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Want to share my experience.


Andy

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I'm new here, never knew this site existed before yesterday. Not a "lurker", so I'm not exactly sure how or what I should say. I know I'm wanting to express my grief in a supportive atmosphere, communicate with others who belong to this terrible "club", this most bewildering of places. 

On December 31st, 2016, my wife of 24 years, 5 months, age 42, passed away unexpectedly. We have a 20 year old daughter and an adopted 23 year old daughter, but she's been largely absent from our lives for the last 8 years. I have my parents, and that's it basically as far as my family is concerned. What I feel, daily, is an indescribable sensation of utter sorrow, despair and complete loneliness. Nothing anyone here hasn't experienced, I'm sure, but knowing that doesn't lessen the pain. Seeing others go through and survive this is a comfort, and I take those "lessons" to heart. I miss her everyday, I still text her phone, I still question reality, "Is this real? Will she come back? Will I wake from this?" I know she's gone (her mortal form), I know she isn't coming back, but the truth is almost too much for me to accept. But I do. My daughter lost her mom, so her grief is every bit as accute as mine, but from a different perspective. One day, my daughter may get married, may have children, but all without her mom. As a dad, it crushes me that I can't "fix" that. I can't make that better. Everyday has presented new challenges, financial issues, emotional side effects, anxiety, worries where none existed before, and waves of despair that cover me in anguish and a flood of tears. This wasn't supposed to happen. We were supposed to grow old together, start being a "couple" again, post parent planning beginning to happen. I found out, in a very real way, that tomorrow is a lovely idea, a wish and a hope, but it doesn't exist. 

Thank you, I have more to say, and I hope I can help someone or someone can help me. Bless you all. 

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34 minutes ago, Andy said:

"Is this real? Will she come back? Will I wake from this?

I think like this everyday. I feel suddenly he will be standing on my front door, laughing, and telling me that this all was a joke. Then, I would punch him hard and embrace him tightly. 

I am sorry. 

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Andy

Saying sorry for your loss isn't enough I know.  I can't offer any positivity, only heartfelt empathy.  I lost my Husband a day after my birthday on 6th October to a heart incident.  Anticipated but also suddenly.  I feel he was 'snatched' from me before his time and that brings with it shock and trauma as well as despair and sorrow.  I'm sure you feel the way too. It's a lot to accept, and  I haven't yet.  There will be other people who will be able to offer you some comforting words of wisdom and I hope you get lots of responses.

 

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1 hour ago, Sadaf Nazim said:

I think like this everyday. I feel suddenly he will be standing on my front door, laughing, and telling me that this all was a joke. Then, I would punch him hard and embrace him tightly. 

I am sorry. 

Yes, it's a surreal state of mind, the consistency of someone in your life, in a very personal and intimate way, and then they're gone. Those two realities, existing only a second apart, shouldn't be. This new world I'm in is terrifying for me. My "need" for her comfort, her reassurance is the one thing I could depend on during times of crisis. It's just another aspect of this new world, reality, that I have to try and understand. Like you, I wish this were some cosmic joke, laughing at me as I cry. I'd accept any reasoning if she walked through the door. I'm sorry for your pain, the agony of this new existence. 

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1 hour ago, Zara19 said:

Andy

Saying sorry for your loss isn't enough I know.  I can't offer any positivity, only heartfelt empathy.  I lost my Husband a day after my birthday on 6th October to a heart incident.  Anticipated but also suddenly.  I feel he was 'snatched' from me before his time and that brings with it shock and trauma as well as despair and sorrow.  I'm sure you feel the way too. It's a lot to accept, and  I haven't yet.  There will be other people who will be able to offer you some comforting words of wisdom and I hope you get lots of responses.

 

Thank you, I hope I can be helped and also I'd love to be able to actually help someone else, if that's even possible. My wife suffered years of "issues", but her passing wasn't related to any of that. Her problems, while life altering and very serious, were not terminal. So the idea of her struggling, day after day, for years, to fight and overcome "demons" the way she did, made what happened just the more heartbreaking. I take comfort that those "demons" no longer haunt her, no longer cause her pain, but the battle now resides in me. Shock, stunned into a state of disbelief, having my entire foundation shaken to its core, yes, my system is in turmoil. Accept my heartfelt condolences for your pain, your loss, the path you are forced to walk. 

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Andy....you are right...there is no tomorrow and I think we have all learnt that the hard way. One moment we are hugging the love of our lives and the next we are putting them to rest. Life can be so cruel sometimes...it can just rip away any sense of purpose we once had. I lost my husband on October 19, very unexpectedly from a sudden heart attack. He had just turned 47. We were so happy and so much in love as I am sure you were with your beloved wife. 

Every time you post, your words are helping someone just as we hope our words can help you. God bless you. 

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2 hours ago, Andy said:

My "need" for her comfort, her reassurance is the one thing I could depend on during times of crisis.  

This is something huge I miss.  Someone that picked me and loved me, even in bad times.  Someone who comforted me and held me when life was tough.  

I am so sorry for your loss.  I know everyone says that, but those are more than lip service.

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Andy

I am so terribly sorry for your loss and I can feel in your post how much love you had for her.   The worst loss is the one you are experiencing at this time.  When we lose a love one, we sometimes feel life has abandon us, but it hasn't; that nothing matters, but it does; that life is not worth living, it is.  

I lost the love of my life (almost 2 months ago), and I'm still hurting; still having those roller coaster rides, still have my own personal tsunamni's.  You might experience them as well.  If it happens, try to find someone to listen to you,   to be there to hold you, talk to you, go places with you.  Surround yourself to those people.  

