*DAYTIME AND EVENING GENERAL GRIEF GROUPS AVAILABLE EVERY WEEK* CLICK HERE TO JOIN US!

Accepting death - stuck in denial

Discussion in 'Finding it Difficult to Move Foward' started by NaSam, Apr 26, 2022.

  1. Van Gogh

    Van Gogh Well-Known Member

    Rose, thank you for clearing up the
    confusion. Karen, from California, on the
    West Coast, was one of the first people to
    welcome me, from Massachusetts, on the
    East Coast. Even though my wife, Linda,
    died 3 & a half years ago, I didn't join GIC
    until the end of July, 2021. Patti, from
    South Carolina, was the other person to
    greet me at that time. Later, I became
    friends with Deb & Helena, also from
    South Carolina, Robin, from Long Island,
    NY, and many other kind widows, including Bernadine & Debra. I'm also
    blessed to have 3 younger brothers
    here: Gary, from Indiana, George, from
    Illinois, and Chad, from Texas. It has
    really helped me to share the name of
    my wife, Linda, & learn the names of the
    soulmates of other GW. That being said,
    Rose, do you mind if I ask the name of your
    dear husband? Thank you so much. Lou
     
    Rose69 likes this.
  2. Chris M 2000

    Chris M 2000 Well-Known Member

    I just want to reassure you that: No it won't always be this bad for you.
     
    Van Gogh likes this.
  3. DEB321

    DEB321 Well-Known Member

    Rose,

    I've been wanting to "talk" to you for days, but I don't spend as much time "visiting" our GIC "family" as often as I used to. I've found I need more of a balance in my life. Gary once said, "the secret to life is everything in moderation," or something similar to this. (This foggy widow brain SUCKS!!!) I totally agree with him. Today at exactly 3:45 a.m., my husband, Bob, died thirteen months ago. One of the things I've learned, is that while grieving is such a necessary, important step in our ability to continue to move forward..., to heal..., taking breaks from grieving (whenever possible), is just as necessary, just as important. Taking breaks from grieving is helping me realize that even without Bob (physically) beside me, there is still so much beauty..., so many things I still want to accomplish..., in this world.

    Having said all of this, I'm consumed by loneliness 24/7. I'm lonely even when spending time with a very good friend (she became a widow a little over a year before I did), sharing laughs, going places together, when I'm talking to my children, my friends from "home," even when talking to my very best friend who I've known most of my life. I'm getting used to my life without Bob in it, but I'll NEVER!!!, TUTTAM!!! stop missing him... falling asleep in his arms at night, waking up with him beside me, in the morning.... Sharing all those inside jokes/secrets that no one else in the entire world would ever understand..., Planning our future together... sharing our hopes..., our dreams..., continuing to build our lives together... enjoying all the ordinary moments together..., grocery shopping, preparing dinner, watching a movie, snuggled in each other's arms on the couch, sitting by the ocean, listening to the waves crash against the shore..., watching the sunset...

    I know I'm going to miss Bob with all my heart, I'm going to continue grieving, right up until the very second I'm reunited with him, but and this is a really BIG!!! BUT!!!, I don't believe I'm still on this earth just to be miserable. I believe God has a plan for me, for every one of us. I know it won't be my time to leave this earth until I've fulfilled my purpose. I know the very best way I can honor Bob is by living the very best life I possibly can, to find happiness again. Just recently, I'm also trying to live my very best life for myself too. I think this is a big step forward as I continue to stumble and fall, coming here to "talk" to you, all of our GIC "family," to give me the support I need, help me find the courage, and strength I need, to keep on keeping (to borrow something Gary has said)...

