My last five and a half years

Discussion in 'Loss of Spouse' started by Jen H, Jan 9, 2022.

  1. Jen H

    Jen H New Member

    Five September's ago my chest was stabbed right through my heart when we heard those dreadful words. You have cancer. I looked at him. He was pale as a ghost. The doctor says there's people that live a good one to two years. Was this supposed to make us feel better? Am I going to lose another one? The only person I have left? Remarkably he lasted five years. Those years were both a blessing and the worst years of my life. I did thank God for every passing year I had with this amazing man but at the same time feelings of dread as time won't stand still getting closer to the end. Treatments would shrink the tumor only for it to come right back. We had good months only to turn into horrible months of pain and suffering. The extreme roller coaster of having high hopes only to be brought crashing down over and over again. Still we create memories just the two of us. Cherishing every moment of togetherness. Pushing him to get up and enjoy the world with me. Doing tons of research filling my brain and his on what he could be doing to beat this. Selfishly begging him to please not leave me all alone in this world. He would always tell me he wouldn't. It was really unspoken words of I don't want to or I'm doing the best I know how to. He struggled for so long to get out bed. Didn't even have the strength to take a shower. Only able to make himself get up to go to treatment sometimes. Losing weight, gaining some back, losing it, losing more. He loved to eat. He would push himself to go to the grocery store. Buy a bunch of food only to come home exhausted and leaving it on the counter untouched. He barely could sleep more than a couple hours without waking up to violent bursts of coughing and choking sometimes shaking uncontrollably and momentarily passing out. He slowly deteriorated before my eyes. But still we pushed on. Kept fighting. Let's try another treatment. All it did was wear him out even more. I seen him turn into half the man he once was and a person only half alive but still the man I loved more than anything. I asked him if he wanted to give up but he said no. We always held on to a little bit of hope. I know he didn't want and was afraid to die no matter how miserable he felt. I didn't want him to die no matter how miserable he felt. Waking up and seeing his face gave me some kind of peace and happiness. The last month I knew he was close to the end but still I selfishly pushed and begged him to not leave me. Two days before he passed he got a covid booster and flu shot. We were both so terrified of the covid. He was already not doing well but the shots made him worse. Then the dreadful day actually happened. Finding him that morning in the bed to what looked like a murder scene. How could I stay asleep while he was suffering and dying in the next room? How could I move to the couch and leave him all alone? Why couldn't I have held him during his last moments? Why did it have to look so gruesome? I called his sister before 911. I didn't try to revive him. I didn't want them to take him away from me. Sorry for the long drawn out story. I've just been struggling for over three months with these memories and this time I had with him. The decisions and mistakes we made along the way. How we both struggled dealing with his sickness. That I left him alone. I've been able to get up everyday and keep breathing doing the best I can I guess. I came here because I have no one else to talk to and I needed to let this all out to someone. Anyone willing to listen and understand. Also for me to get this out I hope will help me start letting it go. I can't keep dwelling on what I cannot change. Instead I need to cherish it and appreciate what was good. I need to accept we did the best we knew how to do. I can't make the world end so this is a small step for me to not just breathe everyday but to live again. Somehow, someway, someday without my everything I once had. I just turned 46 so I should have alot of living still to do.
  2. Patti 61

    Patti 61 Guest

    Dearest Jen,
    My heart knows all you are feeling,
    this is a wonderful group, I and
    others understand. Please stay
    with GIC. This group of caring folks
    have been a huge blessing to me.
    I took total care of my husband
    his last nine years of 24 years of
    Parkinson’s. God called my dear
    Husband Jack to Heaven 5 years 2
    months ago the 7th, I just lifted you
    in prayer.
    I will be keeping you in my daily
    prayers along with all others here.
    I continually ask God to give me
    HIS strength each day.
    Sending you love, hugs.
    Blessings, Patti
  3. DEB321

    DEB321 Well-Known Member


    I'm so very sorry for you loss. Words seem so inadequate at it times, but they're all we have, so I hope you know how truly sorry I am. My husband, Bob suffered from many health issues, all treated as chronic conditions, kept under control by medication. By the time he passed away, he had a specialist for just about every body part. In spite of this, even though he had to stop working, the side effects from the many medications he took were manageable, and he was able to enjoy life. He got tired easily, but we were still able to go out, travel with friends, etc., etc., etc. Then, in the beginning of 2018, his health began spiraling downward. He needed help with all of his ADL's, had trouble with balance and walking. I became his full time caregiver.

