Why?

[Elkse]

I try to understand but nothing makes sense.

Why is he gone? Why am I here? I was the sick one. He was a strong, vibrant, active,  "health nut" who hit the gym faithfully, rode his bike for miles, ate a healthy diet, had no vices. 

Why such bad timing ? There's never a good time for loss but after patiently caring for me all those years and sacrificing himself at a high-stress job then being so close to retirement, didn't he deserve some leisure? 

Just when our travel dreams were supposed to start--just when I had recovered enough to think that I could, after being sick for 10 years, resume being a wife who could join him in "normal" life, why does It all fall apart?

Why did my cancer diagnosis come just 3 months before his death instead of 3 months after so he wouldn't have had to worry?

Why was his death so sudden? Not that I'd have wished him a long illness but it was such a shock!

We had just given up our house and moved into a motorhome and the countdown to retirement was on. Why didn't we get to go anywhere? 

Why did I have to sell everything and move so far away from his grave?

Why couldn't he get to enjoy his grandchildren for a little while first?'

Why do I now have to cope alone?

Just wondering why....

 

 

[SDC]

The unanswerable why questions are unbearable and relentless. I'm so sorry you're ruminating on and struggling with them. I have them too--my husband died at 56 April, 2020 (he had a violent fall, sustained brain damage, and I removed him from life support). I'll never understand why him and why then and why a healthy man had a sudden catastrophic accident/death. I try to remind myself what I know intellectually: we all die and none of us know they how/when of the inevitable. There is often no fairness in death and it feels impossible to accept. There are no answers to your questions or mine and we somehow have to live with that reality. A couple of months ago I started doing something that helps me a little--it doesn't diminish my sadness, but it squeezes in a bit of gratitude next to sadness that owns my days. Every morning I speak aloud to my departed love---I start by saying I love and miss you and then say things I'm grateful for regarding him (how long he was in my life (37 years), how kind he was to me, his humor, etc. Then I find a few current things to say I'm grateful for: that I'm going to a yoga class, that I picked up my CSA and have fresh food, whatever I can think of in that moment--no matter how slight or seemingly insignificant. It sounds lame and trite, but like I said, it makes me mindful of what I'm grateful for and while it does not diminish my sadness, it adds something different. I don't want to think of my loved one with only sadness, longing, and anger (re: unanswerable questions)--and I needed to come up with something to remind myself that as alone and heartbroken as I feel now, there is gratitude for my relationship with him. I don't know if you're a reader, but if you are seek out essays and personal experiences about grieving. They too helped me--just a reminder of all I feel is universal in death. Take good care. 

[KayC]

IDK, I asked why the entire first year, same questions, never got any answers.  Life is what it is, I guess, nothing fair about it.  It's hard to realize, all these years later that others get to grow old together and enjoy life together and we didn't get that same opportunity. I do feel lucky I had him in my life, many are never blessed to know such love, such a wonderful adoring partner!  We fit so well together.

[foreverhis]

5 hours ago, SDC said:

The unanswerable why questions are unbearable and relentless. I'm so sorry you're ruminating on and struggling with them. I have them too--my husband died at 56 April, 2020 (he had a violent fall, sustained brain damage, and I removed him from life support). I'll never understand why him and why then and why a healthy man had a sudden catastrophic accident/death. I try to remind myself what I know intellectually: we all die and none of us know they how/when of the inevitable. There is often no fairness in death and it feels impossible to accept. There are no answers to your questions or mine and we somehow have to live with that reality. A couple of months ago I started doing something that helps me a little--it doesn't diminish my sadness, but it squeezes in a bit of gratitude next to sadness that owns my days. Every morning I speak aloud to my departed love---I start by saying I love and miss you and then say things I'm grateful for regarding him (how long he was in my life (37 years), how kind he was to me, his humor, etc. Then I find a few current things to say I'm grateful for: that I'm going to a yoga class, that I picked up my CSA and have fresh food, whatever I can think of in that moment--no matter how slight or seemingly insignificant. It sounds lame and trite, but like I said, it makes me mindful of what I'm grateful for and while it does not diminish my sadness, it adds something different. I don't want to think of my loved one with only sadness, longing, and anger (re: unanswerable questions)--and I needed to come up with something to remind myself that as alone and heartbroken as I feel now, there is gratitude for my relationship with him. I don't know if you're a reader, but if you are seek out essays and personal experiences about grieving. They too helped me--just a reminder of all I feel is universal in death. Take good care. 