I hope you find some comfort in knowing that your wife is no longer suffering and that the spirit  - her spirit -still lives on no matter what.   Yes, there will be hurt and hard times, but God wants to help you find ways to survive, grow stronger, and even thrive - no matter what happens. You really are going to be okay.   God Bless and keep you safe.

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2 hours ago, Emeliza said:

This is something huge I miss.  Someone that picked me and loved me, even in bad times.  Someone who comforted me and held me when life was tough.  

I am so sorry for your loss.  I know everyone says that, but those are more than lip service.

Thank you, your words are kind and taken for the compassion they convey. Turning to my wife during my troubles or just life's little issues was a "safe" place for me. No matter the problem, she could always make it "ok". 

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Andy, I don't know what to say that already hasn't been said by all the wonderful, caring people on this site. Even though we are all in pain and grieving in our own ways, we will be here for you. We will listen and you will be heard and given comfort, suggestions and advice if you need them. None of us here never imagined we would be in this new reality, at least some of us not quite so soon. My husband suffered sudden cardiac arrest. He had heart surgery, was on medications and seeing doctors regularly. He had congestive heart failure of which there is no cure. We were doing what was asked by his doctors and we both thought we had 2 or 3 more years together yet. Life took a tragic turn and here I am. I still have moments where I think that this isn't happening to me. My husband's last day was a good one, his last evening, normal. Here one minute and gone that next. How could that be?

Keep posting Andy. This forum will become your lifeline in the days, weeks, months to come. Be loving and supportive of your daughter, she needs you. Be kind and patient with yourself.

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1 hour ago, Francine said:

Andy

I am so terribly sorry for your loss and I can feel in your post how much love you had for her.   The worst loss is the one you are experiencing at this time.  When we lose a love one, we sometimes feel life has abandon us, but it hasn't; that nothing matters, but it does; that life is not worth living, it is.  

I lost the love of my life (almost 2 months ago), and I'm still hurting; still having those roller coaster rides, still have my own personal tsunamni's.  You might experience them as well.  If it happens, try to find someone to listen to you,   to be there to hold you, talk to you, go places with you.  Surround yourself to those people.  

I hope you find some comfort in knowing that your wife is no longer suffering and that the spirit  - her spirit -still lives on no matter what.   Yes, there will be hurt and hard times, but God wants to help you find ways to survive, grow stronger, and even thrive - no matter what happens. You really are going to be okay.   God Bless and keep you safe.

Thank you, you're absolutely right. My wife, in her struggles, her daily battles, taught me that despite the misery that life will throw at you, the pain it will exact, life is worth living. She lived for my daughter, she lived for us, her family, for herself, to hopefully become "whole" again. I will not allow her passing, and in essence, her life, define me by becoming mired in despair or sorrow. I feel those things, and I'll allow them to stay, in a healthy, natural way, if that makes sense? But instead, I'll use her lessons, about fighting everyday, not because of personal gain, but sacrifice of self for love of others. I like to think of her as being the very ideal of grace. She suffered with grace, not spending her days complaining, but instead finding reasons to carry on. She had every reason to hate life, curse God, to give up. She didn't. She loved, she appreciated, she cherished, she LIVED. She was ALIVE. To turn my back on that example would not only be an insult to her, it'd be an affront to my faith and her love for me. I'm hurting like I've never hurt, pain I didn't think was possible, but it's a testament to how deeply, how faithfully, I love and miss my wife. I want to drift away, just disappear into some void, but I can't. I have to figure this out, move forward. I won't dishonor my wife's legacy of grace. 

I apologize for what may seem like a long winded reply or narrative, but being able to share with you, fellow travelers in this land of sorrow, has been a great discovery for me. Thank you, so very, very much. 

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Andy---You shared a beautiful, sensitive epiphany that we should all remember in how we are also coping. Thank you. Your words do inspire and your wife is proud of you.

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Nads and KMB, thank you both. I plan on utilizing this site and sharing with the many kind people who have found comfort with each other, bonded by a common element. As I had said, my wife suffered many things, for many years, but her passing wasn't directly related to any of that. She lived 5 days, 2 hours and 42 minutes after Christmas Day. 6 pm, the 30th of December, she complained of a stomach ache. I called 911 at 7:56 pm. She was "called" at 2:42 am, Saturday morning. Somehow, cause unknown, she had developed, a perforation in her intestinal system, her blood became toxic, and ultimately she died from multiple organ failure due to sepsis. I "see" her everyday, asking me to help her, seeing the fear in her eyes, the growing realization that something was very wrong. It scared me, has left me with an anxiety that won't subside, the guilt of not being able to save her, not saving my daughters mom, is crippling. I know I didn't cause it, and I also know I didn't have the power to save her, but this is pure emotion. This tendency to look back over her last few days and second guess everything. Was there something I should've seen? Did I miss some clue? Why did I miss this? I feel like I need to be guilty, if I forgive myself, let myself off the hook, then I'm absolving myself of responsibility. I must be accountable somehow. I know this isn't rational, but my heart is crushed, and I'm feeling things I've never experienced before. I miss her terribly, I cry every night, I don't know how I'm supposed to live now. All my plans, hopes for the future, dreams of days to come, they're all gone now. I know I'll need to find new plans and hopes, but how? My daughter is my primary focus, my energy for her. I can't bring mommy back, I can't BE mommy, I can't seem to figure this out. The utter loneliness is overwhelming, it consumes so much of who I am, or was. My daughter will move on, that's inevitable, my parents will, statistically, pass before me. After that, it's just me. And that's terrifying. 

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22 minutes ago, KMB said:

Andy---You shared a beautiful, sensitive epiphany that we should all remember in how we are also coping. Thank you. Your words do inspire and your wife is proud of you.

