Astrid_Shadow
Silver Member
I really am sorry @Medic72
Hugs if you accept :hug:
Hugs if you accept :hug:
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My husband died today
- Post starter NarcSis
- Start date
- Status
- Post starter
- #1,058
Every day I wake up and facebook reminds me of things we did together last year.
Today is the anniversary of our last hike together. We hiked into the park, it was snow covered, with a slight chill wind blowing. We were bundled up nice and snug and trudging through the snow following animal tracks along the riverbank. It was a Friday last year on this date. It would have been his first day off from a set of night shifts but I'm pretty sure he took those nights off to spend with me. I know he had to have because facebook told me yesterday that it was the anniversary of the superb braised lambshank dinner I made him. If he'd been on his midnight shifts, he wouldn't have been home for that dinner.
I wonder really if he took those days off to be with me or just out of pure exhaustion. I'm pretty sure it was to try to catch some breathing space. He was taking a lot of time off last winter, he was nearing the end of his sick days as Christmas approached and he wasn't taking the day when I'd tell him he needed a "sick day". He didn't want to get in trouble because he'd already received the warning about use of his sick days. In any given month he worked 14 12-hour shifts, that's 168 hours a month with an average of 1 hour of overtime per shift, so 182 hours per month of being at work and 168 shifts per year. Of those 168 shifts, he was allowed 7 shifts for sick time. 84 hours. That's all. In the 2,184 hours he worked per year, only 84 were allowed as "sick". That's not a lot of breathing room when you're mentally wearing down.
A paramedic is only allowed to be sick 4% of the time they are at work. Sure he was senior in the company and he had earned a lot of vacation time; he had 4 weeks to pull from every single year but those days have to be pre-booked, you can't just call up the scheduling department and say, I'm having a bad week can you place me on vacation. He had to pre-book his yearly vacation allotment in December of each year - he had to pre-plan his entire year beforehand. No room for illnesses or emergencies in a paramedics life.
If you used up your sick time you started into "The Program"; some administrative ridiculous Big Brother Is Watching You threat where they come to you and issue repeat warnings about your use of sick time. If the pattern continues or if you use just another day over - unpaid by the way, out of your own pocket - you were given subsequent warnings, then you were brought into a meeting, then you were threatened with suspension then after suspension if the pattern continued you were threatened with termination. Only one person I ever knew got to suspension and then was subsequently fired.
Any time off over your allotted sick time was unpaid. I know this because before I went off with my PTSD I was into the hole at least 5 shifts unpaid - in a short span of time, two months actually, I'd used 7 sick shifts and 5 additional shifts of unpaid leave from work, should that not have been a HUGE glaring warning sign that something was drastically wrong? I'd even TOLD my supervisor when he came to me and gave me the initial warning about my sick time usage that I'd had a bad call that was really bothering me. When he came to me with a union rep and did the fake "I'm your friend" spiel and "how can we help you?" I screamed at both of them, "How CAN you help me!? You KNOW why I'm taking this time! You KNOW I'm trying to get help! What CAN you do? Because I need all the help I can get!" They both kind of hung their heads like scolded children and admitted there was nothing they could do to help, other than give me the suspension warning. I remember how stressful it was to have the suspension threat hanging over my head while trying to balance going to work with nights of zero sleep and constant PTSD symptoms interfering in my ability to do my job. I remember wishing the world would just stop. I remember wanting to get off the planet.
I know the stress he was under. I know how it feels to have that sense of losing control over the balance of your life and no real option for just a break from it all. 7 shifts isn't much. His sick time and lieu time were already pre-booked for the year. He pre-loaded his winter with days off so he could take a break. Things just didn't seem to be getting better for him. The more days off he took, the more he wanted, the more anxious he became going back to work and the more he kept saying things like, "I don't want to go in today." or "I'm sore but I can't afford to take another day off, I'm already in Stage 1 of The Program."