    Backing up a bit, like your husband, one of the many diseases he suffered from was cancer. He had kidney cancer that by the time it was correctly diagnosed, had spread to his lungs. I understand that emotional roller coaster you described. Being Bob's full time caregiver, left me totally stressed out 24/7, exhausted both physically and emotionally, and so sad that I can't even begin to describe the feeling... I know you "get" it. Our lives revolved medical appointments, ambulances, emergency rooms, hospital stays, and several stays in acute rehab facilities... It SUCKED!!! Bob passed away on April 11, 2021 at 3:45 a.m. However, I would do it all over again without a second's thought. Bob was, and always will be, the one true love of my life.

    There is so much more I want to share with you, but I'm way past emotionally and physically exhausted from grieving, so I'm going to stop here for now. I'm glad you found us, but so sorry you had to. Finding GIC is one of the best things I've done to help myself since Bob's death. I'm not sure how I would be able to survive this total heartbreak, the feeling like my heart has been ripped in half, without my GIC friends. This is a great place to visit if you just need a virtual hug, need to "talk," or want advice. We are glad to share what has worked for us and what hasn't as we struggle to get through the darkest days of our lives. However, we won't be offended if you don't follow the advice we give you. This is a totally judgement free place. It has become my safe place. I hope you will stick around, get to "know" us, let us get to "know" you, and that this will become a safe place for you too.

    Wait, one more thing. One of my friend's on this site, Lou has given all of us some excellent advice. He asks everyone for the names of their spouses. Our stories become much more personal, making the death of our spouses seem that much more "real." For me, it was a step forward when I finally got brave enough to mention Bob by his name, instead of just referring to him as my husband.

    Lou has also suggested two books to everyone. Both of them are very helpful. The first is "Permission To Mourn," by Tom Zuba. The second is "The Widower's Notebook," by Jonathan Santlofer. "Permission To Mourn," is my favorite. It is a very short book and can easily be read in less than a day. I keep a copy on my night table and refer to it often. I've given a copy to several friends who also found this to be an excellent book. "The Widower's Notebook" is also a very good book, and there are many things that the author wrote about that I can relate to. Both Tom Zuba and Jonathan Santlofer lost their spouses, but Tom Zuba, in addition to losing his wife, lost a daughter and a son.

    Hope to "talk" again soon.

    Sending you lots of hugs, wishing you peace, all of us peace. DEB
  4. Gary166

    Gary166 Guest

    Jen I’m terribly sorry for your loss. My name is Gary and I lost my girlfriend Cheryl suddenly and unexpectedly 8 months ago to a cardiac arrest. We had a nice supper and watched tv the night before. Cheryl had no health issues and there were no warning signs. The cardiac arrest was caused by obstructive sleep apnea. Cheryl and I had the best 9 years of our life together. There is nothing in the world that could replace Cheryl. In the book Permission to Mourn that Deb mentioned the author says until we accept that our lives will never ever be the same we will not begin to heal. Accepting Cheryl death slowly has sunk into my heart. I found a local in person grief support meeting and started counseling. But the best tool in my grief journey is GIC. Here I can interact with people daily. We have a common bond with each and understand one another's pain. I encourage you to keep expressing yourself and reading everyone’s post. I am very limited to who I can talk to about my grief. I have become a very emotional person since losing Cheryl and it bothers people to see me cry. Everyone here respects and understands each other. Like Deb said there is no judgment here only compassion love kindness and hope. Gary
  5. Jen H

