My life changed radically when my husband died 12/30/23.

And the Vernal Equinox approaches, an energy that supports balance.
~B

 

Dendi: Yours is a story of such love and devotion and serves as an indelible reminder to us all of the true meaning of compassion and commitment. As sole caregiver for her, you had to always put her needs first at the expense of your own desires and freedom. But even beyond maintaining her basic life functions as her sole caregiver, you went much further and were able to "create a new life where we could continue to be together and experience some joy". It would have been so easy for you to employ parttime help from a professional caretaker or to even further remove yourself by turning it over entirely to others.

As all of us on this site are painfully aware, your grief will be with you forever with unpredictable intensity that flares up without warning. Let me try to implant in your mind an awareness for you to fall back on when you are struck by such moments. Always remember just how much it had to have meant to her to look up during her times of suffering and see your loving face, the face of the one who was always there with her when she needed strength. It was always you and always had been you. Not the face of a substitute, no matter how well meaning the substitute might be. Thank you for sharing your story. It provides encouragement to us all.

 

Sending Love, hugs, continued prayers to everyone.
God Bless you all. Patti

 

Thank you so much for sharing. Beautiful! I feel like I’m drowning in rain lately but today the sun is shining, and I’m loving it. I have day lilies, daffodils, crocus, tulips and iris coming up! Can’t wait. I know I’m not alone anxiously awaiting spring
Robin

 

Patti,
Thank you so much! You’re appreciated and I’m sending hugs and prayers back to you. Our GIC family has been quiet for a while. Hoping as the weather changes and spring arrives we’ll all be feeling better. The holidays are a difficult time for us all. Cold blustery winter hasn’t been a joy. February I tend to shut down, too much to go into. Today the sun is shining and it feels so nice. Thinking of everyone and wishing each of you peace and strength to keep moving forward.
Robin

 

It is something like--stunning--to read about all this grief. If not for GIC, I walk around believing that death is some sort of error--a kind of aberration that my husband and I were unfortunate enough to have been drawn into. On some level, there is the naive belief that the norm is to be unaffected by death. I never really appreciated what a fundamental part of life death is. All around me I feel the unspoken expectation that I need to go back to "normal"; a normal that does not allow for death.

I accept that my husband's body is no longer. I cannot accept that his kindness, his passion for music, his single-minded need to protect me is gone as well. All his gentleness and quirks of personality did not become "nothing". They are still "something". If not in this material world, then where is this "something" located?

These days, I am thinking a great deal about spirit, mortality and quantum physics. Things that would otherwise not have taken my time in what I used to think of as my "normal" world.

 

Isk, your "something" is located in your mind, your memories, your living thoughts. And physically in your gut.
I feel everything you have expressed. Iost my Jack 3 years ago to cancer.
All I can say is, don't look for "normal" as it was. It will never be.
Somehow, in time, you will find pieces of you.

It's a long grieving journey, take care,Karen

 

You are so new to your loss. I got on this site two and half years ago. And it has helped me to know I'm not crazy.
You are so new with your loss. You will be going through many and I mean many emotions. So, don't get worried it's part of loss and grieving. You have to go through it.

 

I full understand and completely relate to the shock you felt when your wife succumbed after a long illness. I too was numb and in a state of shock. My husband suffered terribly for nine months prior to his death and there were only short periods of time that he could come home before he was hospitalized again. After being in and out of hospitals, rehab and skilled nursing and suffering tremendous bodily damage to every part of his body he decided to stop dialysis and go to hospice. I was his lifeline and connection to the outside world during that nine months. I barely missed a day of visiting him; bringing home cooked meals daily and eating with him and spending most of the day with him. We would then talk on the phone until he was ready for sleep. I wore myself out caring for him; especially when we attempted to bring him home. I gave it my best but clots formed and back to hospital again. On and On. I did not know about anticipatory grief at that time. All I knew was I missed our life the way we knew it and fought with everything in my to try to keep him health and happy. When he opted to stop dialysis I understood that he saw no end and no chance of ever being home and that his days were quite numbered. I supported his decision as he asked me to; but I now live with the guilt of letting him go. I was unprepared for the depth of grief I was experiencing once he died as I thought I had grieved so much in the months prior and I told myself I was used to not having home with me so it would not be so bad. Boy, was I ever wrong. It hit so hard, I could not breathe. I could not stop crying. I kept getting flashbacks to the awful images that were in my mind replaying themselves over and over again. He will be gone seven months on the 15th of March. I am still haunted by the guilt and images but not as often. I miss our life, I miss the companionship and love and security and safety I felt with him. There are so many secondary losses that I never ever thought of. Example: pumping gas, bringing the groceries in, yardwork, trash removal, paying the bills....he did everything he could for me while he was alive to help make our lives together easier. I did not know how to do many of these things for myself. Not to mention the loss of his voice, his smile, his touch and hugs. His morning greeting of putting his arms out for me to get my hug while he said "good morning, darlin" SO so much more, but I am crying now as I am writing all this. But I do want to say that I no longer fight against the grief. I welcome her and tell her to bring it on. I am getting stronger but still have a very long way to go. I hope to find friendship and understanding and hopefully provide the same to others who are now members of this awful club