    I didn't mean to make this message all about me. I got sidetracked, being in a very emotional mood today, and began to do what I always do when I get in one of these moods, end up writing a L O N G message, what Lou calls one of my "books." Although words seem so shallow at times, now being one of them, words are all I have. I hope you know how truly sorry I am that your soulmate, your husband died. I can (almost) feel your pain. It SUCKS!!!, TUTTAM!!! (Total Understatement To The Absolute Max!!!) I get teary eyed every time a new member finds us, but at the same time, so glad he/she did. I don't know how I would survive this total heartbreak if I wasn't a part of TGW (The Grief Warriors, Lou came up with this name for our GIC "family" and it's a perfect way to describe us!!!, TUTTAM!!! Wait... I think you already know this, I've been reading your posts even though this is the first time I'm "meeting" you.), our GIC "family."

    TGW are always here for each other, helping each other in every way we possibly can... We sometimes just "listen," but sometimes we offer advice too. Take it or leave it. This is a judgement free place. You need to do whatever works best for you. We won't be offended, but we will be here for you, as you continue along this miserable journey (for lack of a better word), that not one of us would have chosen to take.

    I'm so very glad you found us, but so very sorry you had to. It's nice to see you're already an active member of our "family." I hope you will continue to stick around, get to "know" us much better, give us the opportunity to get to "know you much better too.

    Sending you hugs and love, wishing you peace, all of us peace. DEB
     
    Countess Joy, Rose69 and Van Gogh like this.
  4. Van Gogh

    Van Gogh Well-Known Member

    Deb, there's NO way I , or any of TGW,
    would call your words shallow. You are
    one of the true compassionate, inspirational leaders on GIC. You gather
    ideas on grief, from all of us, give credit to
    us, and contribute your own insights.
    This forum of kind friends surpasses even
    my closest friends I see . They are not
    always available for me, but TGW are 24/7.
    If I awake in the middle of the night, bc
    of a troubling dream, I check in on GIC.
    If my friends on the West Coast, like Karen,
    Bernadine, Debra, & others, are not awake,
    they usually reply to me the next day. God
    Bless you & other GW, for weathering the
    storm of grief, and enjoying our remaining
    lives on earth to the 'absolute max",like
    our loving soulmates wanted for us. Lou
     
    Rose69 and Helena Beatriz like this.
  5. Helena Beatriz

    Helena Beatriz Well-Known Member

    That was very nice Lou, you're wright! Deb is one of the most compassionate friend and almost my neighbor, we both are in SC even if Deb lives by the coast and myself closed to the mountains, we are connected....I really wish that Patti, Deb and I, some day we could meet half way and be able to support each other personally, and I think it could happen if we let it happen, anything is possible!! Finally I managed to sleep a little bit longer and I feel better...hopefully your dreams won't wake you up and have long peaceful nights. As always sending you and all the GW lots of hugs, peace and love. Helena
     
    Van Gogh likes this.
  6. Rose69

    Rose69 Active Member

    Thank you so much for your kind words. I'm so sorry you lost your husband, I can imagine how you're feeling today, marking exactly 13 months. I was touched reading how you described your daily activities with your beloved. I miss that too, that special familiarity we had with our soulmates just can't be compared to any other feeling. Knowing what the other is thinking at a particular moment, without even having to speak, practically reading each other's minds. I still can't look at his photos without breaking down, covering my eyes and shouting out why, why, why.... I even avoid them sometimes. I hate it when I have to do the dusting, it means I have to pick them up and move them around, I do this as fast as possible, can't wait to leave the room. Sounds like a crazy thing to do but it's still not real for me, I'm living a nightmare, how can he just go like that suddenly and unexpectedly at 57 years of age? Was so full of life, hardworking, didn't have health problems. I don't understand, I'm stuck in a time warp (don't know if that's the right word), 'the world keeps turning but I'm not moving on', like that beautiful tear-jerking song that Lady Gaga sings at the end of 'A star is born".
    Sending you a big hug.
     
