Lost

Rose, you and Gary are my heroes in your
research on grief, and how to cope with it.
This morning, I woke up with the most
vivid dream I've had of my hugging Linda
and making her laugh. In what would be
her last months with me on earth, she had
become sedentary, sitting in a comfortable
chair in the living room, watching TV. One
day, she asked for a hug, and I said, "Only
if it's a stand up one". She laughed, as she
awkwardly did just that. We embraced ,
and I told her how wonderful she felt. I
woke up--- hugging MYSELF-- and cried
when I realized Linda was dead, and it was
only a dream. I haven't had a dream like
this in quite a while, and had to ask, "why
now?". One possible explanation is that
my friend ( whose soulmate died,also) , and I have gone to places with live music,
with a lot of women, much younger than
we are. All it does is make me feel old, and
to miss Linda even more, if that's possible.
I'm glad you discovered the TED talks.
Nora McIrney is my favorite, with her
sarcastic, self deprecating comic persona.
She said that when she married again
after her husband died, that her friends
were relieved, as if to say , "that takes care of THAT!", when of course it doesn't . She
loved her first husband, and missed him
more than ever. As for the Robin Williams
character, urging his students to "seize the
day", I say the same thing , to kick my
sorry ass out the door in the morning. Lou

 

I don’t smoke and I’m not trying to contribute to anyone’s delinquency. I wish I knew how to carve. Gary

 

That's a lovely dream Lou, I was moved reading your words. I remember my " hugging" dream I had about my C, but that hug was to tell me that he hadn't gone away after all, it had a been a mistake and that he was actually still here.
La Rose

 

Thank you, Rose. When Linda died, we had
moved, and we had no family ( all dead) , or friends. The only person I could call, was the woman who owned a restaurant,
across the street from Linda's rehab/
nursing home. Linda hated the food at that
place, so I would bring food from the
restaurant back to Linda's room,, and we
would eat it together. The restaurant
owner would always ask how Linda was
doing. She was like a daughter we never
had, but she never met Linda. In fact, none
of the people I know now, knew her, which
astonishes me, bc she would've loved them
as I do. One of the reasons I walk with
Linda's cane, is that it reminds me to talk
about her with friends and strangers
alike, and they are moved, and wish they
had known her. Linda is part of who I am.
Though it hurts daily, especially in the
morning when I wake up, I can't imagine
what kind of man I'd be if I had never had
her in my life. Lou

 

My Valentine's Day dedication for my beautiful soulmate, always and forever, my one and only love. The lyrics of a wonderful song, sung by Celine Dion: "Because you loved me".

 

Rose, thank you for your beautiful
Valentine's Day thoughts about your
dear C, which could apply to all of TGW
in regard to their soulmates on this day.
My most memorable Valentine's Day
turned out to be the last one we shared.
We made an impromptu visit to our
favorite restaurant, miraculously without a
reservation. Usually, we would sit at a bar,
but that was becoming problematic, bc of
the loudness of some people. That disturbed my wife especially. This time,
we sat in a quiet booth, and had a romantic dinner. I cry as I write this. Until this year,
I couldn't face this day without Linda, and
hated seeing flowers, boxes of candy, cards,
and decorations everywhere I went. My
local Senior Center director addressed
this holiday in her newsletter. She said
this was tough for single, divorced, and
widowed people. She said that for us, it
could be called " Singles Awareness Day".
I decided to go to my local cafe today to
hear a music duo, a man on guitar, and a
female vocalist. Both are in their 60s, and
single. They plan to sing love songs, perhaps old ones , like those of Gershwin.
I'm going with a friend, whose soulmate
died 3 yrs ago, to my 4. Lou

 

Lou, that's a lovely memory you have of your Linda.
I also couldn't bear to look at all those huge red hearts decorating the aisles when I walked into a shopping centre the other day. I remember our first Valentine's Day together, twenty-eight years ago, a couple of months after we'd first met. Since we hadn't known each other that long, I wasn't sure of his intentions yet, wondering if he was seeing a future in our relationship, if he was completely taken by me or not (I know I was, by him!) and then I received an answer to my 'wondering', when he invited me for a romantic dinner and gave me a goldchain as a present, first Valentine present I'd ever received in my life. First serious relationship, actually. We went back to that restaurant a few times and like you Lou, it will remain special for me, we would also sit in one of the booths they had there, with candle-lit atmosphere.
I was reading some quotes from the "What's your grief" site, just thought I'd share a few:

What is grief, if not love persevering?