I wanted us to get out more. I knew he needed that breather. I knew how much being outdoors in the woods was so healing and comforting for me. I know how much it had helped me. I just wanted it to work for him. I wanted him to let go of his worries for even just a second. I wanted him to stop burying himself in his computer and devices and re-join the land of the living. I wanted him to see what LIFE really was, to feel it not just see it around him. I was trying to bring him back to me.
He was lost. He was gone. He no longer felt the sun's rays on his face. He no longer smelled the coolness of the winter air. All of those things were imperceptible to him now because he'd retreated so far into himself. And yet, in those few short words that one day he almost had it, he almost realized how much he needed to be out there. " If you're upset we can just go back home. We don't have to be out here if it just makes you sore."; "No, it's good for me to be out here." It was reaching him some how ever so slightly, just not enough to keep him here.
10 more days. :(
Today is the anniversary of our last hike together. We hiked into the park, it was snow covered, with a slight chill wind blowing. We were bundled up nice and snug and trudging through the snow following animal tracks along the riverbank. It was a Friday last year on this date. It would have been his first day off from a set of night shifts but I'm pretty sure he took those nights off to spend with me. I know he had to have because facebook told me yesterday that it was the anniversary of the superb braised lambshank dinner I made him. If he'd been on his midnight shifts, he wouldn't have been home for that dinner.
I wonder really if he took those days off to be with me or just out of pure exhaustion. I'm pretty sure it was to try to catch some breathing space. He was taking a lot of time off last winter, he was nearing the end of his sick days as Christmas approached and he wasn't taking the day when I'd tell him he needed a "sick day". He didn't want to get in trouble because he'd already received the warning about use of his sick days. In any given month he worked 14 12-hour shifts, that's 168 hours a month with an average of 1 hour of overtime per shift, so 182 hours per month of being at work and 168 shifts per year. Of those 168 shifts, he was allowed 7 shifts for sick time. 84 hours. That's all. In the 2,184 hours he worked per year, only 84 were allowed as "sick". That's not a lot of breathing room when you're mentally wearing down.
A paramedic is only allowed to be sick 4% of the time they are at work. Sure he was senior in the company and he had earned a lot of vacation time; he had 4 weeks to pull from every single year but those days have to be pre-booked, you can't just call up the scheduling department and say, I'm having a bad week can you place me on vacation. He had to pre-book his yearly vacation allotment in December of each year - he had to pre-plan his entire year beforehand. No room for illnesses or emergencies in a paramedics life.
If you used up your sick time you started into "The Program"; some administrative ridiculous Big Brother Is Watching You threat where they come to you and issue repeat warnings about your use of sick time. If the pattern continues or if you use just another day over - unpaid by the way, out of your own pocket - you were given subsequent warnings, then you were brought into a meeting, then you were threatened with suspension then after suspension if the pattern continued you were threatened with termination. Only one person I ever knew got to suspension and then was subsequently fired.
Any time off over your allotted sick time was unpaid. I know this because before I went off with my PTSD I was into the hole at least 5 shifts unpaid - in a short span of time, two months actually, I'd used 7 sick shifts and 5 additional shifts of unpaid leave from work, should that not have been a HUGE glaring warning sign that something was drastically wrong? I'd even TOLD my supervisor when he came to me and gave me the initial warning about my sick time usage that I'd had a bad call that was really bothering me. When he came to me with a union rep and did the fake "I'm your friend" spiel and "how can we help you?" I screamed at both of them, "How CAN you help me!? You KNOW why I'm taking this time! You KNOW I'm trying to get help! What CAN you do? Because I need all the help I can get!" They both kind of hung their heads like scolded children and admitted there was nothing they could do to help, other than give me the suspension warning. I remember how stressful it was to have the suspension threat hanging over my head while trying to balance going to work with nights of zero sleep and constant PTSD symptoms interfering in my ability to do my job. I remember wishing the world would just stop. I remember wanting to get off the planet.
