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I don't understand what happened


cp9042

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I think I may have stated on here that my husband had Stage IV Pancreatic Cancer.  He was diagnosed in April, 2016.  We went to a very prestigious cancer center, and thought this is it, we can beat this.  But after his first chemotherapy treatment, he was severely dehydrated and was admitted into the hospital.  He almost died at that time.  That is where we found a fantastic oncologist who helped my husband tremendously.  He didn't lie to us, we knew that his cancer was inoperable.  But he did give us a glimmer of hope for time left, something to hold onto.

After each chemo treatment, his numbers began to come down.  Pretty soon we were thinking, will it be better now?  But no, eventually the numbers went up and then we tried a new chemotherapy, which worked for a little bit, then stopped.  In December, they found that the cancer had spread to his bones, and then he took a turn for the worse.  He fell, and ended up in the hospital again.  From there he went to rehab, and was doing really well. 

January 17 he came home, and things were fine for a bit.  Then a week later he was in a lot of pain, we had to get a hospital bed.  One month later he died.  

I just don't understand how he was doing so well, then not.  I had been doing pretty good lately in the grief process, but I guess I wonder what more I could have done, what should they have done.  It just doesn't make sense and it makes me miss him more all the time.

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Paradise Garden

cp9042 - I think we all ask ourselves questions like you are now.  I think it is part of the grieving process. We want to do just about anything to keep our loved ones with us. Sometimes we have good days and others not so good but through it all you do have the memories of your husband, all of the quite moments you had with him, the silly jokes he may have told you, his favorite food etc.  These memories keep them alive in our hearts.  Thank for sharing your feelings knowing you are not alone in your grief.

 

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9 hours ago, cp9042 said:

just don't understand how he was doing so well, then not.  I had been doing pretty good lately in the grief process, but I guess I wonder what more I could have done, what should they have done.  It just doesn't make sense and it makes me miss him more all the time.

I feel you.  My Charles was doing well, or so we thought.  He had his health problem, but we thought we had a handle on them.   He went religiously to doctor's visits, took all his medications ( I made sure he did) and was getting  pretty good reports from this doctors. We were following all the rules and was headed down the right path.   Then that day came, and a massive heart attack took him right before my eyes, in a blink of an eye.  Talk about shock - hell, if I'm honest about it, I'm still in shock.  I just can't believe it - it just doesn't seem real - just doesn't make any sense. 

Miss his, for me, that's an understatement.  I never ever pictured my life without my husband, and being a widow; that just never entered into my mind.  That was somewhere down the road, or so I thought.   I always thought I was pretty independent.... I was wrong!  Not a day goes by that I don't need him. Miss him. Want him. So often I feel so lost and I don't know what to do anymore.   I hate the fact that I won't see him again (not on this earth). I hate that lump I get in my throat when I try to hold back the tears; I hate that sick feeling that is constantly with me that won't go away; I hate that my heart has been ripped from my chest.  I hate that everything is wrong and nothing is right; I hate that he is there and I am here.

I am thankful to God for bringing Charles into my life, and will treasure every memory always.  I just wish I knew how to live my life without him. I'm finding myself crying more often than I don't. Everything reminds me of him.  I'm feeling a tsunami coming on, so please pardon me while I end this post.    God bless you.

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9 hours ago, cp9042 said:

I think I may have stated on here that my husband had Stage IV Pancreatic Cancer.  He was diagnosed in April, 2016.  We went to a very prestigious cancer center, and thought this is it, we can beat this.  But after his first chemotherapy treatment, he was severely dehydrated and was admitted into the hospital.  He almost died at that time.  That is where we found a fantastic oncologist who helped my husband tremendously.  He didn't lie to us, we knew that his cancer was inoperable.  But he did give us a glimmer of hope for time left, something to hold onto.

After each chemo treatment, his numbers began to come down.  Pretty soon we were thinking, will it be better now?  But no, eventually the numbers went up and then we tried a new chemotherapy, which worked for a little bit, then stopped.  In December, they found that the cancer had spread to his bones, and then he took a turn for the worse.  He fell, and ended up in the hospital again.  From there he went to rehab, and was doing really well. 

January 17 he came home, and things were fine for a bit.  Then a week later he was in a lot of pain, we had to get a hospital bed.  One month later he died.  

