You know what really sucks about being widowed?

[derby378]

I'm getting past the greiving process. It's been two and a half months, and I got most of my weeping out of the way during the first month. But there's this realization that I have no stabilizing force at home, nobody to share my triumphs and frustrations at work with (like Ginny always did with me), nobody to tell me I'm putting on too many pounds by eating at the pizza buffet more than I should, nobody to spend a private and relaxing morning on the beach with.

Sure, I got on her nerves sometimes, just as she got on mine. That happens in a marriage, no matter how much you try to avoid it. But I truly loved Ginny, and I can't tell you how much I miss her right now. I feel really alone and depressed.

Ginny would want me to go on with my life. Hell, I want me to go on with my life. But one thing that really sucks about being widowed is the process of having to relearn how to do everything on your own. I know Ginny extends her love, understanding, and forgiveness to me from the great beyond, and that realization has helped me immensely. I just wish she was still here. I know it's selfish, but Ginny was such an amazing, gentle, intelligent, and beautiful person.

[auntAgonist]

1. Hey D. there's nothing selfish about your post at all.

You two were a couple. You were a well oiled machine and now one of the parts is missing. The machine doesn't work so well anymore. I could say I understand that but truly I don't. My heart goes out to you for your loss, for our loss in not having Ginny ( I always think of her as ginbarn) anymore.

I hope the days get better for you.

I'm so sorry you're going through this.

:hug:
aA
kesha

[derby378]

2. Thank you...

I had to update my laptop BIOS and software, so I had a legitimate reason for staying indoors at someplace with WiFi, but I think I'd better get out there and do some of that "do" stuff.

:hug:

[ceveritt]

3. Yes,

you're right.

I'm so tired of remembering, but I don't ever want to forget.

I know precisely how you feel. I'm so sorry for your loss. Only you'll know how hollow that sounds.

You squared up in two and a half months? My hat is off to you, mate. My wife died just over two years ago, and I'm still crippled inside.

But, yes, you hit it right on. It's so hard to learn how to do everything yourself again. To have nobody at home. It's excruciating. I am so sorry for your pain.

That last sentence too is meaningless and can be of little comfort. But it is all I have to offer. No one can help a person through this. It is horrid, and horrible, and I would not wish it on my worst enemy.

I wish you well.

[derby378]

6. I wouldn't say that I'm anywhere near squared up

I'm shedding fewer tears, and I'm finding ways to cope, but as Marsellus famously expressed in Pulp Fiction, "I'm pretty fuckin' far from okay." And I probably will be for some time, but my healing is more of a journey than a destination.

One of my self-help projects is going out into rural Texas and photographing ghost towns when I get time during the weekends. They have fascinated me for quite some time, so a little over a week after Ginny passed away, I headed out in the area of Nocona and started visiting my first bona fide ghost towns (Belcherville and Spanish Fort). I've added a few more towns to my photo collection since then.

And I may want to get serious about music one of these days, too. My dad and brother both play guitar, and brother Steve is also a maniac on drums (he plays for Baboon). I have an old Prophet 600 synth that Steve is currently using, but I actually put it to some good use around 15 years ago. Maybe I should borrow it back for a while.

And I've got to lose some of this caretaker weight. I broke down and bought the P90X exercise series on DVD, so let's see how long I last with this regimen. I see sweat, pain, and Muscle Milk in my future. :rofl:

[DollyM]

4. she is still "with" you . . .