I know the stress he was under. I know how it feels to have that sense of losing control over the balance of your life and no real option for just a break from it all. 7 shifts isn't much. His sick time and lieu time were already pre-booked for the year. He pre-loaded his winter with days off so he could take a break. Things just didn't seem to be getting better for him. The more days off he took, the more he wanted, the more anxious he became going back to work and the more he kept saying things like, "I don't want to go in today." or "I'm sore but I can't afford to take another day off, I'm already in Stage 1 of The Program."
I wanted us to get out more. I knew he needed that breather. I knew how much being outdoors in the woods was so healing and comforting for me. I know how much it had helped me. I just wanted it to work for him. I wanted him to let go of his worries for even just a second. I wanted him to stop burying himself in his computer and devices and re-join the land of the living. I wanted him to see what LIFE really was, to feel it not just see it around him. I was trying to bring him back to me.
He was lost. He was gone. He no longer felt the sun's rays on his face. He no longer smelled the coolness of the winter air. All of those things were imperceptible to him now because he'd retreated so far into himself. And yet, in those few short words that one day he almost had it, he almost realized how much he needed to be out there. " If you're upset we can just go back home. We don't have to be out here if it just makes you sore."; "No, it's good for me to be out here." It was reaching him some how ever so slightly, just not enough to keep him here.
10 more days. :(
AngelKeeperJ
Sponsor
❤ Dear Friend ❤
My heart aches for you...wishing I lived right down the street...we would sit and talk for as long as you wanted...we could hike where you and Tin made your memories.:hug:
On Facebook I delete memories I don't want to see again next year...there aren't many but some are now irrelevant.
I remember how hard the year of "firsts" is. Our brains are permanently written on, until the end of time. It's good and bad at the same time.
As I think I have said before...when we love deeply, we grieve deeply. Also good and bad at the same time.❤
I will be thinking about you, and praying that you will feel your Tin's presence, and the deep love you shared, as well as the thoughts and prayers of those of us here who are walking with you...though "out here" in cyberspace.:hug:
Take good care of yourself, honor your feelings, sleep when you can, and cry when you need to. We care❤
My heart aches for you...wishing I lived right down the street...we would sit and talk for as long as you wanted...we could hike where you and Tin made your memories.:hug:
On Facebook I delete memories I don't want to see again next year...there aren't many but some are now irrelevant.
I remember how hard the year of "firsts" is. Our brains are permanently written on, until the end of time. It's good and bad at the same time.
As I think I have said before...when we love deeply, we grieve deeply. Also good and bad at the same time.❤
I will be thinking about you, and praying that you will feel your Tin's presence, and the deep love you shared, as well as the thoughts and prayers of those of us here who are walking with you...though "out here" in cyberspace.:hug:
Take good care of yourself, honor your feelings, sleep when you can, and cry when you need to. We care❤
- Post starter
- #1,060
Thank you.
I am not feeling well right now. I had a bit of a meltdown. I watched a movie where a man killed himself. I wasn't expecting it. Everything came crashing in on me so hard that I went numb. My whole body feels like it's made of lead right now and my mind is finally my own. I felt slow. Like I couldn't think even though I wasn't howling crying anymore. My mind felt like it had molasses flowing through it. I couldn't fully comprehend anything around me. It was pretty scary.
Everything is so heavy. My head feels so heavy. I just want to be like water and form a puddle on the floor.
I was going to lay down on the couch but the dog won't let me fall asleep. He just keeps coming over and putting his nose to my face, then he whines and if I don't open my eyes, he barks in my face. It doesn't matter if I yell at him, he won't go away. My whole body feels wrong. I'm so, so tired.
I was just so overwhelmed with pain - beyond pain, just pure, pure agony pouring out of me. I felt like I was right in that same day again. Hubby is no longer here to pre-screen my movies. The movie was graphic. They focused on the guy on the floor dying, his shoulder shaking, his body struggling to stay alive. It was not funny. I remembered one woman saying, "I tried to put the blood back in his head but it kept pouring out." My mind showed me a man lying on the floor face down with his entire volume of blood soaked into the rug - he'd shot himself with a shotgun.