I just don't understand how he was doing so well, then not.  I had been doing pretty good lately in the grief process, but I guess I wonder what more I could have done, what should they have done.  It just doesn't make sense and it makes me miss him more all the time.

I think this troubles all of us here, at one time or another, to one degree or another. Second guessing, playing "what if?"  We all do it, it's not necessarily intentional, it just comes with the territory. I had to make myself stop going over those type questions, it was getting to the point where I couldn't think about anything else. It didn't serve any purpose, all the knowledge and answers in the world won't bring her back, so I had to end. We like to have answers, things need to make sense, there must be a reason. There indeed may be an answer, but chances are just as good that we won't get one. As I had to tell my daughter about the passing of her mom, my wife, "sometimes, things don't make sense. Sometimes, good people pass away and that's it. Sometimes, there simply isn't anything that can be done". There's nothing you could've done more than you did, you cared the best you could, you loved him with all of your heart, your soul, every bit of who you are. And that, cp9042, is all any of us can do. 

I hope you find some peace and comfort in this time of heightened sorrow, please take care and be safe,

Andy

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4 minutes ago, Francine said:

I feel you.  My Charles was doing well, or so we thought.  He had his health problem, but we thought we had a handle on them.   He went religiously to doctor's visits, took all his medications ( I made sure he did) and was getting  pretty good reports from this doctors. We were following all the rules and was headed down the right path.   Then that day came, and a massive heart attack took him right before my eyes, in a blink of an eye.  Talk about shock - hell, if I'm honest about it, I'm still in shock.  I just can't believe it - it just doesn't seem real - just doesn't make any sense. 

Miss his, for me, that's an understatement.  I never ever pictured my life without my husband, and being a widow; that just never entered into my mind.  That was somewhere down the road, or so I thought.   I always thought I was pretty independent.... I was wrong!  Not a day goes by that I don't need him. Miss him. Want him. So often I feel so lost and I don't know what to do anymore.   I hate the fact that I won't see him again (not on this earth). I hate that lump I get in my throat when I try to hold back the tears; I hate that sick feeling that is constantly with me that won't go away; I hate that my heart has been ripped from my chest.  I hate that everything is wrong and nothing is right; I hate that he is there and I am here.

I am thankful to God for bringing Charles into my life, and will treasure every memory always.  I just wish I knew how to live my life without him. I'm finding myself crying more often than I don't. Everything reminds me of him.  I'm feeling a tsunami coming on, so please pardon me while I end this post.    God bless you.

Francine, hang in there. I'm thinking about you, wrapping my old, ancient arms around you. It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay. 

Love and peace, 

Andy

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Thanks Andy,

I've gotta believe that it will be OK - if I'm to survive this. But it's so damn hard to just function sometimes.   Kind of feeling pretty low right now (as you probably can tell)  This too shall pass (I hope) and I believe when I'm down to nothing, God is up to something. 

Got a call from the cemetery today informing me that Charles' gravestone had arrived and was laid.  Neither Charles nor myself were strong believers in visiting cemeteries because we felt the person we knew and loved was not there - only the shell that housed them.   If the truth be told, Charles' gravesite is the only one I've ever been back to visit.- maybe for my children sake - who knows.  On Father's Day, I plan on going again to see his gravestone (actually our gravestone).  I order a dual gravestone so when my time comes, I'll be laid right next to my Charles - the way I'm feeling now, that couldn't be soon enough.  Guess the *grief* monster is back doing what it does best - making me miserable.  Pray for me, for us all.

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11 hours ago, cp9042 said:

 I just don't understand how he was doing so well, then not.  I had been doing pretty good lately in the grief process, but I guess I wonder what more I could have done, what should they have done.  It just doesn't make sense and it makes me miss him more all the time.

I know exactly how you feel. I have been struggling with these same thoughts and questions. My Lily was diagnosed and had surgery and chemo. They said she was in remission after all that and she was doing so well. She went for her follow up appointments and everything was great. She felt great and so happy each time she got the all clear from her doctors. But then a few months later, she started having abdominal pain but the doctors kept saying she was fine. Then bang! They found the cancer was back. They said it was too aggressive, no treatment, nothing they could do. She didn't want to give up. She wanted to try something else. Her family said no. Accept God's will. It kills me just thinking about it. How could you tell someone who had faith and hope that there may have been a chance at a highly regarded institute, someone who wanted to fight, how can you tell them no. Accept your fate, give up. And all because you didn't want to face the tough road ahead when she's the one ready and willing to go down that road. I would have done everything and anything for her. She always said it was me and her. We didn't need anyone else. I so wish we never called her family when we did. What if we had waited until she started treatment and had given it a chance to work. Maybe it wouldn't have but I'll never know and that makes accepting her death so hard. 

