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About Andy

  • Rank
    Advanced Member

Profile Information

  • Gender
  • Location
  • Interests
    My daughters wellbeing, my parents wellbeing, nearly anything geek, genre specific movies, hitting any backroad, photography, cars, and a bunch of other things my fantastic wife tolerated me doing.
  • Loss Type
    Wife passed away
  • Angel Date
    December 31, 2016


  • Occupation
    Aerospace related
  • First Name
  1. I totally, 100% understand. Picking up the pieces, trying to fit them back together, only to find that some are missing, perhaps forever, is in itself another loss. Sorrow within sorrow. God bless and be safe, Andy
  2. Well said Francine. Your faith is inspiring. Bless you, Andy
  3. SashaS, I'm so sorry, you've had so much to cope with and having two children makes things even more complex. My heart goes out to you and to your family. I think you'll find happiness again, I know it's at least possible. Your children (like mine) have youth on their side, that natural resiliency that gifts the young with that spirit of optimism. We "older" ones aren't so equipped I'm afraid. The cruel happenstance of life tends to jade us as time goes by. Perhaps as you continue lifting up and encouraging your children, you'll find something for yourself, hope maybe. I know the emptiness you feel, I'm very familiar with that sensation of nothingness. A state in which nothing matters, numb and out of touch. Nothing seems real, this can't be happening, where did my world go? I still get that way from time to time, though not as often. I think you'll find your way, I pray you do. Please continue to post here, if you feel the need. Reach out your friends, family, trusted people who can listen. Reach out to us here, some of the most beautiful people I've ever encountered frequent this site. Peace, love and comfort to you and your family, Andy
  4. That is so key, I think that is a cornerstone of what we deal with. We DID appreciate life because it had given us so much, but now it's gone and finding the will to engage that once again is so diminished. It's a fatigue of sorts, being so utterly beat down after we suffer this staggering loss, we just don't have the emotional strength to engage, we fear loss again and we see no point. Not only do we suffer the passing of our beloveds, the loss of whatever potential future we may have had, but now add to that the loss of desire. Through fear, emotional fatigue, hopelessness, crisis of faith and a number of other grief byproducts, we lose the "want", the risk is far to great. The reward, far from certain, and even if we do find one, in the back of our minds lurk the knowledge that this to can be snatched away. So when we do, if we do, decide to pursue life and happiness, how much do we give? All? Half? We have all been changed. I guess it's up to us as individuals to decide if it's worth trying. Potential happiness versus certain status quo, one without risk or danger. Either way seems frightening enough. I'm not certain what will happen to me, but I think I don't want be miserable or content with being a hermit. Especially driven to BE a hermit out of fear, let it be because I've exhausted all effort.
  5. It's more my needing clear cut information than anything else. I shy from assuming too much. I can tell you that if he said that (or even if he didn't), he's telling you the truth. It's something I've thought about from time to time, more so now than at any time earlier. How, if such a thing is possible, would I ever allow someone to get close to me again? At least in a "romantic" way. Geez, even writing that seems ludicrous. However, I have wondered. Like your boyfriend, I lost my wife and we were happily in love, content, completely at ease with one another, she being my best friend, my most cherished confidant, the solace I turned to in times of trouble, she was my wife, and I'm a better man for having her. When she passed, all of those things I mentioned, they didn't pass. I still feel those things, and I know, as a fact, that I will ALWAYS love her. If I'm not meant to find anyone else then that's 100% okay, I had a beautiful marriage, I was blessed. IF I do find myself on a path of another relationship, then I have to understand how those two "realities" can coexist. Loving, intimately and truly, two people? Is that possible? To give my all to one person while giving my all to another? I don't know, but it does happen, it is possible. Your boyfriend, I imagine, is dealing with a complex set of emotions, brought on by his feelings for you and what it means for his former life. Guilt over allowing himself to love someone else, doubt over his decision to "move forward", joy from the love he has now, happiness found after a time of believing he'd never be happy again. It's all so overwhelming. As KayC, KMB and Francine have suggested, be patient, don't "panic", understand him, but also, do not keep your fears hidden. If what you have is built on honesty and trust, then your concerns will be met with consideration and concern. Tell him what you feel, how it frightens you or casts doubt in your mind. You must be honest. I've considered the perspective of someone who would potentially get involved (only God knows why) with me. I know that she would have to think that "the only reason I'm here is because his wife died". That's