    Jen H New Member

    Thank you to everyone who responded to my post. I need to speak to others who are in my shoes. There is no one around me to express and share my grief to. My mom and dad passed away in 2008 and 2010. I also lost my only close childhood girlfriend in 2010. He was the last person I had and the only person who helped me through all the other losses. I only have my daughter and brother left who are both developmentally disabled. I'm so grateful to have them but I can't really talk to them about this among other things. I was with him for 22 years. He was the love of my life, best friend, protector, supporter, my everything. These past three months have been hell on earth literally. The first month was extreme shock and anxiety. I couldn't sit still but did have alot to do and take care of. Then the ups and downs of feeling ok for a couple of days to days of nonstop crying and sadness. Now it seems I do ok when I have to get up and go to work. I have two jobs and one is some days and some nights. The days when I work at night or not at all are the worst. I wake up and that familiar feeling of dread hits me immediately. Another day without him lying next to me. Sometimes I can't get out of bed til the afternoon. Not only have I been mentally and emotionally drained. It's starting to physically drain me out as well. Been so exhausted and getting headaches everyday. I know better than to let my mind linger into the future. I just deal with today and plan for tomorrow's tasks. Trying to do positive things like exercising, spending time with my daughter and two kittens, and cleaning up after them. Though have been drinking a drink or two everyday to cope which I know is not good. I plan on not drinking at all for at least this week. So far so good. Was doing that before he passed away so it's got to stop now before it gets worse or becomes a serious problem. Also he has alot of family that unfortunately all live out of town and many friends so since I have no one I've been trying to keep in touch with some of them i feel worth having in my life. So far it's really just been occasional texts and phone calls as I feel hardly no desire to go out other than to the store or work. I just hope they understand and don't stop checking in on me. It's just weird because I'm so lonely and want companionship but I don't feel like doing anything or talking to anyone. It doesn't feel comfortable or right without him with me. The worst thing about this deep grieve for me is the intense hidden sadness and dread I carry around with me all the time. I go to work or wherever seeing and watching everyone going about their lives seemingly without a care in the world. While I just walk around like a zombie wondering how can this world keep going without this amazing man. And every moment of every day I can't get him out of mind. I feel like my brain is gonna explode sometimes. My dreams of him mostly haven't been good so I feel like I can't even get peace when I sleep. I don't want to live another day without him but still I wake and get out of bed everyday because I have to. I have to keep living.

    Anyway this is more of my story and where I am now. I think I'm doing a pretty good job and the best I can. Am I doing a good job? What could I be doing better? How long will I feel this awful? Some say you never get totally over it, you just learn to live with it. This feat seems so far away to me. I'm already so exhausted from it. And I'm so scared. I already have been going to another support group. Those people have helped me enormously. Just thought I'd try this one as well. This one seems to be more intimate. And I could use all the support I can find.
  6. Gary166

    Gary166 Guest

    Jen You have described the exact same thing how everyone here feels or has felt. At the site; centers for loss. Com read the article “6 needs of reconciliation for the Mourner “. Order the book on amazon Permission to mourn by Tom Zuba. This will jumpstart your grief journey. In order to survive our loss we have to be able to use our imagination. We have to believe the non physical presence of our beloved is real. There is a scientific approach to grief. I’m learning how to think outside the box in communication with Cheryl. I made an album on my phone of special places of Cheryl and I. When I get overwhelmed I look at them. I have a shrine with a brass angel with crystals, Vishnu , the bell used when I released Cheryl back to the earth, a porcelain doll that resembles Cheryl, a Native American stone, and the skull of a female cardinal. Lack of power is our dilemma. We need more. Thank God we have each other. Gary
    Patti 61 likes this.
  7. Mary0128

    Mary0128 Well-Known Member

    I'm so sorry for your loss, it is very hard to accept, for me it was like he took my heart with him, there is such a void. I am so glad you are here, it's a great group of people who know what it is like..
    Peace to you
    Patti 61 and Van Gogh like this.
  8. Jen H