    DEB321 and Van Gogh like this.
  7. Van Gogh

    Van Gogh Well-Known Member

    Rose, in The Widower's Notebook, a
    memoir, by Jonathan Santlofer, he said
    that he couldn't bear to look at his wife,
    Joy's photos, without breaking down.
    I'm the same way. I had to put our
    wedding photos in the closet. I would
    weep at the close up ones, where we
    gazed into each other's eyes, with
    love. Someday, in my healing journey.
    I will look at them again. Right now,
    it's enough for me to know the photos
    are there, & Linda is with me in spirit. Lou
     
  8. DEB321

    DEB321 Well-Known Member

    Rose,

    Just as you have trouble looking at pictures of C (??? I'm not sure if I got this right. Since Bob's death, foggy widow brain has been a constant companion. It SUCKS!!!), I still can't look at pictures of Bob without the floodgates opening BIG!!!, TIME!!! The only pictures I have of him that aren't packed away in the closet in the guest bedroom, the room that holds so many horrific memories that after over 13 months, I still have to leave the door shut, are two small pictures in wooden frames, one in the shape of a fish, and the other in the shape of a sailboat. Both of these pictures were taken by one of our very dearest friends, while the four of us, our friend, his wife, Bob and I were on a cruise. (It turned out to be the very last one before we knew how sick Bob was. I'm so grateful to God for giving us this one last perfect vacation.) The picture in the frame in the shape of a fish, was taken in Barbados. Bob and I are in the ocean... I'm in Bob's arms, the biggest smile on my face... The picture in the frame in the shape of a sailboat, was taken during cocktail hour, later that day, in one of the ship's many bars. Our arms are wrapped around each other, big smiles on our faces... I need a tissue... This SUCKS!!!

    Backing up a bit, the only reason these pictures are in my living room is because they've been in the same place since the day we moved into this house. I used to look at them often when Bob was so sick, needing to remember all the wonderful, very special moments we shared... Bob looked at them often too. For Bob's 66th birthday, about three weeks before his death, my daughter had a collage of family vacation pictures made into a large throw. It was the perfect gift. It arrived while Bob was in an acute rehab facility. I was so excited when I brought it to him. I knew he was going to love this very special birthday present. One of the nurses had helped Bob into the chair in his room by the window. After I showed him the blanket, he immediately asked me to cover him with it. When he got home, I wrapped him in this blanket, now one of his very favorite possessions while he was in his recliner, and when I helped him into the hospital bed (for what would be his very last night spent on earth), I covered him with it.

    The next day, he didn't seem like himself. He seemed much weaker and much more tired than usual. I wanted to drive him to the hospital where all of his specialists worked, the only hospital that could handle all of his complex medical needs. He said he just needed to rest and refused to go. That night, he got up from dinner to use the bathroom. He was so weak, I wanted to call an ambulance, but he refused. He said he was fine. I followed behind him with a kitchen chair just in case he needed to sit down. When he made it to the bathroom, he said he was okay. He asked for some privacy. I went back to the kitchen, but had that horrible feeling I sometimes get before something really bad happens... And then it happened. He fell in the bathroom. His legs were in a very unnatural position. He was in agony. My always calm, stoic, take charge of everything, husband, begged me to help him. I immediately called an ambulance. It took the ambulance a very long time to get to our house.

    It was during COVID and all the ambulances in our area were on other calls. I never felt so powerless, so helpless as I did then. I tried to be strong for Bob. He needed me. Although he begged me to move his legs, I couldn't. I held him, I told him how much I loved him, how badly I felt I couldn't help him, but that the ambulance was on it's way. I remember asking the dispatcher many times how much longer it was going to be, all she said was they were doing the best they could to get to our house as soon as possible. She could hear Bob begging me to help him in the background. She told me to keep him calm. I tried my best but he was truly in agony. It was the most heartbreaking experience in my entire life, but I knew I had to remain calm. It felt surreal, like it couldn't be happening, just a nightmare I would wake up from. I think in a way, I was disconnected from reality, if this makes any sense. It helped me focus, remain calm. I had no choice.

    This was the very first time I had ever seen Bob like this, so out of character for him. Backing way up, before the surgery to remove his kidney right after Christmas in 2016, right before my daughter and I were asked to leave the holding area because he was going into the operating room, after he told us how much he loved us, and to tell our sons he would be talking to them soon, he tried to make us laugh. We knew that the procedure was going to be very dangerous and that there was a chance he wasn't going to make it, but he kept his cool. He wanted us to be okay, he wanted to shield us from the reality of the situation. No matter how much pain he was in, he never complained, he always said he was okay. This time was different. I had a sinking feeling..., wait!!!, I knew in my heart, he wasn't going to survive this time. It was his very last night in our house... but it still felt so surreal... I can't stop crying...

    There is so much more to this story... But, what I wanted to say before I got off track, is that this very special blanket is still in the guest bedroom, on a corner of the only piece of furniture left in the room, a desk, in the same place I put it when two very kind and caring volunteers, from the nonprofit organization I called, came to pick up the hospital bed and all of the DME. I can't look at it. I can't pick it up. I can't wash it. I don't know if and when I'll ever be able to use it. Although I can't get anywhere near it without bursting into tears, I'm so very glad my daughter had it made for him. I hope someday, I'll be able to use it... Those tears will be laced with smiles, whenever I wrap myself in it, remembering some of the best days of my life, shared with Bob, the one true love of my life.

    I think I know what you mean about living in sort of a time warp. For many months after Bob died, I don't remember exactly how long, memories kept popping in and out of my head, no way to stop them... The tears constantly flowed... Mr. Grief held onto me so tightly, at times I felt like I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was having panic attacks. I was being swallowed up, almost suffocated by memories, once so very happy, now so very sad... I was living in the past, reliving our life together over and over again, and at the same time, unable to wrap my mind around the fact Bob was dead. Bob was NEVER!!! coming home again. Everything was a trigger for tears... his favorite foods on grocery store shelves, cars in midnight blue (his favorite car color), his empty chair at the kitchen table, etc., etc., etc....

    I'm not sure how long I lived like this, all I know is one day someone said something funny and I laughed. It was at this moment I finally realized I would be okay, never the same, but okay. Fast forward to the present. I'm finally beginning to have more good moments than bad ones. I'm finally beginning to live again, not just survive. I'm finally looking forward to the future. But, and this is another one of those really BIG!!! BUTS!!!, I'm always lonely, even when spending time with friends.... I hate to sound so pessimistic, but I think no matter how much I'm able to accomplish in life, even if I'm able to cross many things off of my bucket list, I think I'm always going to be lonely without Bob, here on this earth, beside me. I think I'm going to be lonely right up until the very second Bob and I are reunited. Life will always be so very bittersweet..., so lonely..., but I'm finally looking forward to the future. It's a really good feeling.

    Continue to be very gentle with yourself. The timeline for healing is different for each one of us. Try to remember, you ARE!!! healing... You ARE!!! doing all the hard work grieving forces you to do. In time, some of your tears will be replaced with smiles...

    As always, sending you lots of hugs and love, wishing you peace, all of us peace. DEB
     
  9. Van Gogh

    Van Gogh Well-Known Member

    Deb, though I knew some of your story, about Bob's last moments, you took
    me by surprise, by saying you were
    horrified to see Bob's legs in a " very unnatural
    position'" , and I wept unexpectedly. I had a
    sharp pain , recalling Linda collapsing on
    the edge of her bed, upside down,also in an
    unnatural position. I try to think of 2 positive
    things: Linda was able to talk with me,&
    ask for help. 2nd, my last image was her
    being able to sit on the floor, with her
    favorite nurse talking to her. I'm glad I didn't
    have to see what happened next. I called
    the nurse the day after. to,find out Linda's last
    words. The nurse asked Linda if she wanted
    a pillow, for her back, in the wheelchair . Shesaid, 'yes", which turned out to be her last