I kept thinking. That's how hubby died. It wasn't instantaneous. It took a while. You don't die right that second, you have to struggle. Your body struggles to stay alive.
Why? How could he do that to himself? How can anyone do that to themselves?
My head still feels foggy. It scares me because of the intensity of that episode. I was almost unable to process what was around me, my brain was working so, so slow. I tried to recover by working on my jigsaw puzzle - nice relaxing non-stress distraction - my brain couldn't understand exactly what I was supposed to be doing. I was staring at pieces and felt like my hands were fat. My brain didn't understand what I was supposed to be doing and I was scared. My head felt so heavy. My neck felt like it was thick. My entire body just felt wrong. I'm thinking better now. I'm more connected to my surroundings but please, please don't tell me this is turning to trauma here a YEAR after the fact. I don't want to have deeper trauma reactions, please tell me this was just an anomaly. I can't go through that all over again. I just can't.
I still feel like I could just lay down on the floor and pass out from the exhaustion but I have to stay awake. 8 more days to the anniversary. Themes of death and life after death are all around me in every movie, in every television show so I've been sticking to cartoons and cooking shows.
I was going to send a message to the reporter to ask if she wanted to sit down and talk/interview me over a coffee at some point this week - every single time I went to hit Send, it would get stuck in the Outbox. I could send other emails but that one just would not go through, for some reason my email program was telling me that the password was incorrect - and yet it sent the other emails without issue. I figured it was my hubby's way of saying No. Maybe I'm not in the best head space to be doing this and with the case still ongoing, probably not a good idea to go speaking to any reporters.
I was supposed to go to brunch with my old coworkers again - they cancelled last minute. I'm actually kind of glad. I'm tired. I'm not sleeping well. The most I am doing from day to day is getting out to make sure the dog gets his exercise (and subsequently I do too). When I come home, I make sure to feed myself, do some writing or sit down and lose myself in the jigsaw puzzle with some jazz music playing. My dishes pile up until it's absolutely necessary to do them. I wear my clothes until there is nothing left and then I do laundry. I tackle only one task per day above looking after the dog and cooking. I don't know if that qualifies as depression but I feel like a slug and I know if I try to do more, I end up exhausted and emotional.
I've rescheduled the brunch to Wednesday. It's here in town so no huge demand on me. it took a lot out of me to meet up with my nieces and sister/sister-in-law the other day. I used yesterday as my recovery day.
It hurts so bad. I'm not going to sugar coat that in any way. The closer I get to that day, the less hope my mind has that he is still alive - yes, I know, he's in an urn upstairs but for some reason that makes no worldly sense to my brain. it can't process or understand death, especially this death. He was my right hand, he was my other half, he was a part of me in every way and he's just missing now, not dead, not passed away, not gone, just missing in action. Cut out of existence. It's not like I watched him grow weak and come to his inevitable end - he just disappeared from my life in the blink of an eye. He was just gone and my brain can't understand that because he was always gone. I was always alone. Nothing really changed in my days. I went through my routine day after day after day and the only thing that didn't happen was that he didn't come home at the end of those days. My brain just kept waiting for him to come home. In 8 days my brain has to start accepting the reality that he can never come home ever again.
That hope has to die in 8 days. There has to be another death on that day. I have to accept it.
Yesterday I took the dog to the park - the park in the valley below where he died. There was thick fog everywhere. The dog started up the roadway out of the valley almost the instant he was out of the vehicle. I tried to steer him elsewhere because for some reason I fear that spot and anything that takes me closer to that spot. The dog would have none of it, it's like he was telling me, "Today is the day we do this walk. Today is the day you face this fear." I think mostly I'm afraid because I WANT to see him in that area, I WANT to know that he's still here with us, I WANT that romantic notion of him being lost and wandering around that area searching for me. I'm afraid I won't see him. I don't want that reality. I want the reality where his form emerges out of the fog or off in the woods and I see him, content and I feel him near me and he sees me and he follows me and finds his way back.