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Thank you for all your heartfelt words.  Francine, I am sorry the "grief" monster is back again for you.  Prayers and hugs.

Andy, I know what you are saying is so true.  Sometimes there is no good reason why people pass away.  I just have to get through this and remember him in our good times.

Lulu, I know how you feel.  My husband had decided not to do anymore treatments after the cancer had spread through his body.  He wanted his last days without chemo. But it was not easy to go through.  And he was at home when he passed, which we had discussed in advance.  But no matter how much you talk to your loved one about the final outcome, when it happens, it is very hard to deal with.  The loved ones left are the people who keep suffering.  But  even though we continue to grieve, we have found a place here to share it with others who can understand and know what all of us are going through.  

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The "what ifs" are very much a part of our grief process.  It's as if we're trying to find a different possible outcome, rewrite the ending, but try as we might, nothing changes it and sometimes we get no answers.  Some people have searched for "closure"...I have never seen that there is such a thing in regards to grief.  It's ongoing, and there is but to find our way through it.  We all loved our spouse, would have done anything for them.  I'm hoping no one here accepts "blame" for their loved one's death, because to do so would be misplaced, although FEELING guilt is common in grief.  The truth is, the medical experts are the ones trained to deal with the various medical afflictions and conditions, and if THEY couldn't come up with better outcome, how could we be expected to?  You'd think the great love we have would be enough to fix anything, but alas it is no cure for physical situations we find ourselves dealing with.  If love alone could cure, we all would have no need of this forum.

Thank God we have each other here, people who understand and share in this experience.

 

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12 hours ago, Francine said:

Got a call from the cemetery today informing me that Charles' gravestone had arrived and was laid.  Neither Charles nor myself were strong believers in visiting cemeteries because we felt the person we knew and loved was not there - only the shell that housed them.   If the truth be told, Charles' gravesite is the only one I've ever been back to visit.- maybe for my children sake - who knows.  On Father's Day, I plan on going again to see his gravestone (actually our gravestone).  I order a dual gravestone so when my time comes, I'll be laid right next to my Charles - the way I'm feeling now, that couldn't be soon enough.  Guess the *grief* monster is back doing what it does best - making me miserable.  Pray for me, for us all.

Francine, I'm glad they finally have the gravestone in place, but I'm so sorry the grief monster is visiting.  I understand that all too well.  It does get better, I promise you, only I can't say when.

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Second guessing is one of the biggest for me. I suspect I will never truly get over that no matter how far down the road I get and no matter how much my logic tells me differently. The last week before Lori's heart attack plays in my mind on repeat. Then there's the last few minutes. THAT'S the thought that usually KO's me for a while. 

Francine, I'm sorry you are so low lately. I'm praying for your comfort and peace to endure this. The shock of the sudden loss to a heart attack is really really hard and something I know all too well. We envisioned that our lives with Charles and Lori would keep on going. We never thought that it would end(even as temporal as we humans are). I know I sure didn't. After 9 weeks I feel like I may be moving into a new, even more sinister, phase of grief. The one where I wake up and think I am doing pretty well then BAM! There's the despair again kicking me in the teeth. For the past two months, at least I knew where the monster was. He was always right there like the proverbial monkey on my back. Now he's not always in my field of vision. But I know he's lurking. Ready to pounce at a moments notice and and of nowhere. Not sure if he's hanging around for five minutes or the rest of the day. 

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KayC - thanks for always being that angel that comes just when you need them - and I've needed you quite often

co904 - thanks for the prayers and hugs - keep sending them - they're always wanted and needed

Eagle-66 - the grief monster is not as prevalent today as it has been; but like you said, it's lurking.  I stopped looking for monsters under my bed a long time ago when I was a child; I out grew them; I learned that I could handle them; and handled them I did.  I realized there all kinds of monsters; but this grief monster is something entirely new to me - I don't know how to tackle it; exactly how to fight it or if I can.  I don't know if I should just let it have its way with me and after its done, try to put the pieces back together?  Completely lost, frightened and sad.  :(

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Dearest Francine - I am really sorry to hear you're so low.  I wonder if instead of thinking of the grief monster, Would it help if you think of this low as one of those waves, a tidal wave even - it will soon break and smooth out again.  You've bravely surfed other big waves over the past few months and survived.  And you can and will do so again.  I learnt those words from you :) I hope we here, your big grief family, can bring you some comfort. You know we understand your pain and our hearts ache for you. 