 

Hello Linda, I am so sorry for your loss. As I read your message, I felt that it could have been my own. The flashbacks especially. Those images of the last weeks, the back-and-forth from home-to-hospital-to-rehab-back-home and so on are especially saturated with emotion. It was as though there were two of me--the one that knew he was dying, and the one that carried on and expected some kind of normalcy. Now that he's gone, I still half-expect him to return. If not, why else does it upset me so to think of removing the bottles of medication from his dresser? Or his shoes from the closet?

It has been seven months, and I still don't know what to do with those images of my husband's last weeks that haunt me. I suspect that at some point I will have to organize them--somehow--into my system of meaning. This morning, I haven't the vaguest idea how to even approach the task. Maybe it has something to do with integrating the two parts of myself that became so evident at the end: the part that understands death to be a true and absolute fact, and the part that accepts that this fact is not an error of nature, it is normal--as normal and miraculous as birth.

 

Our stories are all so similar. Mirror images of experiences and emotions. I never knew I could be on a constant roller coaster ride of emotions, expressions, emptiness. Renewal and adaptation...

~ Michael

 

esk1007 "It was like there was two of me.....". You hit the nail on the head with that one statement. I had my first (that I remember having(dream of him) last night. It was so bittersweet to see his face; it seemed so real. It brought me peace and yet tons of tears today as well. Tomorrow is the seventh month anniversary of his death. I hope you find peace on this site. I hope I can too.

 

Linda: Your story, like so many others, brings tears to my eyes as I read and reflect on the memories of the last tortuous year my wife suffered before the ravages of cancer took her life. I certainly understand the pain and grief that you live with now, but I hope my words will encourage you to shed that aspect of pain and grief that you are imposing upon yourself; namely, the punishing and unwarranted guilt that you are holding on to. You are "haunted" by some self-imposed guilt of "letting him go". Nothing could be further from reality. After all the efforts that you went through on his behalf, no person (other than yourself) could possibly come up with even a hint of "letting him go" on your part. Any objective person would look at your efforts and be reinvigorated by the compassion that you showed and the sacrifices that you went through to ease his suffering.

My words may not change your perspective, but at least consider what his perspective had to have been during his last nine months with you. You were the one person that provided all the positive things in his life; from his basic needs to the love and strength that he needed so desperately. From his perspective, you were everything. Think how much it would pain him to know that you were carrying some contrived measure of guilt. I don't even know you and it pains me to read that you have even included that word in your story of such compassion.

 

I hear you. Lost my husband of 55 years, he was my rock, but I didn't realize how much until he died. I depended on him emotionally, he was strong. I am alone in th
e house we shared, I feel his presence in every room, see his toys left from hobbies, miss preparing his meal, his meds. I am so lost and sad.

 

My post is to Stewhele also as well as anyone who is experiencing profound physical stress from severe grief. It's been three years for me and the grief has soften. Time does help that. But, I'm still wondering what is my purpose now. I just wake up and say good morning to my husband, help me get through my day. That helps. Thanks for reading and keep the faith you will be ok. Karen[/QUOTE]
What is my purpose? that is the profound question. I cared for my husband more and more as he became disabled. 55 years of marriage! Now all gone. I feel lost. and don't know what to do. What is my purpose and how do you find that? Simple question, but no real answers!

 

What is my purpose? that is the profound question. I cared for my husband more and more as he became disabled. 55 years of marriage! Now all gone. I feel lost. and don't know what to do. What is my purpose and how do you find that? Simple question, but no real answers![/QUOTE]

Hello Joyce,
I can certainly understand "looking for purpose". I'm sorry you are experiencing the stress of being adrift. I have had to shift my perspective to the very small things in my life in order to get through the day. This morning, I looked for "purpose" in the comfort of a warm shower. I payed attention to the smell and taste of my coffee; the feel of the cup. I'm looking for purpose in all the small gestures of my life. I'm intentionally trying to integrate all that my husband was in life. I don't mean "remember"; I mean integrate. I think it has something to do with being a physical witness to the privilege of having shared his life.

 

Hi everyone, been a long time since I've posted. To all you new members my name is Karen. I'm having a quilt espisode maybe you can help me clear it up.
My husband died 3 years ago. Recently his son, age 56, just died of cancer. This has put me back in the dark with depression, stress and memories of when my husband, Jack, died reliving every awful moment. I don't want to go to the memorial it's just to painful for me, but I'm feeling quilty. I know I may disapoint some family members, but I just can't go. Am I being selfish? I just can't go through the pain. The pain losing Jack almost put me into the hospital. I had major issues with my health and I'm afraid if I go I may revert back in the darkness.
Has anyone felt like this?