Absolutely spot on.  Much of what you write is very similar to me and my love.

Though John died at 71 after more than a year fighting cancer, the aftermath is so much same.  We had been married for 35 years; I knew him for 37.  I stopped asking why after a time because, as you say, we will never know or understand the reasons why our good, loving, kind, honest partners in life were taken from us.  It's unfair and it's unjust, and I will never feel otherwise.  But I learned to accept the reality of it, that he is not going to walk down the stairs or come in the door with a smile meant just for me.  It took more than a year for that knowledge to fully settle in my mind and heart.

I also decided to take Kay's advice to look for one thing, one tiny thing, each day that allows me a little smile.  Yes, it's very much a matter of letting that exist next to and within the permanent sadness that now inhabits my life.  In fact, one of those things for me is yoga as well.  At a friend's gentle nudging, I tried a restorative yoga class that's appropriate for my health conditions.  Then I added a gentle flow class once a week as well.  After COVID hit, our instructor (also a good friend) started offering classes by Zoom, so I still have that to look forward to each week.  A beautiful sunset, the ocean in the distance shining, a fledgling peregrine falcon learning to fly in the trees at the end of the street, the first lily of the season, a walk near the nature preserve, taking my doggie friend for a walk on a nice day, the changing seasons of our farmers markets (though I couldn't face going for months after he died and it was painful for a pretty long time).  It's easier now than it used to be to bring those things to mind and put them in my heart.  Over the past 18 months, I've been able to bring the joyful, wonderful, silly, and loving back into my mind, rather than only being able to see and remember his last devastating and painful months.

I too talk to my husband every day.  While less than at first, I still do it.  I look out and comment on the day.  I ask his advice about things that concern or frustrate or puzzle me (even though I know I'm really talking to myself and merely inserting what I believe he would say).  I tell him how much I miss him, love him, and look forward to the day I will see him again.  It doesn't matter what anyone thinks about that.  It doesn't matter if people think I'm strange because so many of his things are right where he left them.

Time, support from friends-family and the members here, and looking for small good things has softened the edges of my grief and allowed me to figure out ways to carry it as part of my life, rather than the crushing, unbearable weight it was for the first year or more.  Of course I still have bad days and painful times where waves, large and small, wash over me.  But they're not as frequent and don't usually last as long. 

It's a slow, difficult process, that's for sure.  We may be walking our unique grief paths, but at least we're on the same road together.  As much as I wish none of us had a reason to be here, knowing I'm not alone has been a real grace in my life.

 

 

[Maria_PI]

@Elkse I am so sorry you are going through all this! I can certainly relate to the questions "why why why" and not getting an answer. I used to often scream "WHY WHY WHY" in the empty house for months after my soulmate passed, till I was so exhausted I couldn't speak. And while you may probably find a reasonable answer to the questions why you had to move so far from his grave, or why you are here, most of the questions after a loss like this could not be answered for the mere reason that the only person that could answer them is gone, or because they wouldn't exist if he was still here. I don't know if that makes any sense, hope it does. What I am trying to say is that we have to find a way to accept the reality of not finding the answer.

I read your other post here and completely understand that most advice we could give would not apply to you, like getting a pet or finding distraction in exercise, going out with friends, volunteering or finding a hobby. But I also understand that you have a loving family of children and grandchildren who are willing to take care of you while you are vulnerable in your own illness and having to deal with that. I think this is something to cherish and take advantage of. And while an active distraction may not be possible in your physical state, I would bury myself in books, puzzles, crosswords, movies, anything I that I could get my hands on to occupy my overly inquisitive mind. Also coming here often and venting, reading or responding has helped me a lot to process my grief.