Thank you for saying so. That's very sweet and kind of you to say. I certainly hope she's proud or approves of my attitude. I've always been a positive, "I'll make things work" kind of guy. So that mindset (thank my incredible parents) has buoyed me, I think, but this is a different kind of assault. In the last few years I've had some very challenging events occur, but nothing remotely like this. I thought I knew what pain was. I knew nothing. My natural tendency is to remain positive, through most anything, but this is taxing my ability and desire to do so. Thank you again, your words mean a great deal. 

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Andy---Your pain is so tangible in your words, We have been there also. It is heart shredding. We all carry to some extent a burden of guilt. It is an extension of the grief. We felt responsible for our partner. We love them and wanted the best and we feel our best was not good enough. It is like we need to feel guilt on top of the grief because we have a need to validate our grieving as much as we can. I don't know if that makes sense. We feel we need to suffer greatly because of our loss. The emotions are so complex and all consuming and no where to go with them except internally and it is so hard for our minds and hearts to make sense of everything that has happened.

You and your daughter are going to be OK. Your positivity and attitude will help you to survive.

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2 hours ago, Andy said:

Thank you, you're absolutely right. My wife, in her struggles, her daily battles, taught me that despite the misery that life will throw at you, the pain it will exact, life is worth living. She lived for my daughter, she lived for us, her family, for herself, to hopefully become "whole" again. I will not allow her passing, and in essence, her life, define me by becoming mired in despair or sorrow. I feel those things, and I'll allow them to stay, in a healthy, natural way, if that makes sense? But instead, I'll use her lessons, about fighting everyday, not because of personal gain, but sacrifice of self for love of others. I like to think of her as being the very ideal of grace. She suffered with grace, not spending her days complaining, but instead finding reasons to carry on. She had every reason to hate life, curse God, to give up. She didn't. She loved, she appreciated, she cherished, she LIVED. She was ALIVE. To turn my back on that example would not only be an insult to her, it'd be an affront to my faith and her love for me. I'm hurting like I've never hurt, pain I didn't think was possible, but it's a testament to how deeply, how faithfully, I love and miss my wife. I want to drift away, just disappear into some void, but I can't. I have to figure this out, move forward. I won't dishonor my wife's legacy of grace. 

 

This is so beautiful and inspiring. Thank you. 

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10 hours ago, Sadaf Nazim said:

This is so beautiful and inspiring. Thank you. 

It's kind of you to say so, it's how I feel, it's how I choose to accept this new reality. I don't like it, I didn't ask for this, but, ultimately, I've learned that I have very little, if any, control of the world I live in. I can control my reaction, most of the time, so that's what I'll do. If I lose that minuscule amount of control, I'm afraid I'd lose my sanity. Thank you for reading and finding value in what I'm sharing, it means a great deal. I wish nothing but peace and happiness for you. 

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Andy, i admire how you are handling losing your wife. You're right, we have very little control in this world we live in. We might go along thinking we do, especially when life is going our way. But, we learn the hard way that we really don't. I just want to let you know that it is OK to lose control and openly grieve for your wife. It is OK to cry, scream, vent at the unfairness of it and to feel the pain. Do not keep it bottled up inside, all the emotions need to be released. We grieve because we love. There have been plenty of days where I think I am going to lose my sanity, when the challenges and obstacles that present themselves become overwhelming. So many things to deal with when you suddenly find yourself alone and no partner to help you through. But, we grit our teeth and meet each challenge a step at a time. Take care, Andy

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KMB, thank you. I do cry, in solitude for the most part, but I do. I try my best to not fight it, to let it run its course, to not keep things inside. While at work it's a bit more difficult. I've explained to my supervisors that if I suddenly get up and walk outside, please excuse me, I need "air", I need space. They've been very accommodating in that regard. I have an hour commute to and from work, and driving home is the worst. I'd send my wife a text, "I'm coming home", she'd reply, "okay, be careful". She'd call me halfway, we would discuss mostly unimportant things, what we wanted to eat, what our daughter was up to, things like that. I miss all of that, all of the "trivial" things that's often taken for granted. I don't get any messages, I don't get a phone call, and when I get home, no one is waiting for me. No plans, no anticipation, no one to talk about my day with. Eating is a function of biological need now, joy, pleasure, they don't factor at all now. I cry in the evening, the only witness being my wife's little Yorkshire terrier, watching me with what I imagine is bewilderment and concern. I catch him, only occasionally now, looking for his "mom". Heartbreaking. Thank God I found, was lead, stumbled across, this forum. I have so much I need to say, to express, and this has been so helpful for me. I hope maybe someone reading my thoughts will get something from it. Wisdom to do, or not do, things I've done or said. I'm blind, today is misery, tomorrow is just a possibility, and hope is almost fantasy. I've always believed in possibilities, I think it's that very thing that makes life worth living. Sharing that life of possibilities with someone, I suppose that's heaven, paradise, shangri la, the Elysian Fields, or as close to that as one can get on earth. Life without possibilities is horrid for me to even contemplate, I'd rather not go through it. To say that my outlook hasn't been "tested" would be an understatement, a lie. However, I'm trying so hard to remain convinced, that as long as I draw breath, then it's possible I'll get through this, I'll learn to live, differently, but live, I'll find some sort of happiness. I HAVE to find happiness, without that, what's the point? Life, as everyone here can attest to, is too short to live miserably. I'm not talking about those who haven't a choice as to the conditions they live in, but given a choice, I choose joy, harmony, peace and love. And to be clear, I'm not speaking of "new love" or some romantic notion of finding love. I'm talking about just myself, seeing joy around me, expressing compassion and love for friends and family, in a healthy, sincere way. Not forced or begrudgingly, but willing, wanting to be happy. Thank you, everyone who takes the time to read these long and ponderous narratives. I ramble, I lose my thoughts, I must seem a bit unhinged, but believe me, this has proven to be most helpful. 