powerful. Another, "how can he really love me, he was in love with his wife when she died, it's not like they divorced because they hated one another". "How can I begin to build a life with this guy, he had a life, built over 27 years". "Does he think of her while we're together? Does he compare us? Does he say things to me that he used to say to her? What does his daughter think about all of this? His family?" This goes on and on. Complexities within an even more convoluted brew of confusion and anguish. It's tough, and I commend you for taking a chance of this fellow, you have put yourself on the line in hopes of finding happiness, for both of you. You've proven to be patient, understanding, compassionate and caring. I think you'll navigate this rather well, and I hope that if I'm ever to go down that road again, I find someone with your sense of grace and understanding. Andy
  6. No, there aren't any easy answers. Nothing easy at all about life, I realize now. Things I used to assume would be "easy", family, love, enjoying a sunset, these all come with a price. The fact that every single thing we cherish can be ripped away from us is sobering, is chilling. Of course, it should encourage us to appreciate all we have, to hold them close and to savor every moment. I do. I really do, but now, there's a cloud of cold reality that hovers over everything. A shadow cast from my consciousness that promises that this to, shall end. This will become another memory, a recollection amongst many others, signaling the end of an age. What awareness is this? That all joy is to be tempered by the crushing sadness of loss? A specter of foreshadowing, telling us that all things are fleeting, even happiness. Love is eternal, that I believe, but that's for the next world. In this one, we cling to what we can, who we can, to stay afloat.
  7. Absolutely, the work, the struggle to find our reasons, to get accept and cope, it must be done. Everyone of us has different mechanisms, different strengths and tools, but we still have to do the work. I'm glad your approach is one of determination. It'll serve you well. Maybe that "baggage" wasn't so much masked by her love, as it was accepted? Perhaps, if she could accept and see past this "baggage", then you could too? She sounds like a wonderful, caring person. Follow her lead. It works for me, my wife had a patience and kindness that I'm desperately trying to emulate. Peace my friend, Andy
  8. I read an article once about a priest who had lost his wife. He phoned an old friend, a widow, who'd lost her husband many years prior. He asked this widow the question you pose, "When do you stop crying?" Her answer? "I don't know, it's only been 14 years" I cry, not quite as often, but I cry. I don't try to stop it or fight it. I let it do its thing, then it moves on. I have accepted this will be a part of me forever. In acknowledging that, I had to find a way to control, or at least manage, my grief. How? Not sure if I've figured that out, but, I have been somewhat successful I think. I allow it to do its work in me. Cry, yell, sob buckets of tears or eat junk, whatever, I let it run it's course. Then, I put it back in its place. I don't ignore it, I face it. Every time I face it, I get just that much better at coping. It may take a thousand years, but so be it. I also don't hide it from others. If they ask how I'm doing, I try to be honest without sounding like I'm fishing for pity. Something else, I share my grief with those I know who really care. It's important to talk about this. Another thing, I embrace fully the love, life, the happiness of my wife and our marriage. The good, bad, mundane and excitement, I cherish it all. I grieve for it's passing, but I give thanks for the days I had. It was a good life. I'm not sure I helped, but maybe you can find some bit of something useful in my babbling. Take care, be safe, Andy
  9. Christy, I'm sorry for your loss, sorry you have reason to join this forum, but I'm glad you "found" this one. I think you'll find a wealth of compassion and a willingness to share. My wife was 42 when she passed. This is a rotten, horrible place we find ourselves in. I'm not quite 5 months in, and while for the rest of the world, it's old news, my loss is constant. It's just as relevant and painful as it was a week after, a month, it's my reality now. Spending so much of our time caring for our beloveds, it's inevitable that our identities become blended with this "role" we've taken on. Caretaker, provider, overseer, we become these, and more. And when our beloveds pass, we find ourselves void of purpose, meaning has been taken from us. It's hard to understand for those not where we are. I liked being able to care for my wife, I'm supposed to care for her, I still want to take care of her, it made me (right or wrong) feel valued, like I actually served a worthy purpose. I'm a father, and fatherhood is a rewarding role, I love it, but looking after my wife was "different". It was "us", just us, against the world. Now, I'm alone in the world. Again, welcome to this miserable "club", this valley of sorrow and grief. We may be separate, but here, we're never alone. Peace and comfort, Andy