    Jen H New Member

    Thank you to everyone who has read and responded. No one can truly understand this experience unless you've been there. Even all of us have our own unique stories and grieving process. Garv, I can only imagine how shocking and devastating it must have been to lose your wife so suddenly and unexpectedly. You seem to be doing a wonderful job getting through each day. I've read so many stories of unexpected and sudden losses some so tramatic. My heart breaks after reading every single one. Deb and Patti, our stories more similar in how we were constant caregivers to a heartbreaking illness. Recently I've been reflecting on my own story only to finally realize I didn't start my grieve journey the day he passed. It started that horrible day in the drs office. Though I had five years with this man that I would never take back, a lot of those times were such an emotional roller coaster of extreme hope, anxiety, exhaustion, relief, despair, dread, etc. etc. to finally telling myself that I had to accept the cancer probably would win the battle one day. Though when it happened, I still couldnt believe it actually did. I think I'm doing better than I anticipated because my grieve started so many years ago and honestly I have had moments of relief which immediately goes to feelings of guilt. But as I said earlier I've spent time reflecting on the last five in a half years and have concluded first that I've been grieving for years. Second I watched the love of my life deteriorate slowly before my eyes. Even though we had wonderful times during those years where he felt good enough to enjoy life with me, it still was the most hardest years I've ever had to endear in my life. And my life has not been even close to being easy. Sometimes I wonder if all that was harder for me to deal with than his passing has been so far. Last I seen how much pain and suffering he went through and eventually pretty much having no life though I could only imagine how he felt. I know he fought the best he knew how and never gave up. I know he didn't want to and was afraid to die. However he doesn't have to suffer anymore and my faith believes he's in a better place and one day our souls will meet this time never to part again. Deb and Patti I'm curious if you two can relate to my story I just told? I'm not saying my grieve is over. I feel it will never completely go away. I still think about him constantly and carry around this hidden deep sadness inside me. I have just been surprised and feel a little guilty that I'm doing better than I thought I would.
  9. DEB321

    DEB321 Well-Known Member


    My heart is breaking for you as I'm reading this... I totally "get" it, all of it. I remember that cold, gray day, late in the afternoon, right before Thanksgiving, when the urologist (the one who misdiagnosed Bob almost a full year prior to this visit) walked into the examining room, told us that he had bad news to share, that Bob had advanced kidney cancer and needed surgery ASAP. Barely taking a breath, he then said that it was going to be a complicated procedure, he would have to have a colleague assist him, and before leaving, we needed to schedule the surgery. I knew right then and there, there was NO way!!!, this man was going to get anywhere near Bob ever again. I tried to ask him some questions, but he had one hand on the door knob of the examining room as soon as he was telling us to schedule the surgery. As he was walking out the door, he told us to have a good Thanksgiving. WTF!!! (Sorry... This is the strongest phrase I can think of, but even this doesn't begin to express how I felt, how I still feel, every time I tell this story.)

    At that moment, although I didn't know it at the time, and didn't realize it until after Bob's death, I had already begun the grieving process. Even though I went through anticipatory grieving for many years prior to his death, I didn't develop, what a friend on this site, referred to as a "grief muscle." This is where our stories differ. I don't think anticipatory grief made me any stronger, made it any easier for me to deal with everything that happened up until the time of his death, or in the months following it. I don't think anything, not even that "grief muscle," can prepare any of us for that horrible moment, the first one, when it hits you full force, when you know, that the one true love of your life, is dead. It SUCKS!!! (I can't seem to stop saying sucks lately. It sums up how I'm feeling in two short words.)

    I "get" it... "watching the love of your life deteriorate slowly before your eyes," is way beyond heartbreaking... We weren't allowed to have pets in the first apartment we lived in, so one day, I brought home a beautiful blue betta fish. No matter what we did, every morning, that poor fish seemed to lose a bit of it's beautiful color, move around less inside it's "home," and didn't seem to be eating much. Finally, Bob said it was time to put the poor fish out of it's misery. He said he was giving it a "burial at sea," and flushed it down the toilet. Bob reminds me of that beautiful blue betta fish. Once so strong...so handsome..., falling apart so s l o w l y ... until he was barely existing..., a shell of the man he once was. Those floodgates have opened... (As a friend on GIC said a long time ago, or at least it seems like a long time ago, whoever owns the Kleenex company should be grateful to us, or something similar to this. Unfortunately, I can't seem to ditch this foggy widow brain thing.)

