3 Years, 12 Days Ago, My Husband, Bob, Transitioned...

Even though the timeline for moving forward is different for everyone, I want to share where I'm at, in this way beyond miserable journey, (for lack of a better word), I wish no one had to take. On the 3rd anniversary of my husband's transition, a/k/a, his "angelversary" (a term Bernadine, an "old" GIC friend, shared with us, in what seems like a lifetime ago), I woke up teary eyed... Memories from the most horrific day in my life, flooded my mind..., with no way to stop the miserable trip down memory lane. Even Mother Nature was in a bad mood. It was a dark, rainy morning. I wanted to pull the covers over my head, hide from the world, but Skye, my dog, who I adopted last January, has given me a new purpose in life. The world doesn't stop just because I'm having a bad day. Skye needed breakfast and a walk. I got out of bed, made it as soon as I got up, signaling that it was time to begin the day.

When we got back from our walk, one of my neighbor's called me. Her husband is very sick. Just as I was Bob's full time caregiver for three years prior to his transition, she is her husband's full time caregiver, as he nears the end of his life. I've been doing my best to help them, through the very worst, most challenging time, in their lives. Her husband was in the same rehab facility, where I picked up Bob, the day before he transitioned. My neighbor's husband was very lonely, but she wasn't going to be able to visit him until much later that day. Backing up a bit, she was told the day before, that he was being discharged in two days. Without enough notice, without a discharge plan in place, she had lots of things she needed to do before seeing him.

I don't believe in coincidences. My neighbor was meant to call me on Bob's 3rd angelversary. Even though my neighbor's husband is extremely weak, has many health issues, and is on oxygen 24/7, he looks forward to visitors. I believe part of my purpose, part of God's plan for me, was to visit him on Bob's 3rd angelversary. While I was driving to the rehab facility, tears were streaming down my face. I was surprised at how quickly I felt myself regressing, back to the worst, most heartbreaking, challenging day, of my life... I parked, let myself cry in the car for a few more minutes, but unlike in the past, I was able to pull myself together quickly. I told myself I'm strong enough to do this, and for once, believed it. I got out of the car, walked into the rehab facility, stopped at the front desk, got my visitor's pass, and went directly to my neighbor's room.

He was so happy to see me, his eyes lit up, and there was a big smile on his face. One of his friends was already there, so the three of us talked for about half an hour, until his friend had to leave. After my neighbor's friend left, I asked him if he wanted to get some rest, but he wanted me to stay. He told me stories from his time in the military, provided me with some life lessons he's learned over the past 82 years, and talked about my husband too. After spending almost two hours with him, he called his wife, and told me she was on her way. He asked me to stay. Soon after she arrived, I wanted to give them some time alone together, so I told them Skye wasn't going to be a happy dog if she didn't get her dinner soon, hugged them, and left.

I felt so much better on the way back to my car. Instead of all those horrific memories popping in and out of my head, with no way to stop them, memories from some of the very best times Bob and I shared, took over. I felt my husband's presence, almost as though his arms were around me... Even Mother Nature's mood had improved. The sun was out, bathing the earth in warmth, a good ending to a sad beginning.

I miss my husband with all my heart, and always will. Life will never be as good as it once was. I know no one will ever care about me, the way Bob and I cared about each other. I cry at least once a day. Unexpected trips down memory lane still happen, sometimes triggered by a song, a picture, a pretty sunset, etc, etc, etc, bringing tons of tears, but those trips down memory lane aren't as frequent as they used to be. Loneliness is here to stay. I can't ditch this kind of loneliness because Bob can't come home.

After 3 years of living without him, the one true love of my life, I'm a much stronger person than I once was. I feel confident in my ability to tackle all "garbage" that's tossed my way. Absolutely nothing comes the least bit close to watching Bob suffer, not being able to "fix" him, feeling helpless, having my entire world crumbling a little bit more day by day, until life as I knew it, no longer existed.

After Bob transitioned, my life S L O W L Y began to improve. The first time I was able to laugh, a real laugh, not one of those forced, fake laughs, I knew I was going to be okay, never as happy as I once was, but I was okay with this. I had to be. I don't remember how far into the grieving process I was when this happened, but when it did, I felt a huge sense of relief. (I could find out if I revisited my old posts, but this would be a very emotionally draining experience for me, one I don't want to have today.)