The dog led me up out of the valley on the same roadway hubby and I used to hike. He took me up the steep hill that we drove down just two days before he died, the first time he'd taken that back road. We walked to the top of the hill then down to the end of the street where it curves sharply to the left and joins up with the street where they found his car. Where he died. I stood there in the fog staring down the street toward the stop sign where his car sat that day. It was barely visible through the fog. I searched the sides of the roadway under the oak trees, I looked out across the meadow hoping to see his form, my mind actually calling out to him in an almost silent prayer saying, "If you're here, i'm here, find me. Come to me. Follow me. Stay with me. I'm right here. You're safe. You're okay, just find me. If you're lost, I'm here, come home with me."
We stood there for about 2 or 3 minutes before I turned and led the dog back down into the valley. We met up with a nice friendly woman also walking her dog and chatted with her for a bit about the weather. Yeah, I did that. I stopped and spoke to a complete stranger and I wasn't afraid. We then went down to the soccer fields to spend some time getting the dog's runs in. I decided to try my hand at running again too. It was more a slow trot because of the slush and ice on the field but somehow when I was running I suddenly felt like I wasn't me, like I was experiencing the run how my husband used too when he played football in his glory days. It was an odd sensation. Like I was looking through someone else's eyes and feeling someone else's feelings. It was like a reminiscent euphoria. I smiled when I was done and thought, "Is that what it used to be like for you to run the fields when you were playing football?" I enjoyed the sensation so much I ran the length of the field again - considering I haven't run in about 7 years, I did really good.
I'm going to start incorporating runs into our walks now. Maybe hubby is telling me I need too.
God, I'm missing him. It's hard to express. Even though I feel he is still part of me, like when people say "he lives on in your heart" in those early days and you can't imagine that at all, I'm starting to feel that. Like he is here, inside of me, part of me now and we're still together but at the same time, part of me knows he's not physically here and can't be ever again and it longs for him.
I wish my husband could come home. I wish my husband didn't kill himself. He didn't deserve to die.
I am not feeling well right now. I had a bit of a meltdown. I watched a movie where a man killed himself. I wasn't expecting it. Everything came crashing in on me so hard that I went numb. My whole body feels like it's made of lead right now and my mind is finally my own. I felt slow. Like I couldn't think even though I wasn't howling crying anymore. My mind felt like it had molasses flowing through it. I couldn't fully comprehend anything around me. It was pretty scary.
Everything is so heavy. My head feels so heavy. I just want to be like water and form a puddle on the floor.
I was going to lay down on the couch but the dog won't let me fall asleep. He just keeps coming over and putting his nose to my face, then he whines and if I don't open my eyes, he barks in my face. It doesn't matter if I yell at him, he won't go away. My whole body feels wrong. I'm so, so tired.
I was just so overwhelmed with pain - beyond pain, just pure, pure agony pouring out of me. I felt like I was right in that same day again. Hubby is no longer here to pre-screen my movies. The movie was graphic. They focused on the guy on the floor dying, his shoulder shaking, his body struggling to stay alive. It was not funny. I remembered one woman saying, "I tried to put the blood back in his head but it kept pouring out." My mind showed me a man lying on the floor face down with his entire volume of blood soaked into the rug - he'd shot himself with a shotgun.
I kept thinking. That's how hubby died. It wasn't instantaneous. It took a while. You don't die right that second, you have to struggle. Your body struggles to stay alive.
Why? How could he do that to himself? How can anyone do that to themselves?
