@stillstanding2, thank you for that, it makes me think about one idea I had been tossing around. My husband always had this dream of being able to grow an oak tree from an acorn but specifically, from the tree in my mom's yard. I wanted to try to grow him an oak from those acorns but adding his ashes to that tree? That just sounds like one of the best ideas. I wouldn't be able to place the oak in the park we frequented because it is a protected park, but to plant it near the area where we used to go camping or even in the area near my mom and dad's graves where I had wanted to bury his ashes, that would probably work.
I was sitting here today and it just hit me once again, my husband is dead. My husband died. I keep getting these waves of extreme loneliness. Nothing in my life has drastically changed. I still tidy up this house, I wash dishes, sweep, clean floors, vacuum. I make my lists. I check off my chores and I make my way through as many as I can, still. I reward myself by watching tv and enjoying a nice meal. My cell phone sits silent. It never vibrates anymore and I wonder why I even keep it charged. My home phone rings only once a week when his mother calls me. My instant messenger pings incessantly with someone I do not want to hear from so often. And there is no other presence in this house. Even when he was here and not talking to me or interacting with me, his presence was here. I felt him. At times I resented him not paying more attention to me but I kept saying to myself, "at least he's here." Now he's not here anymore. He's not just at work. He's not on some training course. He's not in a witness protection program. He's not hiding and just pulling my leg. He's dead and he's never going to be a part of my life ever again.
Without him who do I have? Where do I get companionship? Who is ever going to hold me like he did when I'm sad?
My sister keeps doing things around my house that annoy me. Leaving feminine products just anywhere - even with my husband alive I didn't leave tampons visible on the back of the toilet or liners on the kitchen counter! She is assuming this is HER house and it most definitely IS NOT. This is MY space now. This is still OUR home, he is not gone from this house. It just reminds me of the weekend my mother died and my brother sneaked his dog into the house in the middle of the night, When I called him on it, he denied it and I tore a strip off of him saying, "Just because she is dead does NOT mean the house rules change - this is STILL her house and you still RESPECT her rules!"
Each time my sister comes into this house, she tries to change something to the way she does it at her house - apparently my way of doing things is "not right". Uggh. I said to her this time around, "I don't have to do things your way, I'm not YOU! I don't change your house!" I know that's wasting my breath because she'll just wait until I'm not looking and do it anyway...she did those things while husband was alive so why should I expect her to change. My family is a bunch of self centered egotists. I always wonder if my sister actually comes here to see me because she genuinely cares or if she's doing it to boost her social media popularity and enhance that portrayal of the Most Caring and Most Loving sister in the whole world, then I just come across as the bitch who doesn't show her appreciation for the things she does for me. The rest of my family has stopped visiting or making any effort to call me or email me or instant message me or text me. All I have now is my mother-in-law who is a relative stranger to me...but at least she is making a consistent effort....is that effort for me or for her?
I haven't factored into anyone's life for at least 20 years, since I became the center of my husband's life. I cringe because I used to call down his family for being so estranged but I realized soon enough that I was doing the exact same thing with my family - making all the effort to keep that tie open. Once I stopped making the effort they disappeared, all but my sister who had no one else in her life. I always tried so hard to encourage her to date, to at least try to get to know someone else because then she wouldn't have been alone and wanting to be in our life all the time. I don't know what her pathology is in that area, she's never dated, yet falls in love with anyone who gives her the time of day - it's very immature.
I would just love someone to sit and talk about him with, just seriously talk about him and not be judged. Just share my stories, the good times, the bad times and just have someone look me in the eye and empathize. Just have someone look me in the eye and witness my pain, witness my tears and help to make me feel less lonely. I wish I had a support group.
I've connected with two first responder family members who've lost loved ones to suicide....they invited me to add my husband's name to a memorial for "PTSD suicides". No one understands that just because you're a first responder and you commit suicide, it doesn't automatically mean you had PTSD. He did not have a diagnosis of PTSD. I hate having to say that over and over and over because it makes me look like I'm just trying to be the only one with PTSD. My sister listens to my stories about how he was getting more and more frustrated at work, he was in more and more pain as he got older, he was doubting his future on the road and was getting desperate to find a way to leave but without me working, it wasn't an option for him to just leave the entire job, his only option was promotion...he was being passed over again. He was looking to move to a slower station because he wanted to reduce his call volume. He was wearing out. He'd been at the busiest station in that service for 25 years. He had the worst of luck when it came to calls. He was getting worn down. He had a really, really bad partner, I can't even stress how bad his partner was and how much that took out of him. He was being physically challenged by his old injuries. He COULD NOT afford to lose that job. He was coming home stressed out. He was angry all the time. He was withdrawing often at work because he was under stress. He was desperate to improve his situation at work. He was desperate to improve his physical injuries. He wasn't sleeping good. He hated going in to work - a job he LOVED. He was stressed at home. He didn't want to do the things we used to do because he was so stressed. Well, apparently in my sister's head, these are definite signs of PTSD, "that sounds like PTSD to me." I snapped at her, "Oh because you're the expert on it, forgive me."
He had two bouts of anxiety where he thought he was having a heart attack. That stupid heart arrhythmia was never far from his mind. I recognized them as anxiety attacks, We talked it out. He was having anxiety because he was worried that he would fail his medical and lose his driver's licence...because of his heart arrhythmia. He worried endlessly about it and ruminated almost constantly about our future. That's what killed him. It was too much stress in too little a time. There was no break from it and that stupid physiotherapist sent him right back into that hell he'd just climbed out of.
But no, I don't know what PTSD is because my sister has never believed that I have PTSD!!
My poor baby hubby. Why couldn't I just save you? How could we not get through this together? Why did I have to lose the only one whose ever showed me the love I'd always wished for? God, I miss him.
