A big chunk of me is gone

[Kpl48]

A big chunk of me is gone since my husband died. This grief is the hardest thing I've ever experienced in my life. I've always felt I never do enough. That erroneous attitude is what I feel every day, even now. I talked about this with my therapist today. She told me I have done so much! She told me she is sure my husband is looking down on me and is so happy with what I'm doing. My friends tell me the same thing. I'm going to remember their words when I get down on myself. 

I was writing letters to Andre until just before the one year anniversary of his death on Oct 2. I haven't written up until today. Today I felt I was in more pain than I've ever been in. But reading back over my letters, I can see every day has been as painful as today. I feel I'm not making any progress. My therapist and friends tell me they can see the progress in me. I have to believe this is true. My grief is so painful and I'm so critical of myself that I think I should be further along than I am. 

Andre isn't going to come back to me. Someday I believe I will go to him. I often ask God to let me die so I can be with my husband again. When I'm asleep I have some peace from my grief. I guess I think death is like sleep. But I know I must live until my time comes. Being with friends and going to my support groups really helps me get through every day. Some day I will feel better when I'm alone. My therapist tells me I'm doing so much to help myself. My friends and family tell me I'm doing a great job. You all tell me this too. Why do I feel I'm not doing enough?

[kayc]

Kristine,

The fact that we are surviving is a huge feat.  Maybe you should try writing a letter to yourself and acknowledge what you've accomplished and survived.  Write it as if you're writing to a friend, include kindness and understanding.  I'm sure Andre would approve.

[KarenK]

Kristine,

Hard to believe, but somehow we are moving forward. Maybe not every day and maybe just an inch at a time, but slowly we do. Tomorrow will be 29 months since Ron left and close to 15 months since my Debbie died. I know I am not the same person I was since those times, not better, just different.

[Guest]

Kristine, 

I do know how hard it is to see what progress we are making.  I have days where I don't think anything has changed in the past fourteen weeks but my kids see it , my neighbors see it.  I have to look very hard to find it but when I do I can see it too.  It's just getting past the overwhelming sense of loss that is blocking my view.  I see your growth just in your writing.

[Gwenivere]

Seems we are all echoing the same feeling.  I get input from my counsellor and the few people that know me fairly well that I am doing well.  I chalk it up to them seeing me in social situations, where I have to relate to people.  When I come home it is not like that at all.  I have new routines because they are necessary.  Not because I wanted them.  Often those changes trigger the pain because of why they were made.  My darkest times are waking up knowing it will be another changed day and parts of the evening that I so lived for being in our home together.  Dinner is a biggie.  So I guess I am 'improving' by the very fact I get thru another day and have done so for a little over a year now.  Just wish it felt better as far as acceptance in the sense that I find some peace in the memories.  Haven't gotten there yet.  I've found I will sometimes tell someone some anecdote about Steve and it catches up with me later when I am alone.  Felt good to share, but hurts so much having thought about it later.  Always creates a conundrum for me wether to say anything or not right now.  One thing I know I DON'T want to hear are other people's memories right now.  It adds to the pile. So, doing better?  Like you, Kristine, sleep is about the only place that I get that respite between the dreams.

[Kpl48]

I can't share my memories of Andre yet. The memories I know I have are just below the surface. I just can't bear to bring them up to myself or others. I have memory of his presence; of him being with me. Then I have the reality of him being gone...forever. We used to share our memories together. Right now I can't stand that he's not here to share with. I miss his kindness, his love. I miss Andre so much. 

[Gwenivere]

One thing I noticed is when I thought I wasn't thinking about Steve, I was.  I don't know about you, but there isn't anywhere I can be in our home that doesn't bring something to mind.  If it wasn't a direct memory, it certainly was a feeling one would evoke.  Missing them is so much harder because creating future memories is impossible now.   Things happen I cannot share with him.  Watching TV or anything that elicited conversation doesn't exist.  So, what do we do with this life without our companion?  It's a cold and lonely place to be.  I so want to visit my memories without pain, but I don't know when that will happen.  Sometimes I feel a sliver of peace and think...this will be possible.  But as we are all finding, time moves mercilessly slow right now.  You have to be where you are.  It is certainly your choice whether to talk about Andre or not.  Follow your gut.  I also don't want to talk about Steve.   But he will sneak in there because he is a part of me.  Just as Andre is of you.  Sometimes fighting is more work than surrendering.  There is nothing about this that is easy.  I truly wish you some slivers of peace.

[KarenK]

In time, it does become easier to revisit the memories and relate them to others without the tears falling. I have a hard time just grasping how fast our life together passed by, never dreaming it would end. It is illogical to think we would have gone together, but being alone just never crossed my mind in 40 years, nor did the thought that my child would precede me in death. It's as if your life and future is set in stone, but it's not. BAM! and it's all changed. For some of us, it is harder to adapt.

Being with Ron for most of my adult life, there are memories hiding in every corner. Some good, some not, but short of a lobotomy, they will always be there. So I am learning to live with that. Some days it it still hard for me to speak of him to our son without crying.

My son and I spent the entire day hanging a new front door. It was a jerry-rig job as this house is 60 years old and is all out of square. Ron was a jack of all trades and bless his heart, I have every tool made for man around here. Most of them were on the living room floor as we struggled to get the job done. It is a running joke with my son about all the tools. As we struggled he said "Dad would be so mad at me because I tore up the door frame".  If Ron were here, it would have been perfection, but he's not so we do our best. I have learned to live with that.

I suppose, in time we will all learn to accept and do things we thought we weren't capable of. And we will learn to laugh again, if only a little.

[Kpl48]

It is a cold and lonely place to be. It's also very difficult to do the things my husband did to take care of our home. I had my windows cleaned and some other stuff my husband always did today. I'm glad I had this done, but it makes me miss him more. I showed my helper my shed that is filled with boxes I want to go through. My friend will help me go through these boxes. Hopefully I will be able to do this next Friday. I want to move forward on redecorating my house and reorganizing the shed is the beginning. This won't be easy, but I think it will help me in building a new life. I know it's what Andre would want me to do. 

I rested all day yesterday. I going to do the same with the rest of today. Grief is exhausting. I have a support group meeting and workshop for most of the day tomorrow. I always miss Andre more when I'm alone, but I need to take it easy at home today. I cry on and off. I want him to be here with me. I miss him so much. I've been calling a friend when I wake up every morning over this past week. It's been helping me to feel a bit better in the mornings. I'm so grateful to have the good friends I've made over the last year. I have places to go and friends to be with, which is what Andre wanted for me. I know he must be happy about this.