My head still feels foggy. It scares me because of the intensity of that episode. I was almost unable to process what was around me, my brain was working so, so slow. I tried to recover by working on my jigsaw puzzle - nice relaxing non-stress distraction - my brain couldn't understand exactly what I was supposed to be doing. I was staring at pieces and felt like my hands were fat. My brain didn't understand what I was supposed to be doing and I was scared. My head felt so heavy. My neck felt like it was thick. My entire body just felt wrong. I'm thinking better now. I'm more connected to my surroundings but please, please don't tell me this is turning to trauma here a YEAR after the fact. I don't want to have deeper trauma reactions, please tell me this was just an anomaly. I can't go through that all over again. I just can't.
I still feel like I could just lay down on the floor and pass out from the exhaustion but I have to stay awake. 8 more days to the anniversary. Themes of death and life after death are all around me in every movie, in every television show so I've been sticking to cartoons and cooking shows.
I was going to send a message to the reporter to ask if she wanted to sit down and talk/interview me over a coffee at some point this week - every single time I went to hit Send, it would get stuck in the Outbox. I could send other emails but that one just would not go through, for some reason my email program was telling me that the password was incorrect - and yet it sent the other emails without issue. I figured it was my hubby's way of saying No. Maybe I'm not in the best head space to be doing this and with the case still ongoing, probably not a good idea to go speaking to any reporters.
I was supposed to go to brunch with my old coworkers again - they cancelled last minute. I'm actually kind of glad. I'm tired. I'm not sleeping well. The most I am doing from day to day is getting out to make sure the dog gets his exercise (and subsequently I do too). When I come home, I make sure to feed myself, do some writing or sit down and lose myself in the jigsaw puzzle with some jazz music playing. My dishes pile up until it's absolutely necessary to do them. I wear my clothes until there is nothing left and then I do laundry. I tackle only one task per day above looking after the dog and cooking. I don't know if that qualifies as depression but I feel like a slug and I know if I try to do more, I end up exhausted and emotional.
I've rescheduled the brunch to Wednesday. It's here in town so no huge demand on me. it took a lot out of me to meet up with my nieces and sister/sister-in-law the other day. I used yesterday as my recovery day.
It hurts so bad. I'm not going to sugar coat that in any way. The closer I get to that day, the less hope my mind has that he is still alive - yes, I know, he's in an urn upstairs but for some reason that makes no worldly sense to my brain. it can't process or understand death, especially this death. He was my right hand, he was my other half, he was a part of me in every way and he's just missing now, not dead, not passed away, not gone, just missing in action. Cut out of existence. It's not like I watched him grow weak and come to his inevitable end - he just disappeared from my life in the blink of an eye. He was just gone and my brain can't understand that because he was always gone. I was always alone. Nothing really changed in my days. I went through my routine day after day after day and the only thing that didn't happen was that he didn't come home at the end of those days. My brain just kept waiting for him to come home. In 8 days my brain has to start accepting the reality that he can never come home ever again.
That hope has to die in 8 days. There has to be another death on that day. I have to accept it.
Yesterday I took the dog to the park - the park in the valley below where he died. There was thick fog everywhere. The dog started up the roadway out of the valley almost the instant he was out of the vehicle. I tried to steer him elsewhere because for some reason I fear that spot and anything that takes me closer to that spot. The dog would have none of it, it's like he was telling me, "Today is the day we do this walk. Today is the day you face this fear." I think mostly I'm afraid because I WANT to see him in that area, I WANT to know that he's still here with us, I WANT that romantic notion of him being lost and wandering around that area searching for me. I'm afraid I won't see him. I don't want that reality. I want the reality where his form emerges out of the fog or off in the woods and I see him, content and I feel him near me and he sees me and he follows me and finds his way back.
The dog led me up out of the valley on the same roadway hubby and I used to hike. He took me up the steep hill that we drove down just two days before he died, the first time he'd taken that back road. We walked to the top of the hill then down to the end of the street where it curves sharply to the left and joins up with the street where they found his car. Where he died. I stood there in the fog staring down the street toward the stop sign where his car sat that day. It was barely visible through the fog. I searched the sides of the roadway under the oak trees, I looked out across the meadow hoping to see his form, my mind actually calling out to him in an almost silent prayer saying, "If you're here, i'm here, find me. Come to me. Follow me. Stay with me. I'm right here. You're safe. You're okay, just find me. If you're lost, I'm here, come home with me."
