partner I Suddenly Lost My Partner Just 2 Hours After Speaking With Her

[MumbleBear]

I have decided to find ways to cope and walk through grief through the help of close friends and my late-partner's family, and now here, as I know that I'm not the only person in this world who has experienced loss of a loved one out of the blue to medical incidents that no one was expecting. I am a writer and talk incessantly to unwind and cope. This is an ode to my love and to remember her legacy. And to show that grief is not about getting over it, it is getting through it, slowly, surely and steadily.

Last Sunday, the 2nd of September 2018, I lost my beautiful K to a ruptured intracranial aneurysm. She was only 27 years old. K was Scottish. I am English/British. We lived at least 3 hours apart. And we were engaged.

My K was a kindred and forever-loving young woman, and her acts of kindness, selflessness, altruism, unconditional love and care were her greatest aspects. K touched the souls and reached out to many whom she met. Befriended everyone and anyone apart from "the bully", whom she'd swiftly deal with as she wouldn't stand for such things. K was very talented in other forms too: she was a musician, artist, poet and a keen baker, just like myself (apart from the baking). A flower child dancing in and amongst the stars. And that's how I fell for her: her singing. Yes, she was gorgeous, a beautiful redhead Highland beauty - straight out of Outlander (her favourite show, for she was a proud Scotswoman) - but it was her singing I fell hard for. A schoolboy crush. My K would often sing to me, play piano, guitar or the ukulele. We'd sing together, listen and learn songs. My K filled me with such inspiration that I told her I started writing poetry again, and that I'd take up playing the piano again. How she was so delighted to hear!

And so, for the past week, K had just started teaching again, and workload was heavy as she was the most qualified to deal with special needs kids. Her hypothyroidism was also playing up, leaving her extremely fatigued, no matter how often she napped or long she slept. K made an appointment to see the doctors for the following week to get her levels checked, as hers always needed different dosages. Most and foremost, what plagued my love's heart and mind, was the fact that she had recently miscarried. Long story short, she was a surrogate for a childhood friend. I knew my K longed for motherhood. She loved kids and always had her charming and fun ways to keep them at bay. The kids at her school loved her. "Miss O! Miss O!" they'd chirp. We did everything we could to keep her healthy and at ease. Her nausea riddled her and her fatigue weighed her down. When we had learned that she had miscarried, I knew my K's heart shattered into pieces. Her guilt ate her up. It haunted her. It pained her. I felt the pain in her heart and I held and carried her through to the best of my ability. But my K never liked anyone to worry about her, nor did she want people thinking she was weak or a "Debbie Downer". So she internalised it and never truly spoke to me about her grievance. It was only until recently that K began sharing her pains with a close friend who went through the same ordeal.

My K's demons did not finish there. My love had also had a tough ordeal growing up and fights with her father, and she had a string of abusive relationships, and held the weight of sexual abuse, which she unfortunately became pregnant by and had to abort the child due to circumstances. Her innocence and 20s were stripped from her before I had met her. My love was cautious and never quick to delve into things, which I admired greatly. My lass had a brain on her shoulders. When I met her, her walls were high around her heart. And all these things left K internalising her pain. Only until she cracked, did she ever confide and seek comfort from me. But she knew I loved her. Regardless of her wrongs and past. I saw past it. I saw my K and just her alone. I loved and cared for unconditionally, much the way she did for me. And that soothed and healed her, knowing such a big heart much like hers, was there for her. K was on the path to recovery this summer, slowly but surely with the help of me, our friend and her family.

I retraced my K's last steps, remembering how tired she was, and that whenever she slept, whether after work or early for bed, she woke up heavy. K also complained of headaches, but thought they were just brought on by fatigue. We didn't even think of her blood pressure.

On the Saturday, K lost her cousin to a drug-drive accident. It added to the weight. I comforted and held her. I sent her my blessings and thoughts. I am not a religious man, but I am surely spiritual, and that even spoken word to the universe, someone is always and certainly listening. K said she felt guilty for all the years she held a grudge against her cousin, for he bullied her throughout. I told her he would have forgiven her in peace. It soothed and humbled her, but I knew that was just the surface of it. We got through the day through distractions, and it calmed her weary mind and heart.