  10. I have an 18 year old husky/pit bull mix that has been the greatest companion one could hope for. The fact that she lives and my wife doesn't still astounds me. The dog has severe arthritis, hearing loss and diminished sight. When she passes, it's going to be another difficult loss to endure, and there's been so much already. I know how much joy and love animals bring to our lives, and my heart and prayers go out to you and Pearl (love the name, our old girl is named Jewel). I still have my wife's little Yorkie, a cat and a snake that'll outlive me, but this dog is special. She's family, like your Pearl. Peace and comfort, Andy
  11. Is it the anniversary that's brought on these feelings? Social media? Please forgive me, I'm unclear as to the nature of your distress, is it the anniversary? The way he's dealing with it perhaps? Again, forgive my obtuseness, I want to help, but I'm unsure how
  12. Lonely1, I'm terribly sorry for this loss and the road you find yourself on. I think our stories are somewhat similar. I was married 24 years, 5 months, 20 days, 2 hours and 42 minutes. My wife passed New Year's Eve, 2016. Worst moment of my life, still locked in this state of sorrow and cautious, guarded "hope". I too was a caretaker. My wife suffered from a number of medical issues, spanning the near entirety of her life. Now, none of these things were of an immediate life threatening nature, her passing a result of something completely unforeseen and unexpected. The last decade, as my wife's quality of life diminished, I became caretaker. Dr appointments, prescription/medicine management, and as she no longer drove, I took her anywhere she wished to go. It was not a kind thing to watch, my wife losing bits and pieces of herself as time went by, but I accepted my "role" with something close to honor. I felt "appointed" to care for her, it was my greatest duty, perhaps surpassing that of fatherhood. I loved caring for her, it gave my life meaning beyond that of material pursuits, I found that we grew closer, our love transcended the ordinary. As our marriage changed, our roles changed, my love only grew more certain, with greater "purity", you can say. Perfect? No, no, not at all, I'd rather her be well, enjoying motherhood to its fullest, living with clear thought and hope. We managed through it all though, never leaving one another's side, never losing sight of what made "us", "us". Like you, I lost the thing that kept me going, focused, lost meaning and definition to my life. I'm still searching. I'd like to suggest an idea, a concept really. That life you two built together? The home, the beautiful property? Those things came about because of a dream, a dream you both shared because you believed in one another. The things he loves about you, the things that inspired him, they are still there, within you. You are still that person, lonely and within sorrow, but still that person. He obviously believed in you both, in you, so, take that and embrace it. Believe in who you were, who you are. You are a different person for knowing him, spending a life with him, I'd say you became "more", you grew. Love does that. So, I see at as not forsaking my wife's legacy to me. My wife allowed me to become the man I am, and I'm better for it. I'm a product of many things, including my wife's energy, kindness, grace and love. I'd assume you are the same. I know this is beyond difficult, beyond what you think you can endure, but please, just consider what you've been left with. We are still here, the reasons why, unknown, but here we are. Use the strength his love gives you, live. Breathe. One second, minute, day at a time. Don't worry about being "strong", that's too much to ask right now. Be weak, cry, weep, scream, just live. You aren't alone. We may not share the exact pain, the exact experiences, but we share the same road of loneliness and sorrow. We all lean on one another, pick each other up, guide with miserable wisdom and compassion. I'm glad you came to this forum. It has been a Godsend for me. This has become a family. My wife was 42 years old. My relationship with God has had its moments too. I've given up trying to answer "why", I focus on "now". Life changed for me, in an instant. I have to carry on. Find your reason so you may carry on. I'm cheering for you. pm, reach out, talk anytime. Peace, comfort and love, Andy
  13. Thank you KMB, he had indeed endured much, also refused many avenues of care though. I can't or won't to pretend to know how I'd manage under similar circumstances, I know that we only can take so much, and depending on our tools of coping, that limit can come sooner than later. I've always said that if I end up HALF the man my dad is, I'll consider myself more than accomplished. Thank you again KMB, you're very kind, as always. Andy