S L O W L Y... life became a strange mix of happy and sad, to borrow Robin's, (another "old" GIC friend) explanation of how she was feeling several years (?) after her husband, Ron, transitioned. It's a very bittersweet existence, but, and this is one of those really BIG!!! BUTS!!!, so much better than the alternative, TUTTAM!!! (For those of you who don't know me, TUTTAM!!! is an expression I used to use often, Total Understatement To The Absolute Max!!!, when I was pouring my heart out to our GIC "family," the one place I always felt safe.)

Bob taught me that life is a gift. No matter how much pain he was in, when I asked him how he was feeling each day, his answer was always the same, "As long as I'm on the right side of the dirt, it's a good day." Bob cherished every moment he had on earth. More than anything else, I wanted from the very beginning of this miserable journey, and will always want, Bob to be proud of me. I believe the very best way I can honor his memory, is by living the very best life I possibly can, without him (physically) with me.

Backing up a bit, about 21 months after Bob transitioned, I knew it was time for me to take care of something other than myself. I adopted Skye, an English Setter mix, from a local rescue. Finding GIC, being brave enough to post that first message, taking Lou's (another "old" GIC friend) advice by reading "Permission To Mourn," and finally, adopting Skye, were some of the very best decisions I've made since Bob transitioned.

Skye gave me a purpose in life again. I needed her, and she needed me. God knew this and gave us each other. My life has become so much better since I adopted her. Friends and neighbors tell me Skye is the lucky one, but I think it's the other way around. Skye rescued me. She forced me into the world again. It's because of her that I've met so many people. (Bob and are not from SC. We moved here right about the time his health began spiraling downhill rapidly. Too long a story to share here, but I felt very isolated and alone, with my friends and family, living far away from us.) A few of the people I've met, have morphed into good friends. I feel blessed because I have lots of good neighbors and acquaintances too. Although I live alone, I'm not as lonely as I once was. I've accepted that the loneliness I now feel, is here to stay. Life is over the top bittersweet.

The difference between the very beginning of this journey and now, is that in the beginning I thought pain, sadness, and loneliness, would be my constant companions 24/7, for the remainder of my time on earth. I spent hours "visiting" my GIC "family" daily, crying, pouring my heart out, wanting to provide as much love and support as I was given, from the very first day I was brave enough to post my first message.

Now, although I miss all of TGW (Lou named us The Grief Warriors), and would like to be able to support all of the new "family" members who I haven't "met," I need to spend as much time as I possibly can in the "real" world, instead of in the "virtual" world. There isn't enough time in the day for me to do everything I want/need to do. Our GIC "family," and Skye, helped me find my way again, in this sometimes scary, but always interesting, world. I'll always be grateful to all of the way beyond wonderful, caring people, who are part of our GIC "family," TUTTAM!!!

To all my old friends, I think about you often, miss you lots, love you, TUTTAM!!! Hope life has morphed into a bittersweet existence that's more happy, less sad, and the future is no longer such a scary place.

To everyone I haven't met, I'm so very sorry you had to find this site, but so very glad you did. I hope you'll stick around, give others the chance to get to know you, and you, the chance to get to know everyone else. I can't even begin to put into words how much this site helped me. I hope it'll help you just as much.

I'm not sure if anything I said helps anyone in any way, but if it gives even one person, a little bit of hope, that in time, if you do all the hard work grieving forces you to do, one day, you'll find yourselves laughing, a real laugh, and know that things WILL!!! get better, then I'm glad I posted this. (Run on sentences were, and still are, my specialty, lol...)

As always, sending lots of hugs and love, wishing you peace... DEB & Skye Karma (Variety is the spice of life)

 

Wow DEB! Thank you so much for validating where I am, and where I hope to be. You've given myself, and many others, I'm sure, a framework with your story. Your bravery and compassion make Bob so proud!
~ Michael

 

Hey The DeB... I apologize but I haven't been on GIC too much these days. Am VERY inwardly drawn into trying to figure out who this weird upsetting new me is. I find it difficult to coherently communicate lately. I never realized how hard it is to live truly alone. Which I've done for pretty much a whole year

 

Michael,

Thank you for saying those very kind words. Hearing you say I'm making Bob proud, made me teary eyed, but only in the very best of ways...

I think this is the first time (having way too many senior moments, no longer able to blame "foggy widow brain"), we've "talked" to each other. Backing way, way up, although I'm getting here very late, although it's been over a year, since your husband, Edward, transitioned, I'm so very sorry. I HATE!!! saying this because words seem so shallow at times, now being one of them, but I hope you know how truly sorry I am. Short and to the point, it SUCKS!!!