On Sunday, K woke up tired as usual and neither of us thought much of it. Or what I could see and tell from. She made breakfast and got dressed, seeming fine. K was going to a baby reveal party of a childhood friend's later in the day, so we sat down together and watched some YouTube videos to start our day with laughter. Around 4-5pm, I reminded K she'd have to get ready soon otherwise she'd be late. She joked "I know I have to get ready, I don't just magically appear", to which I replied "I always thought you did!". We laughed. My love kissed me sweetly as she put on a red flannel top and some leggings. I told her "Give me a twirl!" and she smiled delightfully and did so. My K was so proud of our relationship, that in any given chance to whatever reminded me of her, she'd share and gush. It never came off as boasting or gloating, she was simply just proud of and full from her relationship. She was happy to know she was loved, respected and appreciated by a man who loved and adored her, saw her imperfections as perfections. K's heart beat full. And so did her family's in knowing that she had finally been healed and loved the way she deserved.

K said she was off to her friend's, kissed me goodbye and would text me when she arrived. She got there fine and enjoyed the celebration. But in my mind, in hindsight now, I knew it was deeply bittersweet for her. As I said, K longed for motherhood, and the miscarriage left a deep and burning scar with being so recent. K messaged me about 7pm, telling me "Okay darling, I'm going to drive home now Xxx Love you". I replied and said I'd see her soon. She must've been 30 minutes away at least. But time went on, and I began to worry where she was. I thought maybe she decided to just have a snooze as soon as she touched her sofa. It'd be some time before she'll wake up, I thought. So I waited while I talked to our friend. Hours passed and it was now 3am. K usually woke up to go to the loo, but I heard nothing. Perhaps she was out cold, I thought. She'll definitely message me in the morning before work. Nothing. Maybe she's late, I reasoned. She'll message me at lunch time, I'm sure. But I had something telling me all night that something didn't spell right...

Around 1pm, I decided to contact her sister, in case she had heard anything. Half way through, I received the devastating news. My K had suffered a ruptured intracranial aneurysm (possibly due to high blood pressure - a common ailment in her family) and fell unconscious at the wheel (luckily on a calm street, thank God). A woman behind her saw and quickly pulled over to investigate, and immediately called 999. K passed on her way to the hospital. She had no one to fight her corner to what might've potentially saved her. The doctors had told my partner's family she would have needed surgery, but didn't proceed because it was "too risky". I disagreed with their decision, as my grandma (74yrs old) suffered the exact same thing, and she survived. She is fit and healthy still to this day.

The worst thing a person who is grieving, is search for questions and answers, things that "could have been" and "what ifs". I can't lie and say that I haven't been doing it, even when I cry and mourn for her still. I almost fell to my knees when I heard my beloved had passed. This was a nightmare that I wanted to wake up from. And still to this day, I cry and wish.

I've been going through the big stages of grief, but I want to tell you that it ebbs and flows, some people cope better, others do not. I am the latter. You fall back a few steps, but then you continue forward. And it will happen constantly until you are fully healed. It will take time, friends.

K was cremated on Friday 7th of September at 8pm, and her ashes were scattered atop of Castle Ewen in Fairy Glen, Scotland, yesterday, the 9th. I was pained that I couldn't make her service and be there for her family with circumstances, but I wrote an eulogy poem honouring her legacy for her eldest sister to read at her remembrance. Her sister had one piece of feedback, for she recently learned how deeply in love K and I were, talking of elopement/marriage, starting a family and so forth. She asked: "I would like to change K's last name to yours, if that's alright with you". I felt K's spirit gush with joy and giddiness alongside mine. Her tears streaming down her cheeks. We received her family's blessings, and had now, honouring our deepest wishes, wed us as her ashes were scattered. My heart is full but heavy. Happy but aching as I still long for her to be with me. How I longed to be married to my K. It was all we ever wanted. And through her family, we were given it. There is some peace in my heavy and aching heart.

I must admit that today I am still coping, I am still hurting, I am still crying, but crying and talking will help cleanse and heal the soul with time. Yes, my heart, body and soul long for its lover, its mate. But my mind knows to accept what has happened, and rather than submit to my forward thoughts, I'm seeking support through the aide of close friends and my late-wife's family, and sharing her legacy, remembering all that she stood for. My beautiful K was a "rare one indeed", a saying she'd always describe me as.

Grief is not how fast you get over it, it's about taking the time to process and heal, surrounding yourself with trusted friends and family, who will love, comfort and support you through. It ebbs and flows, and it is the nature of grief. But do not get lost in grief, friends, don't let it swallow you up with your guilt or what you could've done. Things are just unknown and unseen to us, and we only become aware of it up until after. Don't feel like you're a burden if you need to talk to someone close and trusted, it could be anyone: therapists, support groups, friends and family... anyone. My mantra has always been: do not allow yourself to suffer alone. And I give this passage to anyone that's grieving right now. No one should ever have to suffer alone.