    word., After that, the nurse called out
    Linda's name. & she didn't respond. Her
    lips turned blue. The rescue squad rushed
    in to revive her, but it was too late. Linda
    was dead on arrival at the ER. Cause of
    death:pulmonary embolism.I thank God
    I didn't see her lips turn blue. I chose not to
    see her lifeless body at the hospital. I think,
    I'd still be in the psychiatric unit. My
    memory was bad enough as it was. Deb,I
    hope we don't have to give all these sad
    details again. I'm going back to my
    abbreviated version. Lou
     
  10. Chris M 2000

    Chris M 2000 Well-Known Member

    Hi, Deb. Dear brave girl. I am so glad you were strong enough now to be able to share some of the horrendous things you have been through.
    Keep hanging onto anything that helps you continue on. We are with you in spirit.
    God bless,
    Chris
     
    Countess Joy, DEB321 and Van Gogh like this.
  11. Van Gogh

    Van Gogh Well-Known Member

    P.S. Made a bad mistake. I pressed the
    wrong emoji :p:p:D:D, a happy one. A pulmonary
    embolism was sure as hell NOT happy.
    It changed my life forever. There will
    always be an ache of loneliness & longing
    for Linda, the rest of my life, but I must
    enjoy the rest of my life, as Linda wanted
    for me. Lou
     
    DEB321, Rose69 and Chris M 2000 like this.
  12. Rose69

    Rose69 Active Member

    Oh Deb, I was so moved and close to tears reading about how you lost your Bob, would you believe I found my C on the bathroom floor, too. He had gone in because he felt nauseous, had excruciating stomach pains, we all thought it was a bad case of indigestion. He had asked me to get him an indigestion pill, we would never have thought it was a heart attack. My daughter tried doing chest compressions while waiting for the ambulance, they did arrive quickly, tried for a long time to revive him but there was nothing they could do. I was hysterical, I started shouting at the paramedics: "Why didn't you immediately take him to hospital?" I didn't understand, didn't want to understand, that was the start of my neverending nightmare.
    Such a beautiful story about your special collage blanket. How sweet of your daughter to do this for you.
    That's right Deb, I just can't look at his photos, at least not the recent ones where he is the same as he was when he left us. They drive me mad, I talk to him and to myself too, saying that it just can't be true, "You can't be gone, where are you? You must be somewhere, you can't just disappear like that". I hope I will be able to keep my sanity, I have my doubts, though.
    Thank you for your comforting words, sending a hug to you too.
     
  13. DEB321

    DEB321 Well-Known Member

    Lou,

    Although I've heard this over the top, way beyond heartbreaking story before, as soon as I started reading it today, those floodgates opened... I couldn't stop crying... I was crying so much that I didn't even notice you used a happy emoji by mistake. I wouldn't have noticed it if you didn't mention it. All I could think of was the unbelievable amount of suffering..., the unbelievable amount of pain..., both you and Linda were experiencing...

    I wasn't going to "talk" about this, but as it happens so many times, once I start "talking," I can't seem to stop. The words seemed to almost type themselves. I was surprised that all of these feelings came to the surface again so easily. I guess, as Tom Zuba would probably tell me, I still need to tell my story. The horrific memories from the last night/early morning hours of Bob's life, the very worst time in both of our lives, haven't lost their power over me yet. I REFUSE!!! to let Mr. Grief pull me down into that very dark, miserable place, I felt trapped in, for many months after Bob's death. I want to go back to my abbreviated version too, but from what I've written this afternoon, it might be too soon for me to keep things short. I wish with all my heart I could...