Although the timeline is different for each one of us, I'm glad that sharing my story has given you a framework of what life might be like for you in the future. My very best advice (just my two cents) comes from Tom Zuba's book, "Permission To Mourn," which I've "talked" about lots in prior posts. In order to keep moving forward, it's important to repeat your story, to everyone who will "listen"/listen, how you ended up having to find our GIC "family," over and over and over again, until the day comes when you can't repeat it even one more time. If you do this, Mr. G, as Karen, another "old" GIC friend, referred to grief, will lose his tight grip on you, but..., Mr. G. will always remain in the background, ready to strike when you least expect it.

It's challenging when Mr. G strikes at unexpected moments. Mr. G has hit me by surprise more than once when I'm sitting outside with friends/neighbors, enjoying what we call "concrete cocktails." Suddenly a song transports me back to a very special, happy time, in my past life, the life I took for granted way too often, the life I shared with Bob, who was, and will always be, my knight in shining armor. At moments like this, I'm way too aware of the fact that I'm the only single person sitting outside on a particular day/evening. It SUCKS!!!, but, and this is another one of those really BIG!!! BUTS!!!, bittersweet is as good as it's going to get. A bittersweet life isn't bad. I still have lots of fun times, good days, but it's way different from what I expected this chapter in my life to be like, TUTTAM!!!

I've accepted this bittersweet existence, and do my best to enjoy, and not take for granted, all the good things in my life. I feel very blessed to live in a pretty area, surrounded by wildlife, with the ocean only a short drive away, for the house Bob and I bought many years ago, thinking someday we would enjoy our retirement here (sometimes I still feel guilty that I have this house, that Bob wasn't able to enjoy living here too, but guilt is one of those useless emotions, and a topic for another time), to live in a wonderful neighborhood, filled with some of the kindest, most caring, best neighbors ever, for Skye, the furry love in my life, for several good friends I've made since moving here, who I can confide in, and know that no matter what I tell them, they'll still love me, for all my "old" friends from "home," who I talk to all the time, my children, who are living their best lives, for my GIC "family," etc, etc, etc...

Unfortunately, to quote Rose, who I think said it best, " There isn't a "getting better" stage, it's just learning to accept this situation and trying our best to make it our normal life now, in honor of our lost soulmates." There will still be moments filled with tears, but, and this is another one of those really BIG!!! BUTS!!!, eventually you'll find yourself smiling more, crying less. By doing your very best to move forward, by doing your best to experience all the good things in this world, all the things that you enjoy doing, that make you who you are, you're honoring Edward's memory, in the very best possible way I can think of. I believe with all my heart, Edward will always be with you, watching over you, smiling down at you when you're having good moments..., beside you when Mr. G strikes...

Edward will ALWAYS!!! hold the biggest place in your heart... By sharing happy times you and Edward spent together, you're keeping his memory alive. While I think this is so important, unfortunately way too well meaning people think that talking about Bob will only make me sad. If there is one thing I wish all those well meaning people knew, is that I want to hear stories about him. Hearing all those "remember when's," helps me feel not as alone, reminding me that my history hasn't been erased, even though it feels like it's been deleted way too often. Enough of this, another topic, for another time.

I'm rambling as usual, unfortunately another one of my specialties, lol... Lucky for you, and for anyone else who has made it this far, I'm stopping here. It's going to be a hot day. I'm going to take Skye for another walk before it gets any hotter.

I wrote this before lunch, but got distracted, forgot to finish and hit send. Another senior moment has struck again, lol...

Sending you lots of hugs and love, wishing you peace, all of us peace, DEB & Skye Queen (Variety is the spice of life)

 

Dear Deb, Rose, George, Michael and others here,
Reaching out to each of you with great big hug, I seldom get in GIC
much anymore to post, I try once in awhile to to sign in and read a little while.
Deb, your posting really touched my heart, sending you a GREAT BIG HUG.
I realized after years traveling this journey of grief, I was suffering from PTSD
due to my Jack not here physically with me, but always feeling his Spirit
with me.
I know it was due to me finding GIC and communicating with others that
has gotten me where I am today. I still cry a bit every day, I miss Jack physically,
however, my tears have became tears of gratefulness, I am allowing myself to only
dwell on our wonderful life and many years of happiness prior to Jack’s illness, I
have to do this for him as well as myself.
God let me know I have a continued purpose in life, some of which I believe my Jack
would want me to fulfill, in what time I have left here on earth, till in God’s timing
Jack and I will be United together Forever.
Sending love, hugs, prayers for all. hope to visit again.
Blessings, Patti











