Good morning Rose, Georgine, and anyone else who is listening~
I read your stories and your post, and it absolutely resonated with me. If feel as if losing my husband, Steve, has opened several doors for me. One that I am always reluctant to talk about is the eternal nature of love. In so many ways, his absence has been overwhelmingly huge and persistent. But on the flip side of that, it also feels like he is everywhere. And that is painful and comforting, simultaneously.
The summer before he died, we all went to Yellowstone, and it was a wonderful vacation, but he struggled throughout the trip. He was out of breath and exhausted after brief walks. I regret so many things that I did and didn't suggest. The journey to a diagnosis was not long, but I have so many regrets--questions I didn't ask the doctor, continuing to work instead of talking with him about it (I assumed he would want me to work, just because of his work ethic), so I couldn't be spending time with him and helping him during the horrific chemo and his terrifying reaction to the drugs intended to boost his immunity and white blood cells. He was alone during so much of that because I was trying to keep teaching. That was so foolish. He was in and out of the hospital, frequently because he was sitting in his recliner, unresponsive, or because, for the final time, he dropped to the floor with a pulmonary embolism. I didn't help him or loved him the way that I should have. I can never stop regretting that, because my precious time on earth with him is over now, forever.
Since then, I have been loved and welcomed by widows and a few kindly widowers, many other grievers and people who just have profound empathy. I have been so grateful. I feel as though my heart has crossed the abyss of death, and it is bridging it. I am here, and I am there. Steve is here and he is there. It is simultaneously comforting and painful to know that I can really touch him, but yet I feel him near me all of the time. My grief has changed so much in the past four years, but one thing I know is that listening to other's stories helped me, so hopefully maybe my story will help someone. I also have learned that I can feel loved and accepted and supported by people here who I have never met and possibly never will meet. We all know the terror of losing our loved ones, and the possibility of going forward.
I read a post by Jen, and I tried to reply to it, and when I clicked on that, my screen opened and it looks like I am in a different play. Jen--you are in the valley of the shadow of death, as we all are here. We're comforting each other, hopefully, and you. Death changes us, without question. During this difficult time, remember to be gentle with yourself. Eat nutritious meals, find support (visit here), get sleep, take walks, find something each day to look forward to. Write. Journal. Remember that love never dies. Love, hugs and comfort to you in your journey--and to all.
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