Thank you for taking the time to read my experience of loss of a loved one. I hope it reassures you that you are not alone, even though we may feel it to be so. Like we are lost and helpless, and that no one could ever understand. But when times like that fall upon you, take a minute to breathe as you cry, let yourself mourn and find comfort in close friends and family. Take everything slowly and steadily, remember to breathe, hydrate and at least try and eat. Remember to talk about the good things your loved one did, remember their legacy they gave you. Take everything as you grieve slowly, and as my beautiful wife K would always tell me in my darkest hours, "Take one step at a time".

All my blessings, thoughts and prayers to everyone.

- M.

[KayC]

55 minutes ago, MumbleBear said:

I have decided to find ways to cope and walk through grief through the help of close friends and my late-partner's family, and now here, as I know that I'm not the only person in this world who has experienced loss of a loved one out of the blue to medical incidents that no one was expecting. I am a writer and talk incessantly to unwind and cope. This is an ode to my love and remember her legacy. And to show that grief is not about getting over it, it is getting through it, slowly, surely and steadily.

Last Sunday, the 2nd of September 2018, I lost my beautiful K to a ruptured intracranial aneurysm. She was only 27 years old. K was Scottish. I am English/British. We lived at least 3 hours apart. And we were engaged.

My K was a kindred and forever-loving young woman, and her acts of kindness, selflessness, altruism, unconditional love and care were her greatest aspects. K touched the souls and reached out to many whom she met. Befriended everyone and anyone apart from "the bully", whom she'd swiftly deal with as she wouldn't stand for such things. K was very talented in other forms too: she was a musician, artist, poet and a keen baker, just like myself (apart from the baking). A flower child dancing in and amongst the stars. And that's how I fell for her: her singing. Yes, she was gorgeous, a beautiful redhead Highland beauty - straight out of Outlander (her favourite show, for she was a proud Scotswoman) - but it was her singing I fell hard for. A schoolboy crush. My K would often sing to me, play piano, guitar or the ukulele. We'd sing together, listen and learn songs. My K filled me with such inspiration that I told her I started writing poetry again, and that I'd take up playing the piano again. How she was so delighted to hear!

And so, for the past week, K had just started teaching again, and workload was heavy as she was the most qualified to deal with special needs kids. Her hypothyroidism was also playing up, leaving her extremely fatigued, no matter how often she napped or long she slept. K made an appointment to see the doctors for the following week to get her levels checked, as hers always needed different dosages. Most and foremost, what plagued my love's heart and mind, was the fact that she had recently miscarried. Long story short, she was a surrogate for a childhood friend. I knew my K longed for motherhood. She loved kids and always had her charming and fun ways to keep them at bay. The kids at her school loved her. "Miss O! Miss O!" they'd chirp. We did everything we could to keep her healthy and at ease. Her nausea riddled her and her fatigue weighed her down. When we had learned that she had miscarried, I knew my K's heart shattered into pieces. Her guilt ate her up. It haunted her. It pained her. I felt the pain in her heart and I held and carried her through to the best of my ability. But my K never liked anyone to worry about her, nor did she want people thinking she was weak or a "Debbie Downer". So she internalised it and never truly spoke to me about her grievance. It was only until recently that K began sharing her pains with a close friend who went through the same ordeal.

My K's demons did not finish there. My love had also had a tough ordeal growing up and fights with her father, and she had a string of abusive relationships, and held the weight of sexual abuse, which she unfortunately became pregnant by and had to abort the child due to circumstances. Her innocence and 20s were stripped from her before I had met her. My love was cautious and never quick to delve into things, which I admired greatly. My lass had a brain on her shoulders. When I met her, her walls were high around her heart. And all these things left K internalising her pain. Only until she cracked, did she ever confide and seek comfort from me. But she knew I loved her. Regardless of her wrongs and past. I saw past it. I saw my K and just her alone. I loved and cared for unconditionally, much the way she did for me. And that soothed and healed her, knowing such a big heart much like hers, was there for her. K was on the path to recovery this summer, slowly but surely with the help of me, our friend and her family.

I retraced my K's last steps, remembering how tired she was, and that whenever she slept, whether after work or early for bed, she woke up heavy. K also complained of headaches, but thought they were just brought on by fatigue. We didn't even think of her blood pressure.