Perhaps the most painful kind of love is called grief.

Grief is stretching bonds and redifining limits in order to create a space where you can love someone in their absence.

"I wasn't done loving you yet".

La Rose

 

Rose, what a beautiful story. Linda told
me that when she met me at a party, she
looked at my eyes and smile, and knew I
was the man she would marry. I didn't
think marriage right away, but knew
Linda was special and asked her out for
our first date, the next day. We went to
a blues club, bc we shared a love for
music, like you & C. Unlike C., I was
backward romantically. When I proposed
to Linda, she had to tell me to get down
on one knee, in the traditional manner.
I had no ring. Duh. We laughed about it
later . The fact is that I had no role model
bc my parents were in a loveless marriage.
So were hers. We didn't want either toxic
couple, who didn't share in our love and
happiness, at our wedding, and "eloped"
in our 40s, 1st marriage for both of us.
Both of us married later in life, bc we
wanted it to be better than it was for our
parents, and it was. Lou

 

Hi Tracy,
My name is Helen and I just joined this group a few days ago. I lost my husband Bruce suddenly from a heart attack almost four years ago. When he first died, I was so lost, I had no idea how to navigate life. And I wished I could find a support group that would give me guidance. I am so glad that you found GIC so early in your grief journey. I want to share with you a couple of things in the hope that they might be of help to you.

1. WTF - For me, at least the first six months after Bruce passed were what I now refer to as my WTF months because I simply couldn't intellectually process that my husband was dead. I was surprised when I ran out of groceries (he always did the grocery shopping) or when the trash cans overflowed (he was in charge of emptying the trash). Literally every day I had to tell myself that Bruce was dead. So, go easy on yourself. You are in a state of shock right now.
2. Grief brain is real. You will be bad at making decisions or doing anything that requires much intellectual ability for a while. Tell co-workers to have your back. Don't make any big/important/permanent decisions.
3. Grief body is real. Listen to your body. There were so many days that all I could do was lie on the couch because I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, constricting my breathing. I slept all the time. Your body has taken a beating, let it heal.

A friend of mine who had lost her husband suddenly a few years before told me that she could not remember a thing from the two year period following her husband's death. So, I used that as a yardstick and, during the first two years following Bruce's death, I was pretty forgiving of myself when I didn't act "normal".
I am not saying that, after two years you will be totally "over" your loss. I am four years in and still struggling. But the physical exhaustion and the mental fog is not as much as a factor anymore.

Sending you virtual hugs as you navigate this journey. You are not walking alone.
Helen

 

Wow, Helen, in the very short time you've
been with us, you have become a strong
leader on GIC. In spite of your own
mourning of 4 years for Bruce, like my 4
years of mourning for Linda, you have
managed to reach out to comfort Tracy,
who hasn't been on here for a while, and
may have moved on, but you tried. Your
words are wise. The 2 year sad anniversary seems to be extra tough for
everyone here, bc , as Jonathan
Santlofer, in The Widower's Notebook, says,
one has the shocking revelation that one's
soulmate will NEVER come back to earth.
I drank more, stayed out late, lost sleep,
& became MORE depressed, with
suicidal ideations, 2 yrs after Linda's
death. I was very much alone, with few
close friends, so I voluntarily went to the
ER, where I waited for a room in a small
psychiatric unit , with 8 other clients ,
with different issues: manic depression
(which I have, & which made my PTSD
over Linda's death , much worse), drug &
alcohol addiction, clinical depression, and
extreme loneliness. I'm grateful for the compassionate counselors, nurses, and
my peers, who I met with in daily groups,
walks outside, and , in one on one talks.
This was the same facility to which I
went for 5 nights right after my wife's
death, and again, after her small funeral.
Bc Linda & I didn't have any friends, the
only people at Linda's funeral, besides the
young funeral director & a minister I didn't
know, were a couple, who were heroin
addicts who had befriended me at the
psychiatric unit. I've lost touch with them,
and wish them well on their tough
journey, perhaps tougher than mine, bc
I'm blessed with a roof over my head,
food on the table , and new friends who
care about me in my small, friendly
town. Lou

