Am I the only one that feels this way?
From Barbara –
I lost my husband on October 26, 2009. It was a sudden death. I too dont like when people ask me how Im doing. My response is usually “ok”. What else can I say? Should I tell them that some days are so bad I just want to die? Or should I tell them that I wish it was me instead of him? Should I tell them that I scream sometimes and throw things? Am I the only one that feels this way? I dont know too many widows.
B
Barbara,
I lost my son and only child on November 3,2009. I tell people that “acceptance and existence, I have to accept it because I can’t change it and existence because I’m breathing and he isn’t.”
Joan
Barbara,
I am so sorry for your loss. I can’t say I know how you’re feelings because everyone’s experience is unique to them. I lost my boyfriend and the love of my life on Oct. 10, 2009 of a sudden heart attack; he was 37 years old. For me, the first two months were so painful that I considered doing almost anything to make the pain, loneliness, fear, anxiety, and despair disappear. A feeling of true suffering surrounded me and I considered death a reprieve.
The core of who I am has shifted and sometimes I don’t recognize myself – my thoughts are all over the map. You smile, laugh and speak when spoken to because this is the sane and expected thing to do; inside I am screaming. I have never felt true anguish, hopelessness, misery, and depression until the moment I learned I had lost him. I felt like I was outside of my body and asked myself daily if he was really gone. One morning I was thinking that all the people in my home were preparing for a funeral when I suddenly remembered that it was Jim that passed. I can only describe the weeks that followed as a nightmare.
Time and the support of my family helped to bring me back to reality and I am learning to cope with the pain and shift my primary focus to daily tasks so my family doesn’t have to do everything for me. I find that I can now smile and laugh at times when I think of Jim instead of always crying. That doesn’t mean that I don’t break down several times a day and the constant pain in my heart doesn’t suck the life from me, only that I am beginning to “feel” something, anything. I am trying to accept his death but I am not completely there. Most horrible situations in our lives get better or go away eventually; they are only temporary because life changes every minute. The loss of a true love NEVER goes away. I am told this by other women who have lived through this and that scares me to death. The thought of carrying this pain in the years ahead and the fact that it will never change and he will never return is something I am having a hard time wrapping my head around.
I feel like I am alone even though I am surrounded by loved ones, I feel like I do not have a purpose although I am only 40 years old, and I fantasize about being with him when it is my time to pass over. I find myself asking God to take me soon so I can be with him and sometimes beg for this. I have never felt depression and find myself suddenly being treated for it – WOW, what a shift in my life and in the lives of many others that loved him.
The sadness that a beautiful person was taken at such a young age, leaving behind two children and a woman who adored him is, at times, more than I can comprehend. I ask God why this had to happen several times a day and battle anger and rage to the point of overwhelming anxiety. At night when I am alone I dream, while sobbing, of the wedding we were going to plan, vacations with family and friends we will never take, holidays I will celebrate alone with the people who love me, and the grandchildren he will never see born .
I don’t know if you can relate to any of this but would love to hear from you. I hope you write back.
Christine
1.26.10
Barbara, Christine – anyone this might apply to:
You are not alone. But you have to get through it alone in a lot of ways.
My husband was killed over 2 years ago – no warning – 33 years old – in a situation where 3 men were trying to save another. Three did not survive. Why you need to know this I have no idea – it just makes me feel better to validate his death somehow. It was not for nothing. He is still gone but the facts make me feel better. That is rule one – find things that make you feel better.
Bottom line, IMHO, it does not really matter who else feels the same way as you or I do. Your loss is unique, yet universal. You may find comfort that others have had an “equal” or even “more horrible” loss, but it does not make yours less valid. It’s not a comparison to anything else – it is your loss.
Two+ years on, I still scour the news, read about suicide bombings, our valiant military families, Haiti, shootings etc and for whatever reason feel companionship. I don’t think it is morbid. It just makes you feel like you are not alone. And I know, there will always be sudden loss and shock and numbness. And it will always resonate with me.
I am not sure it makes it any different for what you have to do to go forward, on that road you have to travel, alone. But you can do it. The one you lost will give you that strength – they would not want you to feel so alone, so lost, so sad. The one thing I know my husband thought right before he died was, shit, I do not want to be away from her – I love her. Somehow that makes me able to go on. If I just went to where he is, it would multiply the suffering and that is not what he would have ever wanted, for his family or mine.
I always felt very self sufficient before I was with Adam — independent, capable – I had a post doctorate degree, finances were fine. Then I met the love of my life and he made it even better. It was just a wonderful, lovely shared experience. And then the loss – he’s just gone, no warning, in an instant — but where? What to do now?
Daily life stinks. Something sucky happens and I need to vent. He’s not there. Others are not so good at dealing with my airing of grievances. Something breaks, I know who I can call to fix it but ugh, having one other brain to figure it out with me would make it so much easier. Who knows what the “right decision is?” To share in those decisions, dopey and more important things, was kind of less stressful and almost fun. Can we afford this, should we DIY? Where to eat? What movie to rent? Where to go on vacation? Grrrrr! It is so overwhelming to do alone that I just don’t sometimes. I think over and over, hey, who do I need in my corner to champion me now, to get me through this – well, it’s Adam, and he’s not here to help me through it. And a lot of the time, it has always felt like he was the only one who could. Who would understand, hold my hand, to have that ultimate pride and confidence in me? It was that one look across the room, a quirky smile, one squeeze of my hand, just listening and I would know I could do it – just because he was there. And whether I did well or not, he was happy I tried and it was just an experience that we had together. I used to be able to do these things without any reassurance – it was just wonderful to have someone to share the simple things with. I just have to get to that point again on my own.
Now, I lean on my friends – way more than I ever did or was comfortable doing, but I do. And I so appreciate the support – they remember him with me. Some days the best I can muster is to get up, shower, go to work, feed myself, feed and walk the dogs, pay the bills – there is just no joy in it at all, but I get it done. It is an accomplishment. How come before, even mundane crap was fun when he was here to do it with me?
For the first year I just had to go through the motions. The date of his death, every month was a dread. I had not seen him for a month, three, six . . . how could it be? How can I still be alive without him? I am afraid to tell you this, but that feeling is always still there a little bit. OK, I don’t dread the 24th of every month the way I did the first year, but it sneaks up on me. Year 2, I railed against everyone who told me “the first year is the worst.” Yeah, in year 2, I yelled at them for lying to me to keep me from downing valium and scotch and sitting in a hovel of my own crap. But now I know they did it to keep me borderline sane, with the vague promise that “it will get better.” Well, I know now, they were doing the right thing. And they were probably as scared as me but said it to let me know they love me and needed me to be “ok”. Not OK ok but just ok.
It does not get “better” – it never will, it just gets different. I tell friends, it is something I don’t want to “get better” – I just need to learn how to get more “used to it”. There are days when all I wanted was to have some peace, 10 minutes without the pain. Now, that pain and remembrance can feel like his hand on the back of my neck, his lips on my forehead, just there, with me. It hurts but in a weird nice way. It always makes me cry but I know he is there. Your loved ones are with you, they want to be so badly, you just have to kind of let them in their own way.
I know everyone wants me to just be “better” “back to normal” – well there is a new normal. And sometimes that normal is angry and bitter and sometimes frail and weepy and sometimes has humor and is still lovable. Take what you need, take care of yourself, do for you what he would be able to do for you. It is what he would want. And you just have to honor that. I don’t know what the next year will be like but I think about Adam every day, I tell him what I see that he would have smiled at, and I try to smile at it too.