On the Saturday, K lost her cousin to a drug-drive accident. It added to the weight. I comforted and held her. I sent her my blessings and thoughts. I am not a religious man, but I am surely spiritual, and that even spoken word to the universe, someone is always and certainly listening. K said she felt guilty for all the years she held a grudge against her cousin, for her bullied her throughout. I told her he would have forgiven her in peace. It soothed and humbled her, but I knew it was just the surface. We got through the day through distractions, and it calmed her weary mind and heart.

On Sunday, K woke up tired as usual and neither of us thought much of it. Or what I could see and tell from. She made breakfast and got dressed, seeming fine. K was going to a baby reveal party of a childhood friend's later in the day, so we sat down together and watched some YouTube videos to start our day with laughter. Around 4-5pm, I reminded K she'd have to get ready soon otherwise she'd be late. She joked "I know I have to get ready, I don't just magically appear", to which I replied "I always thought you did!". We laughed. My love kissed me sweetly as she put on a red flannel top and some leggings. I told her "Give me a twirl!" and she smiled delightfully and did so. My K was so proud of our relationship, that in any given chance to whatever reminded me of her, she'd share and gush. It never came off as boasting or gloating, she was simply just proud of and full from her relationship. She was happy to know she was loved, respected and appreciated by a man who loved and adored her, saw her imperfections as perfections. K's heart beat full. And so did her family in knowing that she had finally been healed and loved the way she deserved.

K said she was off to her friend's, kissed me goodbye and would text me when she arrived. She got there fine and enjoyed the celebration. But in my mind, in hindsight now, I knew it was deeply bittersweet for her. As I said, K longed for motherhood, and the miscarriage left a deep and burning scar with being so recent. K messaged me about 7pm, telling me "Okay darling, I'm going to drive home now Xxx Love you". I replied and said I'd see her soon. She must've been 30 minutes away at least. But time went on, and I began to worry where she was. I thought maybe she decided to just have a snooze as soon as she touched her sofa. It'd be some time before she'll wake up, I thought. So I waited while I talked to our friend. Hours passed and it was now 3am. K usually woke up to go to the loo, but I heard nothing. Perhaps she was out cold, I thought. She'll definitely message me in the morning before work. Nothing. Maybe she's late, I reasoned. She'll message me at lunch time, I'm sure. I had something telling me all night that something didn't spell right...

Around 1pm, I decided to contact her sister, in case she had heard anything. Half way through, I received the devastating news. My K had suffered a ruptured intracranial aneurysm (possibly due to high blood pressure - a common ailment in her family) and fell unconscious at the wheel (luckily on a calm street, thank God). A woman behind her saw and quickly pulled over to investigate, and immediately called 999. K passed on her way to the hospital. She had no one to fight her corner to what might've potentially saved her. The doctors had told my partner's family she would have needed surgery. And the worst thing a person who is grieving, is search for questions and answers, things that "could have been" and "what ifs". I can't lie and say that I have been doing it, even when I cry and mourn for her still. I almost fell to my knees when I heard my beloved had passed. This was a nightmare that I wanted to wake up from. And still to this day, I cry and wish.

I've been going through the big stages of grief, but I want to tell you that it ebbs and flows, some people cope better others do not. I am the latter. You fall back a few steps, but then you continue forward. And it will happen constantly until you are fully healed. It will take time, friends.

K was cremated on Friday 7th of September at 8pm, and her ashes were scattered atop of Castle Ewen in Fairy Glen, Scotland, yesterday, the 9th. I was pained that I couldn't make her service and be there for her family with circumstances, but I wrote an eulogy poem honouring her legacy for her eldest sister to read at her remembrance. Her sister had one piece of feedback, for she recently learned how deeply in love K and I were, talking of elopement/marriage, starting a family and so forth. She asked: "I would like to change K's last name to yours, if that's ok with you". I felt K's spirit gush with joy and giddiness alongside mine. Her tears streaming down her cheeks. We received her family's blessings, and had now, honouring our deepest wishes, wed us as her ashes were scattered. My heart is full but heavy. Happy but hurt as I still long for her to be with me. How I longed to be married to my K. It was all we ever wanted. And through her family, we were given it. There is some peace in my heavy and aching heart.