,

 

Dear Deb, after reading your heartfelt post, I just wanted to give you a big hug and cry with you. It's wonderful to hear from you after such a long time, I think about you all too, my only friends who really understand me. Thank you very much for expressing into words so many feelings and thoughts that I share with you, but cannot find the words to describe. I'm at the same stage as you, it's been three and half years since my C left this world,taking with him a part of me, but at the same time leaving me with a part of himself. I have my "regression" days, oh how many of them! Not one day goes by without shedding a tear or screaming out , without countless triggers, reminders. I look at photos and refuse to accept that he's gone, he must be somewhere. I'm forever talking to him and asking him where he is. He will always be my guide in helping me through difficult decisions. He will always be my husband and I will always be his wife, in this "surreal" existence of mine. There isn't a "getting better" stage, it's just learning to accept this situation and trying our best to make it our normal life now, in honor of our lost soulmates

Rose,

I wish so much we could get together in person too... It would be way beyond wonderful being able to give each other a giant in person hug, to talk, instead of "talk," and be able to hand each other the box of tissues (as often as needed). Like you, I talk to Bob all the time, as though he's still (physically) with me, and ask him for advice whenever I have tough decisions to make. I always try to think of what he would do, in a similar situation. This is one part of this new "normal," that SUCKS!!!

I seem to be stuck on SUCKS!!! as usual, but, and this is another one of those really BIG!!! BUTS!!!, as you said, we need to accept that this IS!!! our new reality, and make the best out of the time we have left on earth. While I believe someday Bob and I will be reunited for eternity, I hope it isn't for a long time. There are so many things on my bucket list, and so far, the only thing I've been able to check off is adopting a furry family member.

There are so many places I want to see, things I want to do, I could go on and on and on, but need to keep this short. I need to make dinner. After dinner, it'll be time for Skye's evening walk. It's gator mating season again, and I don't want to walk her after dark. Way too scary, TUTTAM!!!

On a much more positive note, it's been so nice "talking" to you. I'm glad to hear that although your life is bittersweet too, that you've accepted your "new" reality, and are moving forward the very best you can. Just as Michael told me I'm making Bob proud, I believe with all my heart, you're making C proud.

Got to go, before I begin rambling again, lol...

As always, sending you lots of hugs and love, wishing you peace, all of us peace. DEB & Skyster (Lou's nickname for her)

 

George,

No need to apologize ever, TUTTAM!!! Just do whatever you have to do to take care of yourself the very best you can. You've been through so much more f*cking bullsh*t than any of us, yet you still do your very best, try as hard as you can, to keep moving forward. Although I know you probably don't agree with me, you are the UGW, TUTTAM!!!

I haven't been around in ages, and probably won't return for a long time after tonight. Although I feel very selfish saying this, Gary got it right when he made me realize, in what seems like a lifetime ago, that I need to put myself first. I have to, otherwise I would stretch myself to the breaking point.

It's so good to "see" you, but I wish you had better news to share. As always, no words of wisdom, no advice, just sending you the BIGGEST!!! virtual hug, lots and lots of love, all the way from TUTTAMVILLE...

Wishing you peace, all of us peace... The DEB and Skye Karma (Variety is the spice of life, probably getting a bit "stale" by now. I'm just not creative enough to come up with anything else, lol)

 

Hi DEB and HRH Skye. Your words, and experience, are like poetry for my wounded soul. I kind of like the personification of a 'Mr. G.'
I'm not sure what image he'll take in my mind - perhaps a scary, crazy clown, or a comforting Wilford Brimley type. Grief has taught me a lot as well, made me stronger, made my faith deeper/broader. But so far, the desperation is still taking the lead.

I'm not lucky enough to have a Skye in my life, dogs are Angels on Earth!!! I still dream of different dogs I've had throughout my life, and we all know that pet loss is it's very own category of pain. I do however have a stray mama kitty and three of her babies that I kept (found good homes for the other 3 babies). They literally wake me up as soon as the sun rises! So I always have a reason to get out of bed, and that's a good thing.