Particular words commonly associated with grief that I often use have been getting on my wick lately and I've struggled to use them.  ie 'journey'. Journey is such a beautiful word, full of exciting anticipation of travelling to a fun destination.  I'm even struggling to use the word 'path' and 'track' is out too as I love being on tracks around our coast and in beautiful native forests.  Twisted, pot hole ridden, road and powerful big waves are it for me at the moment. 

Sending you strength , love and lots of hugs Xx

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32 minutes ago, M88 said:

I wonder if instead of thinking of the grief monster, Would it help if you think of this low as one of those waves, a tidal wave even - it will soon break and smooth out again.  You've bravely surfed other big waves over the past few months and survived.  And you can and will do so again.

Thanks - you're probably right.  Sometimes I feel I don't have anything left inside me to ride the wave and waiting for it to break is just so darn hard.  If I can be certain that it would smooth out in a day or two or perhaps a week; maybe I can last; but where I am now, I feel I'm sinking fast. My trust in God and prayer have bought me through this before, and will bring me through again; I've pretty much done all I can, and I know that God will carry me the rest of the way, so I'm pretty comfortable with that.   Holding tight to my faith is all I have left.   Thanks again -  your words truly lifted me from that dark place I was in.

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KayC,

11 hours ago, KayC said:

 You'd think the great love we have would be enough to fix anything, but alas it is no cure for physical situations we find ourselves dealing with.  If love alone could cure,

I believed in my fairy tale relationship with my husband. I always thought of the cliche *Love conquers all*. After my husband crossed over, I hated that cliche for the obvious reasons. All the praying, loving and caregiving didn't conquer after all. But lately, even though I'm hurting, missing my husband constantly, I have that belief that I will be reunited with him someday. I've gone back to that belief that *love conquers all*. The love bond will always be there. Love will reunite us.

Francine, Keep praying and I am praying for you and for all of us. I see that you are in the lows again. The previous week was filled with lows for me. I haven't been on an actual roller coaster since I was a teenager. Being on this grief journey has me convinced i will never get on a real one. (HUGS TO ALL)

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On 6/1/2017 at 10:13 PM, Francine said:

Guess the *grief* monster is back doing what it does best - making me miserable.  Pray for me, for us al

Thinking of you Francine. You are always such an inspiration to us all. I hope we can also give you back some of the strength you have given us. It is so hard. It is a monster. I hope today brings you some peace.   Prayers and hugs!

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17 hours ago, M88 said:

Journey is such a beautiful word, full of exciting anticipation of travelling to a fun destination.

Not necessarily.  Journey: an act of traveling from one place to another.  We are doing that.  But I have learned that although this "journey" starts out in immense pain, there has been some good along the way.  The silver linings I talked about in another thread...learning to live in the present, fully appreciate what is rather than merely lamenting what isn't, developing compassion more fully, understanding how others feel, learning what to say/what not to say, learning you're stronger than you ever realized, learning just how resilient our human bodies can be, learning self-care and to value one's self, the power of choice.  The list can go on and on.  And it all seems to involve learning.  I've learned more on this journey than I have in the rest of my life put together.

My sister and I were talking about a movie yesterday, involving choosing whether or not you could have painful memories removed.  The Register Guard newspaper had an article this week talking about how in Canada they have developed that ability.  My sister asked if I would choose to have that done if I could.  It didn't take me time to think to answer back a quick NO!  I would not want to erase any memory in conjunction with George, even a painful one, not if it involved connection with him.  Besides, I am who I am due to all I have been through.  If I erased the painful memories, it would very much affect the outcome of who I have become.

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13 hours ago, KMB said:

I believed in my fairy tale relationship with my husband. I always thought of the cliche *Love conquers all*. After my husband crossed over, I hated that cliche for the obvious reasons. All the praying, loving and caregiving didn't conquer after all. But lately, even though I'm hurting, missing my husband constantly, I have that belief that I will be reunited with him someday. I've gone back to that belief that *love conquers all*. The love bond will always be there. Love will reunite us.