    Those moments of relief you've experienced, I think they're "normal," for what you and I have been through. Several summers ago I met a friend while I was walking and she was riding her bike. We kept seeing each other. One day she got off her bike, walked over to me, and asked me if I was okay. I told her how sick Bob was, and she told me that her husband had recently passed away. I don't believe in coincidences, so I believe we were meant to meet. One of the first times we got together, sitting on her porch, over a glass of wine, she told me that I was going through the hardest part, that being a caregiver was much harder than dealing with the heartbreak of losing your husband. I didn't "get" it. I couldn't imagine anything that could be any worse than having Bob die. Now, over nine months later, I understand what she meant by this. Like your husband, Bob suffered for many years (mostly in silence, always wanting to protect me from everything bad in life), and it was way beyond heartbreaking watching him slowly lose all ability to care for himself, until he didn't even resemble the man who he was, physically, and began losing that "spark," that made him "Bob" (as he was slowly beginning to suffer from what I believe was Parkinson's related dementia).

    Bob didn't want to die. No matter how much pain he was in, his favorite saying was, "As long as I'm on the right side of the dirt, it's a good day." He found something to be grateful for each and every day, even though by this time, his world had become so small, he was stuck in his recliner, except for all those medical appointments, ambulance rides, hospital stays, and at the end of his life, two stays in acute rehab facilities. I talked to Bob about hospice care, but he didn't want it for several reasons, the first being that I think he thought if he accepted hospice care, it meant he was giving up. I tried to explain to him that this wasn't true, but he refused hospice care right up until the end of his life. I also talked to him about palliative care, reminding him that if he chose this option, he could continue to receive all the medical care he wanted. He refused this too. Bob was the most independent, proud, stoic person I've ever known. It broke my heart helping him with all of his ADL's, even though he never complained, or said anything, knowing how difficult it must have been for him to accept and let me help him. He had always been my protector, doing his best to keep me safe, happy, my knight in shining armor...

    Now, over nine months later, I understand what my friend meant by this. Recently I've found that I need lots of time alone, sitting in total silence, wrapped in my very favorite bereavement blanket my best friend sent me shortly after Bob died, with a box of tissues, a cup of herbal tea, watching the flickering flame of a candle on my coffee table. One night, I was surprised when I experienced this new feeling of calm... It was a calm mixed with sad feeling, but so much better than that stressed out 24/7 to the max feeling mixed with sad, that I had felt for so many years. Prior to this, I knew I had lost myself, having spent so many years of taking care of Bob, but had forgotten what calm feels like. (I'm not complaining. I would do it all over again without a second's thought if I could. There is absolutely nothing I wouldn't do for Bob. He will always hold the very biggest place in my heart. He was the one true love of my life.)

    In addition to this new feeling of calm, I also felt relief, relieved that I no longer had to begin each day checking Bob's blood sugar, taking his temperature, his pulse, giving him his medication, having to make decisions on a daily basis that I didn't feel competent to make. Do I need to call his primary care provider? His oncologist? Is there enough time to drive him to the only hospital in the area? (the one where his providers worked, knowing that it could take up to 2.5 hours at worst, to get him there.) Or worst case, do I need to call an ambulance? (knowing that they are only allowed to take him the the nearest hospital, the one that is totally not able to take care of him, doesn't have the necessary equipment, and not even a cardiologist on staff.) My life revolved around taking care of Bob the very best I could, making sure I did everything I could to follow his wishes, the most important, his wish to live. Suddenly I realized that now I was only responsible for myself. I could sleep late if I felt like it. I didn't have to cook when I didn't feel like it, etc., etc., etc., Immediately following this sense of relief, I felt over the top guilty, even though I know guilt is a useless emotion. Feelings are feelings, there is no way to stop them from invading our brains.