  14. Monday evening, or morning, no one knows, a long time friend of the family, through my dads car building days, shot himself. 15 years ago he suffered a stroke. It ended his ability to build cars, his one, true love and his way of life. He was a difficult person to get along with, often arrogant, cynical and abrasive, he found he had no friends after his health failed. My dad, the wonderful person he is, stuck with him. Bought his food for him, took him to his Dr appointments, picked up his prescriptions, ran errands. He left no note, no explanation, no reason. My dad had spoke to his Dr, a week earlier, out of concern that this could happen. My father, growing uneasy, suspected his friends thoughts had turned to self destruction. Face to face, he asked the Dr to intervene. He could do nothing. No admission of a desire to commit suicide, then "my hands are tied". Same with his periodic day nurse and even the police. They would/could do nothing. So, Tuesday, after the nurse couldn't get him to answer Monday evening, went to his house. He was sitting in his recliner, dead. At first, I felt nothing. No grief, no pain, nothing. I felt the pain for my dad, who'd given so much, yet received nothing in return (Of course my dad is exceptional in many ways, one being no expectation of reciprocation of services rendered. He did this because it was the only thing to do be done.), just an occasional curse laden phone call no doubt brought on by the ever worsening effects of his multiple strokes. I knew my dad hurt, but my grief for the "friend" just didn't show. But for my daughter, well, yes. She cried and then was angry. "My mom wanted to live, but couldn't!" She cried, "he could live, but chose not to..." She whimpered. It's not fair. Something she says often nowadays. I agreed. Now my emotions are conflicted. His "decision" was driven by things I couldn't understand, therefore I can't really judge him. That's not for me to do. His demons were his, and he chose to face them alone, and so he died alone. I thank God He put my dear wife in my life, to hold, to protect, to care for as much as I could. She passed knowing she was loved by many, by a family that adored her, a daughter that cherishes her and a husband who absolutely and completely gave his heart and soul to her. I thank God for that. She loved and was loved. Life cut short, accident or disease, tradgedy and circumstance, long lived or otherwise, love is the only thing that matters. Bitterness, envy, hate, these are tools of the enemy, they deprive us of hope and life. Let them go. Embrace what we can, often and with an unconditional love. Love yourself, others, friends and family, and for the love of God, tell them. Thinking of all of you, peace and love, Andy
  15. Crownholder2, You asked why no one directly responded to your divulgence of your feelings concerning your son. For myself, I see that as a subject of a deeply personal and sensitive nature, and if you were expecting a rebuking of this feeling, you won't get that here. We don't judge, who are we to judge? The fellow broken hearted who know all too well the miserable concoction of emotion and pain? Certainly not. Your feelings are your feelings, just as many cannot fathom my loss, I cannot pretend to understand the loss of a child. You wonder at your relationship with God, the failure to truly "find" His grace or understand his will. We all do, at one time or another. God, by His very nature, is infinitely complex. It stands to reason that our relationships, our understanding, with God, of God, will be equally complex and more often than not, indecipherable. I don't think (all my opinion of course) that to gain the grace of the Devine, the favor of God, we need fill out a check list of do's and don'ts. God knows our suffering, feels it, understands it, knows our limits of spirit and flesh. I think truth lies within absolute love, true, honest, unconditional love that is pure of intent and without demands. God loves, and we love, as tribute and testament to life giving love and faith. You love your husband, that is evident, the sorrow you feel, the weight of regret and guilt, also evident, and God knows this. He knows we simply are not capable of throwing off worldly concerns to fall to our knees and only think of heavenly matters. We are human. Human in our frailty, faults, blindness, our cruel capacity, jealousies and cunning, we are flawed. But you strive, yes? You get up, you remember who you are, the worth you have beyond what others tell you it is, the woman your husband choose to love, the mistakes you make, the poor decisions and the brilliant choices and wisdom gained. We strive, struggle, push on, fall, reach out for that hand, the hand that is unseen or seen, and we get up. You will do these things, as we all must. Love is the reason we grieve, it is why we mourn our losses, it's why tomorrow has a promise, because of love. Love of God, self, family, friends, sky, sea and wind, we love because it's who we are and what we need sow. Anything else is just, pointless. I miss my dear wife everyday. That particular pain still clings to me like some wretched disease, hurting, makes me falter. But I remember why I hurt, because I loved, love, and will always love her. If I'm willing to accept that paradigm, the risk of such exquisite love demanding a price of sorrow unending, then I willingly accept that risk. I cry. I weep. My moods are often black. My patience and temper thin. Perhaps, though, I will find my smile again, the real one. Along side my happiness, it waits for me, I just have to keep looking. Crownholder2, keep looking. This pain isn't going to go away, the loss will be a part of you, forever, and it's okay. When your faith grows weak or shaken, that's okay to, God never loses faith in us. His strength is far, far more capable than ours, lean on him, let him carry you. No perfection, it isn't expected. Just live. Breathe, find a light, some point to focus on, even if it's just a date on a calendar, or a walk in the woods. Just live. And love. My thoughful meanderings run away with me, I apologize. So much pain, so much sorrow, I wish I could eliminate it all. Please, be safe, peace and love, Andy