Derby, I think what really got me down after my son died was this confusion over whether I was still a Mom. My whole identity seemed to be gone. I had spent my life being someone's mom and all of a sudden, i didn't have a child anymore! Even my email address has the number 3 in it, representing the three of us (we only had one child) and I obssessed over whether I needed to change my email address. Over the course of time and learning to trust my own spirit, I realized that my son was always going to be with me and I was always going to be his mom. Just because his "address" has changed doesn't mean he isn't still a part of my life and my heart. I feel him around me and little things happen that remind me that he is still here. I used to blow these things off as coincidence but no more. Look for things, your wife is still with you because even though the body is broken beyond repair, the love that you share with someone is stronger than death. It continues even though the body is gone. I hope that gives you some comfort. I know this realization gives me a great deal of comfort. I still talk to my son and dream about him. I smile at things I know would make him smile. The passage of time (one year and 2 months) has indeed helped. I still miss his phyical presence but I know his spirit still lives on in all the lives he has touched. Your wife does also.

[orleans]

5. i agree with what you say--

when my mom died i'd be walking around the house sobbing, feeling so much love for her and the wonder what the hell i was supposed to do with all of that love now. i would pace back and forth through the living room, crying and talking out loud and i remember repeating over and over: "so much love... so much love"

and this crazy thought/feeling of now what? what am i supposed to do with all of it? is it just supposed to stop? how can it stop? there is so much of it--i can't turn it off or shut it down

then, one day, it finally dawned on me--it doesn't stop--the love doesn't die or go away. it stays and keeps us connected--it's the love that goes on and on. not our bodies. but our love. and it becomes a great thing to hang on to--to hold us together through these times/days/years of separation.

i think it was a couple months before i started getting signs and signals from my mom--signs that, in the moment, i tried to look for what made the banging, or what made a small heavy box crash onto the floor in a bedroom that hadn't had anyone inside it for four days, or what made the lamp flash and a knocking sound on the wall at the same time for seven beats (the old "shave and a haircut--two bits" only the rhythm was backward: 2 beats/pause/5 beats--my mom's and my "signal" to each other). so yes, it's the little things--the little signs in our day to day that we can easily overlook or we can realize we are still connected, still joined, still together. the love goes on and on. love survives it all.

[Paper Roses]

7. Your post hits home to many. Some days are easier to cope with.

It's been two years and I still have really bad days. Yesterday was one. You will find the same thing, I am sure. I keep my husbands memory in my heart and talk to him in my own way. I find, like you, that I have had to learn to do so many things. I don't think any of us realize how much our partners did that helped make the marriage work. Now that I have to do all the things my husband did in addition to my own chores, I find it daunting. The loneliness we face is so hard to cope with. I find it so hard to prepare a meal for myself. Setting a table for one each night brings tears to my eyes always.

I wish you peace and a full life ahead. Ginny will never leave your mind and heart.

[RevCheesehead]

8. I'm sorry I didn't see your post earlier.

My dad died in mid-June, and it's been hard to come here regularly like I used to.

What I can offer is that 2-1/2 months is not a very long time at all. Yet, it feels like an eternity, doesn't it?

Ginny sounds like an amazing woman, and you were truly fortunate to have found each other and shared your lives with each other. I understand the desire to go on with your life, but the hard truth is that you can't, because everything has changed. What I mean is that you have to live life differently than before, and that takes lots of time, patience (with yourself and others), and yes, tears. It might help to think of yourself doing the same things, with Ginny watching and standing at your side. I believe she is still there with you. She didn't leave. Her energy/life force/soul is surrounding you.

I hope this makes some kind of sense. In the last couple of months since my dad died, I have, oddly enough, found comfort in my dreams. In those dreams, my mom comes and talks to me. She's been gone for four years, and it wasn't until now that I'm able to realize that she's been visiting me all along. My fiancee has been encouraging me to begin a dream journal and to meditate on my dreams when I wake up, jotting down the things my mom has to say to me. I don't know. Maybe it's just my subconscious, but I don't think so. I've been having actual conversations with her, and I'm apparently talking out loud and laughing. Andy (fiancee) tells me "you are happy and full of life when you talk to your mother." And that realization has enabled me to move ahead in my new path. I still miss my parents, but I know they're around. It's just easier to realize that when I'm asleep.

My thoughts and prayers are with you, derby. :hug: