Rick, sorry I didn't answer your long, very
sad account, to my good friend, Deb. I know exactly the feeling of having "way
too much time on my hands" now, & not
knowing what to do with myself now that
I'm not caring for Linda anymore. I was in
a state of shock, when Linda collapsed in
her room in the rehab/nursing home, right in front of me, then died, soon after from
a pulmonary embolism. Forgive me I've
told you this before. Part of mourning,
as Tom Zuba says, in his book, Permission
to Mourn, is to repeat the story of your
spouse's death. I had a purpose when I
woke up in the morning: to visit Linda
every day, make sure she had plenty of
water ANF ginger ale, for her stomach.
The food was terrible, and most of the
time, she wouldn't eat it. We would get
pizza, or Chinese food, delivered, like many of the other residents did. I started
walking across the street to an English
Tea Room to get breakfasts ( tea, scones,
little sandwiches) and bring them back
to Linda's room, so we could eat together,
while watching TV, to pretend things were
normal. Both of us believed Linda was
strong enough to "beat" her breast cancer
and could walk ( with PT) without a
walker. It doesn't always work that way.
Tom has a passage about the deaths of his
wife & 2 of his children that they had
done what they set out to do, and it was
time for their physical bodies to leave this
earth. I gradually learned to be kind to
myself and go to an outdoor, friendly
breakfast place, where the husband &
wife would generously refill our coffee
mugs. It was a great way to start the day,
and I try to be there at 7:30 every am,
before there's a line. I didn't know anyone
when I moved to my small town, but
that changed fast, when I went this place,
and to the Shack bar for dinner. For a year after Linda died, I drank vodka, cranberry
juice, soda, and a lime, which was a
popular drink. I started drinking more,
staying out late, not sleeping well, getting
the flu TWICE, in Oct & Nov, 2019, and
getting so depressed that I had to go to the
ER, and then, voluntarily to a small
psychiatric unit for 5 nights. The unit had
nine beds. Every morning after breakfast,
we would go to a counselor led meeting.
Later. we had supervised walks outside.
My psychiatric nurse practioner /grief
counselor called me and asked if I would
consider stopping drinking. As I told Deb,
Gary, George, and others here, I did
stop, upon discharge.My last alcoholic
drink was on Nov 6, 2019, about a year
after Linda's death. I still wanted to see
my friends at the bar, & asked the 2
bartenders,on my favorite night, Friday,
to eliminate the vodka. I have felt better
physically, anf mentally. I still cry in my
apartment in the morning,before I walk
outside, but at least I don't cry at the bar
like I did before. When Linda became ill,
she made me promise to be happy if
anything happened to her. She then
shocked me by saying she didn't want to
be alone, but to find another woman. I
am trying to be among people & achieve
some level of happiness, but I'm not
actively seeking a woman right now. If
the time is right, a woman, probably a
daytripper from the city, may visit my
small, friendly seaside town. But, I
would still want the quiet of my place,
and the freedom to come & go. I pray
to God, in gratitude, for being alive,and
I feel blessed to be able to gaze at the
changing tides of the ocean every morning. My grief comes in waves,very
much like the sea. Linda requested that
she be cremated, & that I didn't send her
picture to our local newspaper. She
wanted a small, private funeral, and I
obeyed her wishes. I chose a block, for
her memorial urn. It had her name on it,
with no birth or death date, bc I wanted
her spirit to be with me forever. The
memorial ( I prefer to call it that, rather
than her ashes) is on my bureau whenever
I want to see it. I'm glad now that I will not
have to go to a cemetery in the cold
winter.I hope you can find the strength,
with God's guidance, to take Denise's urn
out of the closet. Her spirit belongs with
you. God Bless. Lou
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