I guess it really is in how we look at it.  In the sense that our love continues still and we will be together again, love does conquer.  But if you're just looking at their physical affliction, love wasn't able to stop their death. 

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17 hours ago, Francine said:

Sometimes I feel I don't have anything left inside me to ride the wave and waiting for it to break is just so darn hard.  If I can be certain that it would smooth out in a day or two or perhaps a week; maybe I can last; but where I am now, I feel I'm sinking fast. 

When we ride the wave, we are not fighting against it, we are not changing it, we are letting it take us where it will, going with the flow.  We allow our tears to fall, we feel our pain, and as we process this immense thing called grief, little by little, it loosens its hold and diminishes, so small as to seem indiscernible, but nonetheless it begins to happen, we adjust, we learn to cope...none of this happens overnight, not in a week, not in a year, but it happens.  Our faith carries us, even when we cannot see it.

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Thanks to all of you for your encouraging responses.  I'm not feeling this *grief* thing at all; it appears that my world sometimes spins out of control.  It's almost as if life is moving forward yet I'm stuck in the moment my Charles left this earth.  The very worst part is that I have no control over it.  My Charles would always say if you can't control what is happening in our life, challenge yourself to respond to what's happening.  That is where our power lies.  It seems my only option is to feel it when it comes and let it go when I can.  Thanks again to all of you - I really appreciate you all.

 

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Death is a great teacher of just how little control we have in life.  I do like your Charle's quote, Francine.  I shall keep it handy. 

Sending strength, love and hugs to all. X

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M88,

Do you live at the coast?  Beautiful!

Francine,

I think we've all felt like that.  Keep it flowing as you can.

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M88  -  Wow!  Oh My God - Simply beautiful.  Wish I was there.  I reside in a large major city and don't get the chance to see such beauty.  It is so calming; surreal and peaceful just from the picture; I only can imagine the feeling when you're up and personal.  Nature is God's art - and it is not only breathtaking, it is free.  God gave us eyes to see the beauty in this world despite the pain we may feel in our hearts.  Thanks for sharing!

KayC -  I'll try but sometimes....... I don't know.  Keep me uplifted.

 

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On 6/3/2017 at 11:38 AM, Francine said:

Thanks to all of you for your encouraging responses.  I'm not feeling this *grief* thing at all; it appears that my world sometimes spins out of control.  It's almost as if life is moving forward yet I'm stuck in the moment my Charles left this earth.  The very worst part is that I have no control over it.  My Charles would always say if you can't control what is happening in our life, challenge yourself to respond to what's happening.  That is where our power lies.  It seems my only option is to feel it when it comes and let it go when I can.  Thanks again to all of you - I really appreciate you all.

 

Very wise words from Charles. It is true that we cannot control what is happening. We only have control over how we react to the situation. When we don't know how to react, we give it to God and ask him to provide the light for our path. Peace and comfort to you Francine.

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I'm so pleased you like the pic, Francine because I took it especially for you :)  If you read my other thread you'll know that I raced to the beach in hope of capturing the most glorious double rainbow that I've ever seen.  I would have had to go up the hill in a different direction to capture them as a whole but there was no time to go there.  It had mostly faded by the time I got on the beach but once I saw those waves I knew I had to capture them for you.  The moody light from the storm was a bonus.  Nature is Gods art - I like that.  If you'd like a full resolution copy pm me with your email address. 

Yes, Kayc, the ocean is at the end of our street and is a big part of our reasoning for moving to this wee town.  I couldn't go there for many months.  Slowly but surely I'm getting back into going down more often.  Gerry & I used to become childish when there together, writing lovey dovey messages in the sand.  All our grandies had their first swim in an ocean there and loved writing messages in the sand too. 

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I think the ocean brings out the best in us, yes even the children in us.  George and I honeymooned at the ocean and spent every anniversary there.  I wish I could go there more often.

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5 hours ago, M88 said:

Gerry & I used to become childish when there together, writing lovey dovey messages in the sand.  All our grandies had their first swim in an ocean there and loved writing messages in the sand too. 

 

That is so sweet, it makes me cry.  I wish Charles and I had such beauty outside our house or down the street - we would've have camped out there. :D Charles and I had our *lovey/dovey* moment as well - nothing as beautiful as your location - but they were special to us and I treasure them in my heart always.

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