I hope you find consolation in the little everyday blessings of interaction with your family. Neuroscience has proven that love and human connection through touch, expression and words helps alleviate physical pain and suffering. I hope you have lots of this from the people around you. (((HUGS)))

[Sparky1]

@Elkse
I am also very sorry for your loss. A lot of us are in the same grieving process that you are going through and we can relate to you. I ask the same questions as you and the others have posted. Of course, I get no answers, but it's a way to vent and let it out.

3 hours ago, foreverhis said:

I tell him how much I miss him, love him, and look forward to the day I will see him again.  It doesn't matter what anyone thinks about that.  It doesn't matter if people think I'm strange

Foreverhis, you're not strange. I tell my wife the exact same things you tell your husband.  That I love her, miss her, need her, and want to be with her very much. And I keep repeating it over and over, many times a day. It's all I have, and I pray that she hears me. The longing for her is very painful, and breaks me down very easily.

[KayC]

foreverhis, if you're strange, we all are!  I don't know a griever who doesn't do the same.

[SDC]

21 hours ago, foreverhis said:

Absolutely spot on.  Much of what you write is very similar to me and my love.

Though John died at 71 after more than a year fighting cancer, the aftermath is so much same.  We had been married for 35 years; I knew him for 37.  I stopped asking why after a time because, as you say, we will never know or understand the reasons why our good, loving, kind, honest partners in life were taken from us.  It's unfair and it's unjust, and I will never feel otherwise.  But I learned to accept the reality of it, that he is not going to walk down the stairs or come in the door with a smile meant just for me.  It took more than a year for that knowledge to fully settle in my mind and heart.

I also decided to take Kay's advice to look for one thing, one tiny thing, each day that allows me a little smile.  Yes, it's very much a matter of letting that exist next to and within the permanent sadness that now inhabits my life.  In fact, one of those things for me is yoga as well.  At a friend's gentle nudging, I tried a restorative yoga class that's appropriate for my health conditions.  Then I added a gentle flow class once a week as well.  After COVID hit, our instructor (also a good friend) started offering classes by Zoom, so I still have that to look forward to each week.  A beautiful sunset, the ocean in the distance shining, a fledgling peregrine falcon learning to fly in the trees at the end of the street, the first lily of the season, a walk near the nature preserve, taking my doggie friend for a walk on a nice day, the changing seasons of our farmers markets (though I couldn't face going for months after he died and it was painful for a pretty long time).  It's easier now than it used to be to bring those things to mind and put them in my heart.  Over the past 18 months, I've been able to bring the joyful, wonderful, silly, and loving back into my mind, rather than only being able to see and remember his last devastating and painful months.

I too talk to my husband every day.  While less than at first, I still do it.  I look out and comment on the day.  I ask his advice about things that concern or frustrate or puzzle me (even though I know I'm really talking to myself and merely inserting what I believe he would say).  I tell him how much I miss him, love him, and look forward to the day I will see him again.  It doesn't matter what anyone thinks about that.  It doesn't matter if people think I'm strange because so many of his things are right where he left them.

Time, support from friends-family and the members here, and looking for small good things has softened the edges of my grief and allowed me to figure out ways to carry it as part of my life, rather than the crushing, unbearable weight it was for the first year or more.  Of course I still have bad days and painful times where waves, large and small, wash over me.  But they're not as frequent and don't usually last as long. 

It's a slow, difficult process, that's for sure.  We may be walking our unique grief paths, but at least we're on the same road together.  As much as I wish none of us had a reason to be here, knowing I'm not alone has been a real grace in my life.

 

 

Restorative yoga is amazing, isn't it? It is exactly what it's called--totally restorative for body and mind. I'm glad you discovered the benefits of a yoga practice. I live within walking distance of a yoga studio and pre-pandemic took daily classes. Of course the studio shuttered in March 2020 (classes went to Zoom, but I didn't enjoy online much so didn't participate often and just practiced on my own). It was devastating to not be able to go to the studio after B died--I so longed for that norm and the mind/body/social benefits. Losing someone during the shutdown and isolation of the pandemic made me worry about my mental health for the first time in my life (I just turned 58). I'm sorry that you watched John endure a cancer diagnosis and subsequent treatments,  but I'm glad you're able to focus on other things beyond his last health issue. We really can't comprehend grief until we lose the person we love the most. Take good care and thanks for all that you share here---it helps me and I'm sure others too. 