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Oh Andy,

My heart goes out to you.  My husband died barely 51, I felt the same as you do, "But we were supposed to grow old together!"  It's hard.  It's been 11 1/2 years for me and I still miss him each and every day of my life.  I've learned how to do my life alone but that doesn't mean I like it.  Sure I have some good times, but it's nothing like it was when I had him to share all the joys and bumps with.  We have a granddaughter and are about to have a grandson and my daughter is also expecting, although we don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet, and I wish he were here to be "grandpa".

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23 minutes ago, KayC said:

Oh Andy,

My heart goes out to you.  My husband died barely 51, I felt the same as you do, "But we were supposed to grow old together!"  It's hard.  It's been 11 1/2 years for me and I still miss him each and every day of my life.  I've learned how to do my life alone but that doesn't mean I like it.  Sure I have some good times, but it's nothing like it was when I had him to share all the joys and bumps with.  We have a granddaughter and are about to have a grandson and my daughter is also expecting, although we don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet, and I wish he were here to be "grandpa".

Thank you, and my heart goes out to you, 11 + years and still grieving, still feeling the loss. I'm touched you shared that with me, and I'm so sorry that the "sting" still makes itself known. I'm afraid of that very thing, that as time passes, and I "learn" to live with this new reality, that the pain will be constant. I know I'll miss her for the rest of my life, I'll never stop loving her, but this sorrow, this constant pain of her loss is so intense, I don't know how I'll shoulder this months from now, much less years. Bless you and the strength you've been given, you've obviously been a source of strength for your children/grandchildren, and that's such a great gift to them. I hope I have whatever it is you have, so I can continue on, for my daughter, my parents, my wife's legacy and ultimately, myself. I sincerely believe that "grandpa", regardless of his physical absence, will be there, through the life of those children, the memories, and his spirit, his energy. He'll be watching, with joy, over "his" legacy. Thank you for reaching out. 

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The pain isn't the same as it was in the early months/years, it's not as intense or sharp, but I've learned to coexist with my grief.  It's like there is a sadness we learn to live with, like all is not quite right, certainly not like before.  But I do have moments of joy too and I've learned to fully experience the joy that does come my way, even if much smaller than it used to be with George, nothing is quite like that, of course!

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Things aren't quite right, I understand that completely. It's as if the world is "off", an imitation of what was, nearly identical in most ways, but missing something of great importance. I'm inspired you've found happiness, even if it's not the same, or that happiness that only a "mate/life partner" can provide. I'm having a somewhat difficult time with "connecting" with my daughter. Her grief, while every bit as devastating as mine, is different. She's lost her mom, and that's a bond I will never share, so I can't know exactly how she feels. On top of the pain I have for my wife, I feel the weight of my daughters pain. For the same reasons, my daughter can't understand exactly what I'm going through. Youth is on her side, she has far more resources than I when it comes to friends, distractions, and the still unfolding aspects of her life. I'm 45. We had, due, in some part, to my wife's illnesses, a small circle of friends. We were never social butterflies, I have no social network identity, anywhere, and I have a very small family. My options are few. I know that I can reach out to professional help, grief support groups, church, or just "jumping" into new social environments. I'm not comfortable with that, I prefer the intimacy that only small groups can provide. My daughter, understandably, doesn't quite appreciate the type of love that only long time partners experience, that only comes from shared joy, sorrow, the mundane, the excitement, routine, sadness and mutual, unconditional affection that comes from these types of relationships. That can't be duplicated, I can't find that anywhere, no one can provide the kind of assurance and absolute honesty and love that I recieved from my wife. I'm so frightened of what this next chapter contains. I'll face it, but I'd like to be happy doing so, even if it's only for a short time. 

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I find it strange yet humbling when I consider the nature of humans and this love we developed with others. A parent will always love their child. The child may be a horrible pox on society, a disgrace to their family, but whether we want to or not, we will love our children. We don't have to like them, but love them we must. Same, I think, for a child's love of their parents. It's natural, bonded by DNA, it's hard wired, and only extreme circumstances or psychological influences can alter that. But, look at marriages, or similar, long term relationships. Not connected by genetics, no family continuity (normally), nothing but mutual attraction. Attraction, depending what stage of life you're in, based on physical appearance, perceived intelligence, shared interests, shared values/backgrounds, cultural or religious similarities, or the fact they ARE different may attract you, but some or all of these things draw us together. And we CHOOSE this. We decide for ourselves that I will love this person, I will honor and respect them, care for them, expose my heart and vulnerability to them, willingly and unconditionally. It's such a glorious thing, two people, complete strangers, that find each other and fall in love. I grieve for my missing half and all she represented, all the promises kept and those never to be realized. I marvel at this process of giving ourselves over so completely to another person, entrusting our innermost fears, desires, insecurities and dreams to someone NOT our family, not our blood. It's glorious, and I realize now how precious and rare that is. How truly special it is to find that, that one person who allows you to be "you", needs you as much as you need them. How do you find that, get to keep and treasure that, and then lose that? How is anything ever going to be okay after that? I've had what so many people write songs and poetry about, and now it's gone. The songs, the symmetry of life, the poetry of living, they're gone. Or I can't hear or see them anymore. How do you do this?  

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32 minutes ago, Andy said:

And we CHOOSE this. We decide for ourselves that I will love this person, I will honor and respect them, care for them, expose my heart and vulnerability to them, willingly and unconditionally. 

I journaled about this very thing last night.  How different my grief was than that of my daughters, not more so, but different.  