    While I am both relieved and happy Bob is no longer suffering, it SUCKS!!! While it doesn't bother me when others who are in similar situations to ours, say that it must be a relief now that Bob is no longer in pain, suffering as he did for so many years, I HATE!!! it when people who haven't walked in our shoes tell me this. They don't "get" it!!! It's a relief yes, but it's also one of the worst feelings in the entire world... I'm not sure if this paragraph makes any sense, so ignore it if it doesn't. I used to love to write, and found it easy to put my feelings into words, but that's come to a screeching halt since Bob's death.

    The only positive thing in all of this, is that like you, I believe that someday Bob and I will be together again, just as you and your husband will be. At the same time, I don't believe that I'm still on this earth just to be miserable for the rest of my life. If I believed this, I doubt I would be able to make it through another day. I know Bob, and your husband too, would want us to enjoy life, to make the most out of the time we have left. I think about how much Bob loved life, how much he wanted to remain on this earth, in spite of all the pain he was in. Life is a gift. It's because of Bob that I'm trying so hard to move on, to make a new life for myself. I want, more than anything else, for Bob to be proud of me, to make him happy. I pray daily that God will give me the strength I need to accomplish this, that He will give all TGW the strength to accomplish this.

    I'm continuing to feel this new sense of calm, relief too, and it is such a good feeling... Like you, I'm surprised by it, but at the same time, I'm still mostly stuck at the very bottom of that seemingly endless roller coaster ride of emotions, with way too many downs, not enough ups.

    I'm not sure if I responded to everything you "talked" about, but I'm frazzled, totally drained, both emotionally and physically, so stopping here. It's time for me to escape from the world, make a cup of herbal tea, wrap myself in my very favorite blanket, grab a new box of tissues, light that candle and veg out.

    Sending lots of hugs your way, wishing you peace, all of us peace. DEB
  10. Countess Joy

    Countess Joy Well-Known Member

    When I first arrived on this site in November my post had a similar sentiment. Will ‘they’ think I’m not grieving just because I’m not falling apart? Kenn wasn’t well for many years, on hospice for two and a half. He died at home, just the two of us. I felt no relief, not as a caregiver. (I’m in a rough patch and have been following along but not posting much.)
    As Deb has commented I believe that two and a half years of anticipatory grief developed what I call the grief muscle and boy did it do some heavy lifting. I had near breakdown moments. I’m not saying I was prepared for Kenn’s death but daily life, the mechanics of living weren’t debilitating as it can be for so many with either expected or sudden death of a partner. The last two weeks Kenn wasn’t himself, it is complicated, but I was really alone during that time. Alone while he still lived. This feels similar, alone with him existing somewhere just out of sight.
    I miss him desperately right now, so much I want to talk about that only he would understand. My grief simmers beneath the surface of my everyday reality. Tears this last week have been abundant, even as I write this.
    Not sure any of this is relevant, I wanted to just share how it is for me and that I’ve read your messages here. ~Bernadine
  11. Jen H

    Jen H New Member

    Thank you two for responding to me. It's been awhile since I've posted this but I did read your posts awhile ago. It is comforting to know I'm not alone in my experience and emotions. I deeply appreciate your support and understanding. I wish I would have looked for support during those five years. I never even heard of anticipatory grief until after his passing. There was just so many up and downs, it was so excruciating and exhausting. I used to have panic attacks and breakdowns especially at work through the covid. I don't know how I've stayed sane through all this so far. Yes I felt initial relief a few times from the constant worrying and anxiety but its only been replaced with sadness and loneliness. One nightmare to a new one. Yes I'm relieved I don't have that unbearable anxiety but I do miss being his caregiver. How he appreciated me and it felt good to make him smile or feel better even if just to have me lying next to him watching TV or having conversations with some moments of laughter. Making his favorite meals and him actually finishing the plate was always a great joy and a feeling of accomplishment for me. I don't miss him being so sick but I just deeply miss his presence and companionship even if he was suffering. My main purpose during those years was keeping him alive. Now I don't know what my purpose is sometimes. It's been four months now and I feel I'm adjusting slowly. I just long everyday to feel his touch, to hear his voice, to tell him about my day, to see his smile, to wake up and see his face, and to feel safe, complete, and at peace. It's been forever since I've felt at peace. Everyday I'm getting up and dealing with this new scary life and unknown future. But I guess everyone's future is somewhat unknown. I just can't plan too much for it right now.
  12. Debra M