    Backing up just a bit, I think it was a very wise decision you chose not to see Linda's body after her spirit had already left it. I can still picture Bob's lifeless body, wrapped in a white blanket, lying on the same stretcher he was wheeled in on, the night before, the tube still down his throat... Sadly I think the image of Bob's lifeless body, is permanently etched in my mind. I know some people see a peaceful feeling on their loved ones faces. I didn't see this when I looked at Bob. The tube still down his throat, the band wrapped around his head keeping it there, is impossible for me to forget... I need a tissue....

    Ending this on a much more positive note, it makes me smile that even though you will miss Linda with all your heart, right up until the moment you're reunited with her, you are determined to enjoy the rest of your life. Life is a gift. Bob constantly reminded me of this by the way he found something to be grateful for each and every day, no matter how much pain he was in, while he was still on this earth. To repeat one of his favorite sayings, "As long as I'm on the right side of the dirt, it's a good day."

    Linda and Bob would want us to be happy. I think the very best way we can honor Linda and Bob is by living our lives to the fullest extent possible, savoring the happy moments..., although all those happy moments will always be so very bittersweet...

    As always, sending you hugs and love, wishing you peace, all of us peace. DEB
     
    Rose69 and Van Gogh like this.
  14. DEB321

    DEB321 Well-Known Member

    Chris,

    It seems like so long ago, and yet, at the same time, just the other day, when I first found GIC, afraid to "talk" openly about my feelings, when you were one of the very first persons to greet me, to comfort me. I will always remember how caring and kind you were. I know part of my purpose in life, now that Bob is no longer physically with me, is to try to give back to others, the same way you helped me.

    Thank you so much for your continued support. It means the world to me.

    I hope you're living life the very best you possibly can, although all those happy times, will always be so very bittersweet...

    Sending you hugs and love, wishing you peace, all of us peace. DEB
     
    Rose69, Chris M 2000 and Van Gogh like this.
  15. DEB321

    DEB321 Well-Known Member

    Rose,

    First sending you the very BIGGEST!!! virtual hug... I'm teary eyed reading about C's last moments on earth... It SUCKS!!! I'm very glad that you're beginning to be able to open up, to share all of the very worst moments of your life, with all of us. I think either Lou or I mentioned Tom Zuba's books to you. Lou was the one who originally told us about Tom Zuba's first book, "Permission To Mourn." In this book, Tom Zuba says that we need to keep telling our story over and over again, until there comes a time when we just can't tell it one more time. It is only then, that it'll lose it's power over us.

    I will be here to "listen," and I think I can safely say, all of our GIC "family" will be here to "listen," to everything you need/feel comfortable sharing with us. It SUCKS!!! having to repeat the very worst moments of our lives over and over again... (However, in a strange way, it feels good to share my horrific story, knowing that all of our GIC "family "gets" it.) As Tom Zuba also says, it is only by doing all the hard work grieving forces us to do, that we can heal. We will heal right up until the very moment we're reunited with our loved ones.

    I found it very difficult to accept that Bob was dead, NEVER!!! going to walk through the front door again, NEVER!!! going to be here, waiting for me in his recliner, always so happy to see me... It SUCKS!!! Be patient with yourself, acceptance can be very difficult. Even now, I have moments when I still feel like I'm living in some sort of twisted nightmare, expecting to wake up and find Bob right next to me, where he belongs. It's all so wrong... but and this is another one of those really BIG!!! BUTS!!!, even though I doubt you feel like you're healing, I think you've come a long way since we first met. As Robin would say, "you are much stronger than you think you are." You are not only stronger than you think you are, but you are very brave to be able to share your story with us.

    Before I go, backing up just a little bit, I talk to Bob all the time like he is still here with me. His physical presence is gone, but I know he is watching over me, just as I believe C is watching over you. It's so very comforting, but so very bittersweet, all at the same time.

    I'm physically and emotionally drained from grieving, and I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow, so stopping here.