I also journaled about how we had chosen each other.  How different it was than the love I felt for my children as that was natural and almost automatic, but for our relationship it was different.  Not unnatural, but more work, more conscious, more of a decision.  The best decision. That through all the ups and downs, we still chose each other.

When my husband proposed to me, he had inscribed on the ring, "I choose us" and it was so fitting and lovely.  

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"I choose us". That's such a beautiful thing. What a wonderful person, to think of such a notion, to feel so strongly about it, that he enscribed that very "idea" onto your ring. Lovely indeed. 

The notion of two strangers drawn together, by fate, destiny, divine guidance, whatever you choose to believe, to fall in love, decide to spend "forever" with one another, is miraculous in itself. All who experience this loss, we understand just how precious and rare such a thing is. Those marriages that last, that endure, they are filled with work, effort, sacrifice, unselfish acts of love, that's what it takes. It's not always easy, sometimes it's daunting, but for me, it was always, always worth every minute. No regrets, no compromise, no expectations beyond the love I recieved. How fortunate are we? To find that, even for the short time we have, is such a blessing. 25 years, relatively speaking, is a long time, but for me, it wasn't enough time. We weren't done, we had things to do, the rest of our life to live. I'd give anything for one more minute. To tell her just how much I miss her, how much I love her, what she always meant to me, and how much I absolutely need her. Just one minute. 

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Andy, My husband and I had 25 years also. Those years went by so quickly. Time crawls now. I can relive the memories, but they are still painful and cause me to cry and yearn for more time. Which we cannot have. We had our time together and we have to somehow wait until we can be reunited again.

 

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KMB, I'm so sorry. You're right, 25 years, 50 years, 100, it's not enough. It'll never be the same, things will never be as they were. 

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Andy,  Nothing makes sense dealing with our grieving and our loss. Things were so normal for us my husband's last day and night. One minute he's standing in front of the fridge, guzzling from the milk jug as usual and talking to me about the dog sleeping in the middle of the kitchen floor. We go to bed and a couple hours later he gets up to use the bathroom and he's gone. I still replay that last normal day and wonder how could it have changed so quickly, no warning. My husband thought I was the stronger of the 2 of us, but wonder where my strength went some days. Most times I am just on autopilot.

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3 hours ago, KMB said:

Andy,  Nothing makes sense dealing with our grieving and our loss. Things were so normal for us my husband's last day and night. One minute he's standing in front of the fridge, guzzling from the milk jug as usual and talking to me about the dog sleeping in the middle of the kitchen floor. We go to bed and a couple hours later he gets up to use the bathroom and he's gone. I still replay that last normal day and wonder how could it have changed so quickly, no warning. My husband thought I was the stronger of the 2 of us, but wonder where my strength went some days. Most times I am just on autopilot.

Autopilot, replaying moments and days, nothing makes sense, all traits I share with you and probably anyone else dealing with this. You picked thoughts directly from my mind, uncanny even. Work is autopilot, doing "chores", that's autopilot, thinking of the last three days of her life, over and over again, and trying to make sense of not only that, but the rest of my life. God, I miss her so much. I spent so many years caring for her, keeping up with her medications, alternating with my mom getting my wife to her dr appointments, seeing to whatever need or trouble she had. I became accustomed to taking care of her, I found a sort of "comfort" in being there for her. I was somewhat proud that she could always depend on me. I loved being there, I believed then, as I do now, that I was put in her life so I could do that very thing. Love and care for her. I accepted it as an honor, God thought that much of me to take care of this beautiful, kind, but "broken" girl, this future mother of my child. I was humbled by the that concept. Who was I? I'm nobody. I'm not wealthy, by anyone's measure, I'm not famous nor am I the picture of Greek god hood, and I'm sure I'll never cure cancer or save the whales. I have nothing exceptional to offer anyone, other than my loyalty, devotion, and infinite love. I have that. I pledged our vows, I meant them. I absolutely knew that I would spend the rest of my life with her, my sweet Tracie. Our minister who performed our wedding was also the minister who conducted the eulogy for her. As he walked by, I grabbed his arm and told him "I want you to know that I never broke the covenant that you made for us". It was important for me that he knew that, I wanted to stand and tell everyone. I did what was asked of me, because I did so out of love, out of my commitment to my wife. Things I took seriously, things that should be taken seriously by anyone willing to stand in front of God and creation and SWEAR their vows, to love and to hold, with all of your heart. I miss her so much, I want her back, I don't know how this is supposed to be, but this isn't it. My wife needed me, but it was I who needed her, she allowed me to be myself, made me the man and father I am now, she was MY caregiver, my foundation. I'm having a bad moment, forgive me. I'm trying 

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Andy 

Your posts are so heart touching. Your wife is very lucky to have you as her husband. 

25 years. I can't tell you how much lucky you are. You must have so beautiful memories together. For some people that's just a fantasy. 

I have known my bestfriend, the love of my life since I was 8, and he was 10. For every day since then, we sticked together. I can't remember when for the first time we fell in love with each other , it just happened. We grew up, loving each other. He loves me far more than I ever can. I have never known a loving and caring person more than him. He was my small world. My every relation, I found in him.. Like a brother he protected me, like a sister he understood me, like a mother he cared for me, like a father he guided me.. And like a crazy lover, he loved me.

We were going to get married probably at the end of this year. And suddenly, this happened. He was just 24. My past, present and future, my small world.. Everything is gone, in a flash.

And this big world is all that remains. With people, places, buildings, faces. I feel like a stranger here. Everything looks like I am looking at it for the first time ever..Like I am born just now into a total alien world. I have to regenerate myself now. I have to rethink my existence without my sweetheart's physical presence. Something that I hate, but I have to do it.

