had no history of heart trouble, nothing like that. I was in a fog for months, and there is much about that period of time that I don't even remember. I never got a chance to say goodby, in fact I never saw him again after he kissed me and walked out of my hospital room the day I had surgery. I am saying all this to say to you, you will learn to cope and the fog will lift, but it may take some time. Mike died just a little over 5 years ago, on January 13, 2010. I have learned to cope, and you will also. You have come to a very good place, full of people who do understand the "fog". Very many wise people here, with willing hearts to listen to anything you wish to say.

QMary

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Thank you to everyone. QMary, I am so sorry things happened as they did. There are a few people here at work who have had heart attacks recently, one person is still in a medically induced coma. As much as I would give anything to have Mark with me, I would not want him to be in such a state. I don't have a lot of people to talk to about everything. I know at work they are sympathetic, but sometimes I fear they tire of my "drama". I know everyone here at work care for me and I appreciate every having such a nice group of people to be around. I spend time with Mark's mom, and she is a widow, but I think it is hard for her to see me in pain. so many times she will tell me, don't cry. I try to keep my focus when I am here at work and accomplish all the tings I need to do. I work in accounting office and some work is so detail-oriented, it helps me to forget my grieving for a while. But Mark was also a big part of my work day, I miss him. I have a friend who comes to spend time with me on the weekend, to just get me out of the house for a while. She was my maid of honor, and in her way I am sure she grieves for Mark. I don't have family close by. I have a cousin who will be coming to visit in April; perhaps then I can seek comfort and have someone hold me to cry. Mark used to be that person for me. When our doggie, Annie needed to be put to sleep and I made the decision, Mark held me to keep me from collapsing. I think I still hold so much inside. When I am alone, I let the tears come.

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I'm glad you are able to let the tears flow when you're alone. I was an Office Mgr/Bkpr for a place that made military airplane parts to mil-spec and everything had to be perfect, no mistakes allowed. I assisted in Quality Control, shipping/receiving, logging everything in, scanning certifications in, and it was so important that I be perfect at my job...I found it very difficult after George died, esp. at first. It was a lifesaver in the sense that it kept my mind occupied and passed time but I was in such a fog it was hard to work, and of course, there were still those grief bursts. It didn't happen much at work, more in the first month, but everyone was very understanding. It's like you never forget for even a moment that your husband died.

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