We stood there for about 2 or 3 minutes before I turned and led the dog back down into the valley. We met up with a nice friendly woman also walking her dog and chatted with her for a bit about the weather. Yeah, I did that. I stopped and spoke to a complete stranger and I wasn't afraid. We then went down to the soccer fields to spend some time getting the dog's runs in. I decided to try my hand at running again too. It was more a slow trot because of the slush and ice on the field but somehow when I was running I suddenly felt like I wasn't me, like I was experiencing the run how my husband used too when he played football in his glory days. It was an odd sensation. Like I was looking through someone else's eyes and feeling someone else's feelings. It was like a reminiscent euphoria. I smiled when I was done and thought, "Is that what it used to be like for you to run the fields when you were playing football?" I enjoyed the sensation so much I ran the length of the field again - considering I haven't run in about 7 years, I did really good.
I'm going to start incorporating runs into our walks now. Maybe hubby is telling me I need too.
God, I'm missing him. It's hard to express. Even though I feel he is still part of me, like when people say "he lives on in your heart" in those early days and you can't imagine that at all, I'm starting to feel that. Like he is here, inside of me, part of me now and we're still together but at the same time, part of me knows he's not physically here and can't be ever again and it longs for him.
I wish my husband could come home. I wish my husband didn't kill himself. He didn't deserve to die.
AngelKeeperJ
Sponsor
I will tell you that this IS an anomaly....brought on by the graphic episode of the man doing what he did. It was too much for you, considering you are counting down to a year ago when your life changed forever. I can't imagine you reacting in any other way! I think you would have reacted to it even if it wasn't so close to what happened.
The movie most likely even triggered the anger that you rightfully feel about the way he chose to leave. You have a right to be angry. He made a permanent decision for both of you. He didn't want to reach out. He didn't want to admit that he wasn't as strong as he used to be. The way you describe the work conditions he was dealing with, sound like a nightmare of it's own. How could he feel like himself when they were hammering away at him? I would imagine that fear was eating him up.
I think running is a GREAT idea! From what I understand, there IS a euphoria that kicks in after a little while. My daughter is a marathon runner, and she uses running as a way of dealing with stress. It is worth a try. I can't run, but I do go on walks down by the river, and it does me a world of good.
There are no rules for the way you "should' feel in the coming days. It will be hard...it's inevitable...but you can try to give yourself permission to feel ANYTHING, and to do anything that brings you comfort. Like the music, walking, running, taking the dog for a walk. It does sound like you are experiencing depression. How could you NOT be? You CAN feel better! It will take time, but you WILL get better. One step at a time, one day at a time.
Another thought just came to mind, as a way of remembering that day. You have a rock and a flower to leave at the place where he last was. Maybe the day after...or anytime...you could take the petals from a flower and put them along the trail where you feel him so strongly? My heart tells me that you are honoring your love for Tin in every way you can think of. Honoring the love that you shared for twenty years. That is a fact that should be honored. It makes perfect sense that it will take longer than a year to learn to let him go. It isn't an event...it's a process.
Keeping you in my thoughts and prayers.:hug:
Last edited:
D
Deleted member 12723
you are in my thoughts and prayers as well. AKJ is so good at expressing the heart of the situation and just hope that you plan a day on the anniversary that is safe for you with safeguards in place to help shelter and protect you.:hug::hug::hug:
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- #1,063
It is 412am, the dog is annoyed that I'm interrupting his sleep. I'm gazing around the room wondering if this is what time he woke up and left the room that day.
I don't wake up because I want to wake up, honestly I'm really tired but my mind seems to wake up on its own. I can't tell if this is the right light level, it might be.
I think about it every day. I wake up early every day. It's exhausting.