 

Deb,
I know you wrote this post a month ago, but I was compelled to respond when I read it. That intense feeling of loneliness is so hard! I too was a teacher before I retired. Every day when I left school, I would call Bruce to tell him I was on my way home and we would decide what to have for supper. After he died, walking out of the building to my car at the end of the day was the loneliest walk, knowing there was no one to call to tell that I was

.... sorry, I was in the middle of writing when the dog, who is on my lap underneath my laptop, decided to change positions!

as I was saying, the loneliest walk, knowing there was no one I could call to say I was on my way home. Also, on Friday's, we always did something special, even if the "something special" was to go to Denny's for pancakes. Fridays are hard. And now I am retired and live in Mexico. I still often feel acutely lonely and most especially when I travel to visit other areas of the country. Living is so hard when you cannot share it with your best friend.
Helen

 

Dear Helen,
Fridays are difficult. It’s also difficult knowing that I have so many years ahead of me where I will feel this pain. I’m trying not to swallow it whole, but thank you so very, very much for reaching out to me! In this connection, I feel a sense of relief. I’m not alone. And it is a great comfort to know that love— unique, rare, beautiful and also ubiquitous and plentiful—is still sprinkled across the universe! Thank you so very much, Helen! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

 

Hello everyone—this feels so true for me:

As for grief, you'll find that it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's something physical. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 hundred feet tall and they crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find that the waves are still a hundred feet tall but they come further apart and when they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But, in between, you can breathe and you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song or a picture. A street intersection. The smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything. And the wave comes crashing. But in between the waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everyone, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart and you can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare International, you can see it coming for the most part and you prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming. And somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come and you'll survive them, too. If you're lucky you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”

 

Deb, your grief is like the waves analogy ,
has been explored by both Bernadine
("Countess Joy") in Oregon, and by me,
on the northern coast of Massachusetts.
I ponder the changing tides every day,
and they often reflect my mood. I was
confused when you referred to an
"old guy". Though considered a "senior"
myself, I refuse to wear a number on
my head, and want to be young at
heart. Lou

 

Sorry for the confusion. I’m quoting something that I read earlier in my grief.

 

That's what I thought, Deb. I went out
dancing, late, the 2nd Friday night in a
row. This is new for me --- way past my
bedtime. It's 1:30am here in Ma. To all
TGW, pleasant dreams.....Lou

 

Helen, reading your post has given me comfort and hope, I have felt exactly the same as your friend. These last two years I have been living in fog, I don't remember anything, as if I've been interpreting a role in a film. Everything's a blur, as if time has stopped and these twenty-seven months are just a continuation of THAT day when my life was shattered to pieces, and I'm still 'wondering' around in a tempest that insists on tormenting me. I relate to you about not acting 'normal', I don't even recognize myself anymore. We were all so used to being "one person" with our soulmates, and now we're left with this irreplaceable space in our hearts and minds.
I'm glad you're staying with us, the best thing I've ever done for my 'healing' is join GIC. We are really an army, supporting one another in this battle, in every way.
Rose.
Sending you strength, we will all get through this together.

 

You are showing all of us how to move forward. It’s never easy, but you are our role model!

 

Deb,
What you said about having so many years ahead of you is so true! I often feel like I have no desire to go on. I have a strong faith and believe that I will be with my beloved Bruce in the afterlife. I can't wait! But I still have my children and they also suffered a great loss when Bruce died. I think that if something happened to me, it would completely devastate them. So, I soldier on for them. Helen

 

Lou,
Good for you!
Helen