    Sending you lots more hugs and love, wishing you peace, all of us peace. DEB
     
    Rose69, Van Gogh and Countess Joy like this.
  16. Van Gogh

    Van Gogh Well-Known Member

    Deb, Linda had a great sense of humor,
    sometimes dark, like Bob's . When asked
    how she was, she'd say, somewhat
    sarcastically, "I'm above ground",and the
    person who asked, would laugh nervously.
    You and I are reasonably healthy. I never
    want to use her expression. After Linda
    died, I had to go to the ER in the middle
    of the night, and I was scared. I prayed to
    God that I may live. That was a far cry from how I felt when Linda died. I didn't
    care if I lived or died. Now, I believe
    each day is precious, and a gift from God.
    Who am I , to squander it? My spirit
    will join Linda's someday, but I'm in no
    hurry. She made me promise to look after
    my health, and to try to be happy, no matter what happened to her. She knew
    there was a possibility that she wouldn't
    make it, and she shocked me one day ,
    with the "talk". I know that other GW
    had that "talk" with their soulmates.
    I hit the wall with my story of Linda's
    last moments on earth. I'm not going to
    go there again. I will simply "give the
    facts", like the cop in the TV show ,
    Dragnet, would say. On to stories of my
    present life, without Linda's physical
    presence by my side. She is in my heart &
    mind every day, but, I have to walk out
    into the sunshine, by myself now.....Lou
     
    DEB321 and Rose69 like this.
  17. Van Gogh

    Van Gogh Well-Known Member

    Rose, my advice to you, based on my
    experience, is not to look at photos of C,
    until you're ready. Our wedding photos,
    of us gazing into each other's eyes, with
    unconditional love, is too hard for me to,
    bear. I put them away in my closet.
    Someday, I will look at them again, just
    like listening to music again, after not
    being able to , for months after Linda's
    death. Lou
     
    DEB321 and Rose69 like this.
  18. Chris M 2000

    Chris M 2000 Well-Known Member

    Returning your hugs and love and peace. Take good care of yourself. You are helping others here by sharing your honest heart.
    I appreciate you.
    Chris
     
    DEB321, Van Gogh and Rose69 like this.
  19. Van Gogh

    Van Gogh Well-Known Member

    Good morning , Rose. I've been waking up
    around 5am, every day, around sunrise.
    That's my summer schedule. I'm having
    coffee in a coffee shop this morning, bc
    I don't feel like being in my apartment
    alone.Even interacting with waitresses &
    customers I know, lifts my spirits. I cry a
    little every morning, even 3 & a half years
    later , over the sudden death of my wife,
    of 25 years, Linda. I was walking over
    here, and saw a woman sitting on a bench.
    looking out to sea. thought of my dear
    wife, and cried. I know you said you feel
    anger , most of all, about the death of C.
    I did, too,in the beginning, but now I feel
    sadness when I'm alone. When that happens,I reach out to GW, like you, to
    express my emotions, and to ask how you
    are. How are you today, Rose? Lou
     
    Rose69 likes this.
  20. Rose69

    Rose69 Active Member

    Hello Lou, I was just checking in and I saw your sweet post. I'm getting along thank you, I'm sure you understand if I don't say "I'm fine", these words are out of my vocabulary now. I hope you are coping as best you can and finding peace. We had also been married 25 years, I really thought we would grow old together. That wasn't to be. So sudden, so unexpected, so unacceptable, untimely, so unfair. I haven't been writing often, it's just that I don't know what to say at times, the words don't come out, I have zillions of emotions and thoughts going through my mind and I have trouble putting them into words.
    It's afternoon here now, a very warm sunny day, temperatures in 80s, and I'm sitting here thinking this time two years ago, we were going on motorbike rides up on the mountains nearby, to breathe some fresh air, away from this humidity.
    I've been working out on our land recently, digging up weeds, cutting grass and planting tomatoes. This type of strenuous work helps me release all that pain I have inside and keeps me sane.

    Wishing you and everyone here a peaceful day.
    Rose
     
    Van Gogh likes this.