    Debra M Well-Known Member

    Van Gogh likes this.
  13. Debra M

    Debra M Well-Known Member

    Hi Jen. My name is Debra, and I just read your post, and I'm so sorry for your loss... I just lost my husband last Friday. And I know how you feel exactly, as I was his caregiver as well. And there are no words to describe how much this hurts!! If you need anyone to be a listener and be supportive, please feel free to reach out yo me anytime. Take care, Always.
    Van Gogh and Helena Beatriz like this.
  14. Helena Beatriz

    Helena Beatriz Well-Known Member

  15. Helena Beatriz

    Helena Beatriz Well-Known Member

    Hi Debra. I just read your post, my name is Helena, today Sunday is four weeks since my love of my life left me alone and one is never prepared to go this sad, very sad road of bereavement. Like yourself and the other widows and widowers from GIC I have reached for somebody to understand how grieving a love one it's all about and not to tell "you will be over it", "at least he is in a better place". That is a NO of any confort to me at all!! A little silence and listening ears and a cyber hug from GIC keeps me going.
    Van Gogh likes this.
  16. Debra M

    Debra M Well-Known Member

    Hi Helena, and thank you so very much for reaching out to me. And I'm so sorry for your loss. And I couldn't agree more that this is a sad, very sad, road of bereavement. And I do know how you feel. NO one "gets over it" and" He is in a better place" is NOT helpful to hear, nor is it comforting at all! The grief that we are experiencing is extremely painful, and I understand completely what you are feeling, as well as why a little silence and listening ears and GIC keeps you going. And anytime you feel like you need someone to be there to listen, please feel free to reach out to me.
    eyepilot13 and Van Gogh like this.
  17. cjpines

    cjpines Well-Known Member

    Jen, I truly understand where you are coming from and where you are now. I've been there. My heart suffers reading your story. I lost my husband a year ago and I wished I was right by his side when he passed, but I was in the kitchen. He was home with hospice in a hospital bed in the living room and I wasn't there. We can't beat ourselves up for not being with them at the time of their passing. Forgive yourself. As caregivers we're exhausted and do our best.
    Grief is a long road that never ends, hopefully we will overcome the initial pain and move on. Bless you Jen, my name is Karen and my husband was Jack.
    Patti 61, DEB321 and Van Gogh like this.
  18. Helena Beatriz

    Helena Beatriz Well-Known Member

    Van Gogh likes this.
  19. Helena Beatriz

    Helena Beatriz Well-Known Member

    I just want to thank you for replying to my post and I'm very sorry for your loss. One is never prepared to go this road all alone, sleepless nights, not been hungry, hardly any concentration to do anything. Now am totally alone only my older dog and a cat they're keepping me company. We never got children and my relatives live in England and in other States. I can't stop crying, everything remains me of him. In the past I used to do some meditation, perhaps I will try it again because I think it will calm me and perhaps my brain will concentrate in breathing.
  20. Debra M

    Debra M Well-Known Member

    You're so welcome, Helena. And thank you so very much for your condolences. And it is so true that One is never prepared to go this road alone. And the sleepless nights. And not being hungry and hardly having any concentration to do anything just makes it that so much more difficult. My heart goes out to you. I know how you feel as I'm feeling the exact same way....and that feeling of loneliness is extremely hard to go through day after day. And I know that not having relatives in the same state or country makes it even worse. Because I also have no relatives in my state. And I also know, crying all of the time makes you feel so tired, yet there are so many reminders of them. And I do hope that if you try meditation again, it will be helpful to you in calming and your brain will concentrate in breathing. And I will be here to be supportive of you, and you will be in my thoughts as well.
    cjpines, Patti 61 and Van Gogh like this.