I was a very strong and confident girl. I used to have answers to everything. He was like a traveller, always seeking me, always questioning me, wanting me, telling me how much he is incomplete without me..and I was his abode, his destination. Then after he found me.. I became a question, a traveller and he became my answer, my abode, my home, my whole being .. And it still continues that way. I seek him everyday. 

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Sadaf Nazim, you've described things that I feel, exactly the way I feel them. I can't imagine losing this person, the way you have, him being such an integral part of who you are. From childhood on, this child, boy, man became a part of who you are. His presence has shaped you, formed you emotionally and philosophically, helped establish your world view. The sense of loss and loneliness must be staggering, and I hope you're able to find peace and strength, perhaps from him, from his lessons of living. He obviously cherished you as much as you cherished him, all that love, energy and passion didn't "vanish". It's with you, around you, helps define you. The irony of all this, for you, me, everyone going through this, is that the thing that brought us such comfort and joy is the very thing that's brought us to our knees. The love, while so fulfilling and incredible while "alive", is also crippling in its "absence". We both know that we aren't absent from that love, it's the physical presence we miss, the smell of their hair, a casual look, the touch of their hand, a reassuring word, those are the things we can't seem to live without. 

Remember this, he, like my wife, didn't make us the great people that they must have thought we were, it was that "greatness" that drew them toward us, and us to them. They may have allowed us to grow, become "better", to live in ways never thought possible, but there must have been something there to begin with, yes? I'm saying that you are still the wonderful, beautiful, inspiring women you've always have been, even absent our hearts true love. If  he returned, perhaps in another life, he would still fall for you, because you'd still be you. I'd like to think that if an exact replica of my beloved crossed paths with me, today or next year, she'd still find me as wonderful as she did last month. I'm guilty of thinking this, so I'll say this to you, only in assuming you may also think this, do not stop being the person he loved, regardless of our desire to shut down. He, as my wife would be, above anyone else, would be saddened by our failure to live on. If I were passed on, and I was aware of my wife, still here on earth, stuck in grief and sorrow, I'd weep for her. I'd plead with her to carry on, to find a way, maybe even find happiness again. 

The reality is, our lives will forever be different, changed forever by this singular tragedy. Different, in this case, is because of this loss, but different doesn't have to mean "bad". It's not what either of us asked for or wants, but it's what we have. We can stop, we can remain in this purgatory forever, or we can, little by very little, honor the love we shared, that we still feel, and carry on. Give ourselves a chance. They took a chance on us, and it was amazing, so why not take chances on ourselves? Our partners obviously thought we were worth the risk, so I don't believe that's changed. If I could, I'd hug you, tell you that "it'll be ok", like my wife did me a thousand times before. And if we allow it, allow ourselves time to heal, to manage this grief, things will get better. I really believe that. 

Bless you Sadaf (beautiful name by the way), things will look a little better one day.   

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12 minutes ago, Andy said:

Sadaf Nazim, you've described things that I feel, exactly the way I feel them. I can't imagine losing this person, the way you have, him being such an integral part of who you are. From childhood on, this child, boy, man became a part of who you are. His presence has shaped you, formed you emotionally and philosophically, helped establish your world view. The sense of loss and loneliness must be staggering, and I hope you're able to find peace and strength, perhaps from him, from his lessons of living. He obviously cherished you as much as you cherished him, all that love, energy and passion didn't "vanish". It's with you, around you, helps define you. The irony of all this, for you, me, everyone going through this, is that the thing that brought us such comfort and joy is the very thing that's brought us to our knees. The love, while so fulfilling and incredible while "alive", is also crippling in its "absence". We both know that we aren't absent from that love, it's the physical presence we miss, the smell of their hair, a casual look, the touch of their hand, a reassuring word, those are the things we can't seem to live without. 

Remember this, he, like my wife, didn't make us the great people that they must have thought we were, it was that "greatness" that drew them toward us, and us to them. They may have allowed us to grow, become "better", to live in ways never thought possible, but there must have been something there to begin with, yes? I'm saying that you are still the wonderful, beautiful, inspiring women you've always have been, even absent our hearts true love. If  he returned, perhaps in another life, he would still fall for you, because you'd still be you. I'd like to think that if an exact replica of my beloved crossed paths with me, today or next year, she'd still find me as wonderful as she did last month. I'm guilty of thinking this, so I'll say this to you, only in assuming you may also think this, do not stop being the person he loved, regardless of our desire to shut down. He, as my wife would be, above anyone else, would be saddened by our failure to live on. If I were passed on, and I was aware of my wife, still here on earth, stuck in grief and sorrow, I'd weep for her. I'd plead with her to carry on, to find a way, maybe even find happiness again. 

The reality is, our lives will forever be different, changed forever by this singular tragedy. Different, in this case, is because of this loss, but different doesn't have to mean "bad". It's not what either of us asked for or wants, but it's what we have. We can stop, we can remain in this purgatory forever, or we can, little by very little, honor the love we shared, that we still feel, and carry on. Give ourselves a chance. They took a chance on us, and it was amazing, so why not take chances on ourselves? Our partners obviously thought we were worth the risk, so I don't believe that's changed. If I could, I'd hug you, tell you that "it'll be ok", like my wife did me a thousand times before. And if we allow it, allow ourselves time to heal, to manage this grief, things will get better. I really believe that. 

Bless you Sadaf (beautiful name by the way), things will look a little better one day.   

Thank you Andy!  I don't have words to describe you how much your post means to me. It brought tears in my eyes. It's so comforting and bad at the same time that we are here together on the same journey. 