Again, thank you so much. Hugs and love right back to you and Lady Skye. Variety...
btw - the Isle of Skye is one of the most magical places I've been.

 

]Deb Ilove your ramblings. You express the way I feel. Thank you for being so supportive of others. HUGs

 

Patti. Thank you for encouraging us to find a purpose in our life. I have not been doing well in that. HUGs

 

It is a long brutal effort to go towards acceptance. So much horrible sHt! has come my way. I'm tired. I can't seem to pull it back together. I am so alone

 

Michael.

I was about to send you another one of my "books," as Lou used to call them, but I deleted it by accident. It's probably hanging out somewhere in cyberspace for eternity... As crazy as this might sound, I'm just about "talked" out. I can (almost) hear Bob saying, "No way, NOT!!! my woman," lol... Before I get way off subject, back to a very abbreviated version of my reply, now in some unknown place, forever...

Mr. G reminds me more of a way beyond twisted, scary clown. This could have something to do with the fact, that in what seems like centuries ago, the original GIC "family" members who morphed into TGW, thanks to Karen, Lou, and whichever one of us came up with the amusement park theme, used to refer to us as being locked inside Mr. G.'s twisted amusement park, stuck on an endless roller coaster ride of emotions, (that when I first found GIC, made me feel like I was losing whatever shred of sanity I had left), with no way to escape.

I think grief makes all of us stronger. After surviving the very darkest, worst time in our lives, in what seems like a nightmare at first, until that moment arrives, striking us like a bolt of lightening, when we realize it isn't a nightmare, it's our "new" reality. After that first zap, we have to take charge of our lives in a way we never imagined possible. We're bombarded with things we have to do, notifying family and friends, making funeral arrangements (if this is what our loved ones would have wanted), closing out credit cards, bank accounts, filing the death certificate, etc, etc, etc... The list is endless...

We have to find ways to function, when our hearts feel as though they've just been torn in half. Every one of these things has to be taken care of immediately after surviving the most traumatic, horrific time in our lives, the moment our loved ones transitioned. After surviving all of this, I don't think there is anything that could ever be more heartbreaking, more challenging, or more exhausting, than what we've just been through. I think we begin to grow stronger, little by little, not even aware of it, as every day brings new challenges that have to be conquered. It's sort of like beginning a new workout routine. At first it seems impossible to lift a heavy set of weights, but gradually, with lots of repetition, the day comes when that heavy set of weights doesn't feel quite as heavy.

I'm not sure where I got the strength to take care of everything. I think my brain was sort of on autopilot part of the time, the rest of the time, way too foggy to remember what day it was, or if I even ate breakfast that morning. Without realizing it, somewhere between all the tears, Mr. G's extended, most unwelcome stay, days when I could barely drag myself out of bed, I began to morph into a stronger person. I had to. I didn't have a choice. Yikes, rambling as usual. Although I would rather continue "talking" to you, I'm going to try hard to stay on topic, wrap things up.

Onto other things... I love that you rescued a mama kitty and her six babies, found homes for three of the kittens, and adopted mama kitty and three of her kids. I've had cats, as well as dogs, all of them were either rescues, or strays my kids brought home, knowing that mom and dad wouldn't be able to say no. Although I love cats, I'm more of a dog person. However, having said this, if I had a place in my house for a litter box, I would probably adopt a kitty too. Our fur babies ask for so little, give us so much in return... I can't imagine my life without a fur baby in it.

Even if you don't believe it now, by coming here, sharing your feelings, doing all the hard work grieving forces us to do, eventually you'll find yourself smiling more, crying less.

Have to stop here...

Hugs and love, wishing you peace, all of us peace... DEB and HRH Skye, a/k/a, Lady Skye (thank you, lol...)

 

George,

All you can do is to keep on keeping... I know there is nothing I can do or say to make things even the slightest bit easier for you. I'm tired and need to get dinner ready, but couldn't leave without sending you zillions of hugs, lots of love, all the way from gator country...

Wishing you peace, all of us peace... DEB and Lady Skye (Variety is the spice of life, TUTTAM!!!)

 

DEB, I like the analogy of the weightlifting. That is exactly what it feels like. If I go a few days and don't do some deep breathing or meditation/prayer, or some other survival technique, my 'muscles' feel weak... and then I have to start lifting all over again.

Thank you for your thoughtful post. You're a Gem.

Sending love from sunny California to sunny Florida.
~ Michael