I must admit that today I am still coping, I am still hurting, I am still crying, but crying and talking will help cleanse and heal the soul with time. Yes, my heart, body and soul long for its lover, its mate. But my mind knows to accept what has happened, and rather than submit to my forward thoughts, I'm seeking support through the aide of close friends and my late-wife's family, and sharing her legacy, remembering all that she stood for. My beautiful K was a "rare one indeed", a saying she'd always describe me as.

Grief is not how fast you get over it, it's about taking the time to process and heal, surrounding yourself with trusted friends and family, who will love, comfort and support you through. It ebbs and flows, and it is the nature of grief. But do not get lost in grief, friends, don't let it swallow you up with your guilt or what you could've done. Things are just unknown and unseen to us, and we only become aware of it up until after. Don't feel like you're a burden if you need to talk to someone close and trusted, it could be anyone: therapists, support groups, friends and family... anyone. My mantra has always been: do not allow yourself to suffer alone. And I give this passage to anyone that's grieving right now. No one should ever have to suffer alone.

Thank you for taking the time to read my experience of loss of a loved one. I hope it reassures you that you are not alone, even though we may feel it to be so. Like we are lost and helpless, and that no one could ever understand. But when times like that fall upon you, take a minute to breathe as you cry, let yourself mourn and find comfort in close friends and family. Take everything slowly and steadily, remember to breathe, hydrate and at least try and eat. Remember to talk about the good things your loved one did, remember their legacy they gave you. Take everything as you grieve slowly, and as my beautiful wife K would always tell me in my darkest hours, "Take one step at a time".

All my blessings, thoughts and prayers to everyone.

- M.

I am so sorry, I am continually amazed at how many suffer such losses so young.  You have a beautiful way of writing, you were able to aptly depict what a delightful person she is, and how wonderful your love for each other.

You are right, it takes much time to process our grief, our grief that knows a beginning, but no ending.  It will not always stay as painful as it is right now, it will evolve, you will begin to adjust to the changes although it'll likely take more time than you can fathom, it takes what it takes, there is no hurrying grief, it has a mind of its own.

You are wise to realize we need help with this, grief counselor, grief support group, this is also a good place to come to...friends and family may not comprehend what your grief is like but here, we do, we are living it.

[MumbleBear]

14 minutes ago, KayC said:

I am so sorry, I am continually amazed at how many suffer such losses so young.  You have a beautiful way of writing, you were able to aptly depict what a delightful person she is, and how wonderful your love for each other.

You are right, it takes much time to process our grief, our grief that knows a beginning, but no ending.  It will not always stay as painful as it is right now, it will evolve, you will begin to adjust to the changes although it'll likely take more time than you can fathom, it takes what it takes, there is no hurrying grief, it has a mind of its own.

You are wise to realize we need help with this, grief counselor, grief support group, this is also a good place to come to...friends and family may not comprehend what your grief is like but here, we do, we are living it.

KayC, thank you for your wonderful reply. I'm deeply humbled and my missus would agree with you so. It's been a long time since I've suffered a loss, the last being my mother years ago. That took a very long time to get over. But to experience this so suddenly, I admittedly lost myself. I have unfortunately not been able to mourn my wife due to constant arrangements, for I've been working alongside my dad, who is a deep cynic, and told me when I said K had passed "There was nothing you could do". Today, I finally had a window of grace where my dad left for the afternoon, and I wept and spoke to K. It helped me. My body needed to grieve in such a teary mess. Luckily, my dad will be done working with me on the 7th of October, and then I will be able to mourn and remember K properly.

I know it will take some time... grief ebbs and flows. But I'm feeling a little more at peace after my cry and that my wife's ashes have been scattered. I also have like-minded people here, and my close friends and her family to guide us through. We find comfort in each other.

I hope that other in the younger generation learn that it is ok to grieve, it is ok to cry. I think that many feel helpless, and often jump straight to the "what ifs" and "what could've beens". I've had my moments of darkness, but I have remained rooted and kept myself going, honouring my love's name. Our name. I want people (of all ages, including younger) to know that the pain is not forever, but so the memories of their loved ones are. And that everything needs to be taken slowly and steadily, one step at a time.

Thank you again for your kind words. It comforts me to know I'm not alone, and that my generation who've lost loved ones, are not forgotten.

[KayC]

Our grief lives on...you say the pain doesn't continue forever, but it does, it just changes from intense shock and pain to settle down into a more quiet subtle missing them, something we can better live with and carry...I have learned to coexist with my grief.  The immense pain in the beginning changes, thankfully, I don't think we could take it prolonged like that!  It takes so much adjusting.  I'm glad you had a good cry, it helps to get some of it out.