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We felt drawn to each other, I'm not even sure it was a choice but more like a magnet, we felt a connection that was undeniable, the communication so perfect, we could relate to each other, felt the same way about things, but as you said, certain parts of our personalities were so different we complemented one another...we just went together!  We could not deny ourselves each other and why would we want to?!    I've never seen a better relationship than we shared, I feel we were so fortunate.

Correction though, I wouldn't say I am "happy" but I have happy moments...there's a difference.  I think all of us carry around a sadness inside of us, it's part of that "coexisting with our grief" that I've talked about, part of that lost innocence...we can never again take for granted that life will go on the way we have come to believe it will.  For us who have lost the person most integral in our lives, that realization has hit us hard.  That there can be happy moments in anyone's life is undeniable, it is our choice and effort to recognize, embrace them, even look for them.  It is our duty to attempt to if we ever want any kind of quality of life again.

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16 minutes ago, Sadaf Nazim said:

Thank you Andy!  I don't have words to describe you how much your post means to me. It brought tears in my eyes. It's so comforting and bad at the same time that we are here together on the same journey. 

I'm glad you found comfort or meaning in what I've shared, you're very welcome. I must thank you also, for your kind words of encouragement and sharing with me your pain. This grief is a little easier when "shared". It's a hard road we're on, but we aren't alone. Thank you Sadaf

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17 minutes ago, KayC said:

We felt drawn to each other, I'm not even sure it was a choice but more like a magnet, we felt a connection that was undeniable, the communication so perfect, we could relate to each other, felt the same way about things, but as you said, certain parts of our personalities were so different we complemented one another...we just went together!  We could not deny ourselves each other and why would we want to?!    I've never seen a better relationship than we shared, I feel we were so fortunate.

Correction though, I wouldn't say I am "happy" but I have happy moments...there's a difference.  I think all of us carry around a sadness inside of us, it's part of that "coexisting with our grief" that I've talked about, part of that lost innocence...we can never again take for granted that life will go on the way we have come to believe it will.  For us who have lost the person most integral in our lives, that realization has hit us hard.  That there can be happy moments in anyone's life is undeniable, it is our choice and effort to recognize, embrace them, even look for them.  It is our duty to attempt to if we ever want any kind of quality of life again.

You're so right, taking for granted the assurance of tomorrow is a thing of the past. And I will endeavor to find a new state of happiness. I have no idea what that'll look like, not like before, I know, never again like that. But, I will give myself the chance to live again, my daughter will need the full spectrum of my support, so that's motivation enough. I hope there's still some adventure left though, adventure and possibilities. Tracie will be with me always, so whatever adventures I embark on, I'll take her with me, as I've always done. You've inspired me to keep trying, to keep in mind I have others who still depend on me, thank you, you're an honor to your late husband. I know he's proud of your strength and undeniable courage. 

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Andy, Sadaf, KayC----- All of you able to put words out there that I have in my mind but find so hard to express and get out. My thankfulness and appreciation to you all.

Andy, I was also a caregiver to my husband. His care filled my days. I believed in and honored our marriage vows. Which is why I feel so much more lost. He doesn't need me now. I feel like I am grieving double, for my husband's absence and that caregiver role. I had two identities and have lost both. I also feel it was destiny that my husband and I meet and fall in love. I was younger, healthier. The first half of our years were filled with much activity, trips,even though the health issues were there. The second half of our remaining years I became the caregiver. It happened so slowly, I did not fully realize it until the last 5 -6 years.I feel so honored that I was chosen to love and care for such a wonderful man. I would do it all over again in a heart beat.

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I am sure our loved ones found something amazing in us that they chose us to love till their last breath. What an honour it is! And now we have to find within ourselves what that 'amazing thing ' is and live for that. So that when we are reunited with them, they would tell us how proud we made them.

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54 minutes ago, KMB said:

Andy, Sadaf, KayC----- All of you able to put words out there that I have in my mind but find so hard to express and get out. My thankfulness and appreciation to you all.

Andy, I was also a caregiver to my husband. His care filled my days. I believed in and honored our marriage vows. Which is why I feel so much more lost. He doesn't need me now. I feel like I am grieving double, for my husband's absence and that caregiver role. I had two identities and have lost both. I also feel it was destiny that my husband and I meet and fall in love. I was younger, healthier. The first half of our years were filled with much activity, trips,even though the health issues were there. The second half of our remaining years I became the caregiver. It happened so slowly, I did not fully realize it until the last 5 -6 years.I feel so honored that I was chosen to love and care for such a wonderful man. I would do it all over again in a heart beat.

Amazing that two separate relationships, unique from all others, can be so similar in so many ways. Your lives together mirrored ours in what seems like very similar ways. I get that feeling of not only losing my spouse, but losing part of my identity of what I was, my "duty", if you will. There are simply so many layers and dimensions to this sorrow, we'll face the challenge of this the rest of our lives. 

Thank you for allowing my thoughts to comfort you, much as yours have comforted me. 

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14 minutes ago, Sadaf Nazim said:

I am sure our loved ones found something amazing in us that they chose us to love till their last breath. What an honour it is! And now we have to find within ourselves what that 'amazing thing ' is and live for that. So that when we are reunited with them, they would tell us how proud we made them.

They did find us "irresistible", I can't for the life of me figure what my wife saw in me, but thank God she found something there to love. Living an honorable, healthy life with our moral compass generally pointed in the right direction will, I believe, guarantee their pride in us. I think that's all we can ask of one another.