[foreverhis]

8 hours ago, SDC said:

I'm sorry that you watched John endure a cancer diagnosis and subsequent treatments,  but I'm glad you're able to focus on other things beyond his last health issue. We really can't comprehend grief until we lose the person we love the most. Take good care and thanks for all that you share here---it helps me and I'm sure others too.

For months during his cancer fight, I/we could not, would not believe that he wouldn't beat it.  So much of my energy was focused on that.  It was the last few months that were so painful (literally for him; emotionally for both of us).  I wish I had a "do over" so that I could ask him sooner, "Love, do you want to go home and just be?"  Instead, he kept fighting longer than I should have expected or asked.  He didn't want to leave me, our girls, or the life he felt was unfinished.  Those are the months and images that were all I could see for a pretty long time.

So slowly that I couldn't even say when, I was able to bring back the other memories and images of more than 3 decades.  I think one thing that helped was that newer friends who didn't know our whole history wanted me to tell our stories when I was able.  Another was sharing memories with family and nearly life-long friends.

No, we can't possibly comprehend it until it happens.  Just as I couldn't comprehend loving a man so much until I did, I couldn't truly fathom what losing him would do to my heart, body, and mind.

Being here has helped me so much, especially during my worst months.  I want to help others in any little way I can because no one can understand us, no one, if they aren't experiencing it themselves.  I wish so much that none of us had to be here.  Yet we all know that this life is finite, but we also know that love is infinite.  I will love and miss John every minute of every day for the rest of my life.  But now with time and so much help, I am learning how to find and make a life I can live here without him, until it's my time and we are together again.

[foreverhis]

8 hours ago, SDC said:

Restorative yoga is amazing, isn't it? It is exactly what it's called--totally restorative for body and mind. I'm glad you discovered the benefits of a yoga practice. 

It really is.  I was a dancer and involved with musical theater (for fun, not profit) for most of my teen and adult life.  That's where I met John.  We're both musicians and he was also a musical director and conductor.  (Sshh...My second favorite conductor, but only by a hair.  His style was so good and so similar to my favorite's.  It's okay though, John knew and didn't mind.)  Once I started having health problems, I had to give up all of that.  I was and still am a complete beginner in yoga and do have to remember, "This is not the same as dance," sometimes.

How I started is kind of funny.  A friend and neighbor (literally across the street) had been doing gentle flow and beginning shadow for a while.  Then she broke her wrist and had to stop during healing.  Instead of physical therapy, she opted for restorative yoga.  She is a force of nature and gently, but firmly, convinced me to come to late afternoon class with her about 9 months after John died.  Our friend's studio is only 5 minutes away.  This is how she finally did it:  "Annie, I will be out front at 5.  You will come with me to class.  If you hate it, I won't bug you about it again.  You won't hate it."  I told her that I didn't have yoga clothes or a mat or props.  She told me to wear the exercise clothes I wear for walks and that the studio had everything else I'd need.  She was bound and determined to help me in one way that she could.  Her husband, also a friend of mine and John's, had been finishing little projects around the house and yard for me and she felt like just bringing me food and checking in was no longer enough.  And so, I went to class, expecting mostly young, fit students who would look at me and roll their eyes.  Not at all.  It was people of all ages, shapes, and health.  And it really was beneficial.

After 6 months, our friend (also a neighbor) suggested I try adding one early morning gentle flow class and go from there.  I really like that too because the flow is really calming and some is similar to dance.  Friends gave me gifts of a good mat, a comfortable strap, a yoga blanket, and an eye pillow, so now I'm set for most of our Zoom classes.  I really miss some of the restorative props, but keep on with what I can do because it's so helpful.  For that time, either in class or on my own, I can't focus on anything other than yoga.  The first time I realized that was during final relaxation when I felt kind of "drifty" in my mind.  I was stunned.