Thank you, and bless you  

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KMB, something I want to add. That notion, that your husband no longer "needs" you, I understand fully the sense of abandonment or maybe it's more a feeling of uselessness? I know what you're saying, though I may not be able to clearly express it. I would like to suggest something, if you would allow me. I think, I believe, they still still have a need that only we can provide. Not the day to day physical ministrations of care, of tending to their illnesses, but rather a need for us to celebrate the life we had together, to try and start living again, to essentially show them that WE were worth living for. They NEED to see us not only survive, but to be alive, to take the strength they helped nurture within ourselves, and live. To take what's left of our lives, and make something worthwhile out of it. I'm only about a month out from my wife's passing, so I'm not so delusional to think I'm going to always have this "sunny outlook". Darkness waits for me, sorrow isn't about to up and leave, but this, this feeling I have, it's real for me, it's how I need things to be. I hope I find this same self assurance in the coming storms, but this is how I believe my wife would want me to be, and if she could, she would say as much. 

So, maybe this way of looking at things will bring you a small measure of comfort, knowing that just because they aren't physically with us, they do in fact, need us so very much.  And in this way, we still get to take care of them, as we always have. 

Hugs and take care. 

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Andy,  Thank you. Some of your words have been in my mind in how to better cope with the uselessness I feel. It is so much easier to see these things when they are in black and white here. I appreciate your ability to put it out there in a way I am unable to.

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27 minutes ago, KMB said:

Andy,  Thank you. Some of your words have been in my mind in how to better cope with the uselessness I feel. It is so much easier to see these things when they are in black and white here. I appreciate your ability to put it out there in a way I am unable to.

Thank you, it's our willingness to share that allows me to conceptualize these complex emotions and feelings. I don't know if what I feel or what I say is "right" or makes sense, but its what I'm seeing as truth. It does make a kind of sense, a kind of expected pattern that I can grab onto and find comfort in. I feel so close to those of you who've reached out, and how is that? I can't "connect" with my wife's family, and very few of my friends. I suppose it's this place only we can stand in. Only we can see what we can see. I sincerely hope that I can bring some light into this place. If you can gather meaning out of my words, than perhaps I am onto something? Perhaps I am sensing the truth. That is a great joy, a great help too me, and I thank you ever so much. Like I said, we aren't alone, we're joined by a common despair, and for whatever reason, I was drawn here. And, I no longer believe in coincidence. 

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Andy,   We are drawn here together to seek solace from others who truly *get* what we are experiencing. We can get some degree of support from family/friends but they did not have the intimacy that we did with our partners. My husband had relationships with family, his friends. But I had the real, intimate relationship on a 24/7 basis. Therefore, us, as spouses/partners are experiencing the degree of pain/loss that no one else can relate with.

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KMB, well said. I couldn't agree more. It's that personal intimacy that's exists at a level only we can understand. No one else can know only what we knew, but that grief we have is as real as any monument, as any dedication, it binds us and is the "cost" of truly being in love. Giving ourselves over completely can exact a terrible price, but it's one I'd gladly pay again. And then again. 

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Andy,  I agree totally. This pain and suffering, missing our partners, is so devastating. I don't think of the future at all. Too overwhelming because I thought I would be going into the future, our retirement years for awhile yet. Our reward for this suffering will be the reunion at the end of our own days.

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My heart breaks for you. I recognize myself in you, so I know the devastation that's been brought down on you and how's it changing your life. Some would say that suffering is its own reward, in that it motivates us to eliminate, or at least mitigate that suffering by moving on. I'm not sure about that, perhaps it's true for some, but I think the suffering is a component of love. Without pain, without eventual loss, how would we ever truly know that what we shared was so incredibly special? We live to our fullest, at least we try, because we all know, that some day, our life will end. Awareness of our mortality compels us to explore, discover, try new things, seek out new experiences, for death is a motivation to live. Without the fear or awareness of death, we'd all live lives without urgency, no cost, no value. My grief and my sorrow is a high and exacting cost for my love, but it's a price that's proportional to the joy and happiness she gave me. In other words, as deep as this anguish goes, so high my love for her soars. I hope this makes sense, I'm sorting this out as I write this, but I "feel" a certain truth to this. 

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Personally, I don't think any of us need to suffer to realize how special our love is.But, suffering ,we are, because we love. I showed my husband on a daily basis how much I loved him by taking care of him. He knew this, also. Shortly before he passed, he told me how grateful he was by my care. He knew I was doing my best. I kept expressing my apologies, wishing that I could do more for him. I also expressed my fear of him leaving me here alone. I regret that now, it was beyond his control. I am more aware of my own mortality now, more than ever. I have never given it too much thought. I am not afraid of death. In fact, when the time comes, I will welcome it. My husband will be waiting with an outstretched hand that I will grab onto and never let go of. In our early years together, my husband first developed his health conditions. We lived life to the fullest we were able, in between both of us working. I sometimes wonder if he had a premonition of what was coming. We crammed a lot of living into those early years. He wanted me to experience so many things with him. Those were the strong, good times. The last 10 years or so was filled with surgeries, doctors, labs, etc. And this is where I am at now. I would not trade all those years for anything. I feel so honored that I was chosen to be the one with him those years.

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6 hours ago, KMB said:

His care filled my days. I believed in and honored our marriage vows. Which is why I feel so much more lost. He doesn't need me now. I feel like I am grieving double, for my husband's absence and that caregiver role. I had two identities and have lost both.

I think that's true when you've been their caregiver...I felt that way when my MIL died, we were so close, she was my best friend (this was many years before I met George) and I took care of her when she was bedridden with cancer nearly three years.  When she died, I was lost, my sense of purpose gone, my best friend gone, I didn't know where to start or turn!

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KayC---So much understanding there with you, I appreciate it. In the early years, my husband would be gone working, 14 to 16 hour days. Come home, eat supper, maybe watch a little tv together and he would fall asleep. Get up at 1 or 2 am and go again. The last 10 years or so, we were together 24/7. Our bond became closer, so did our dependency on each other. I so miss that. It all ended too quickly.

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