Today I hear the investigator turn to confer with her partner, "Didn't they say 330!?" Pause, he looks embarrassed and confused, "What?" She asks again, "The bystander? Didn't they say he was found at 330?" The male investigator looks at me apologetically, he brings his paperwork up, leans closer and whispers something imperceptible to me. Keep in mind they are sitting across from me, only a coffee tables width away. She sits back and says, "Oh okay. So 630 then? He was found at 630?" Of course by this time I'm barely there again. I keep seeing the car. Voices sound muffled. I'm only pretty sure now that she said 630.
This morning is the first time I ask myself if I could have misheard what she said that day. I lie here and my brain asks, could this 630 you insist you heard have been wrong? Perhaps you remember it wrong? Could she have said 830? Could you have only remembered accurately hearing the 30? Her head was turned. She was looking at him. Why are you so certain you heard her say 630?
So let's go over a new possibility. If she had said 830, would that make more sense to the story? Another part of my brain screams in defiance, She Said 630! Six! I'm sure I heard six thirty! The main part of my brain continues with the possibility of 830 having made more sense, it gives me more peace, it lays an outstanding question to rest, it enables me to let go of anger and unanswerable useless circling. Why can't I just accept it? Change what I remember hearing to 830? Why can't I just say that there was some ambiguity in the memory of what I heard? I mean, there's no concrete replay to refer too, everything can be changed so quickly by mere suggestion....is it possible that she said 830?
Another part of my brain, "Anything is possible, memory is so unreliable..."
Okay, so entertain the 830 idea. Does it make more sense to the narrative?....Yes.
It makes more sense because of what I saw. I saw only two police cruisers there at around 930, an hours response time is not out of the question out here, especially on a Sunday just after shift change. When I came back down this way at least another 40 minutes to an hour had passed, that is more than enough time for "the cavalry" to arrive. In my recall there were three police cruisers, a homicide highrise van/truck, a paramedic supervisor vehicle, and an ambulance on scene. If they'd just "found him" ("found" by police I mean) as i'd driven past the first time and were putting in the call for back up resources, THAT would make far more sense to this whole question.
It would help me to make sense of the door slamming noise I heard, but it wouldn't help me place the noise itself. It sounded like an interior door. Not the heavy house-shaking pressure altering thuds of our exterior doors. It sounded like the door to either the washroom or the laundry room. I remember imagining rolling my eyes and wondering what he was getting angry about again. Instead of getting up, I stayed in bed for at least another half hour.
If he left the house through the laundry room I Should have heard the squeak of the heavy interior door to the garage. I Should Have heard the garage door hum....unless he went out the side door....if I were trying to remain unseen, I would go between the houses out that side door...especially if I was carrying a gun and needed to get it to my car quickly and undetected.
I'm almost certain it was the laundry room door and I laid there afraid he was mad again, maybe at me for not waking up to be with him, maybe still about the whole physiotherapy thing....maybe he just slammed it by accident because he's sore and he didn't mean to. Whatever the reason, I layed around in bed for another 20 minutes or so.
Now, next question, had I checked the internet already or did I lay there And then get the brilliant idea to look up ways to help him. Now I can't be sure. For some reason I had noted the time in my mind of 710. Was it because of the slamming noise or was it because that was just the time that I decided to check the Internet?
Wow, here in the real world an hour has elapsed already since I woke up. So how long did I search the internet? It didn't seem long but it was exhausting and frustrating me. I know I put it down again to lay in the dark and think before coming up with the idea to go to the emergency department and fake chest pain to get him checked out. I remember it being quiet. I remember bounding down the stairs excited but also apprehensive because if he was in a bad mood still he might not accept my suggestions. 812am.
Noticed car missing. 822/23. Wrote a blog post here trying to figure this out, 930? Left my house angry at him for being gone and not answering me, approximately 1020-1030!? Noticed one cruiser leaving intersection and turning south toward me. Noted one police cruiser parked at end of short access road, possible small car parked on south shoulder of the roadway. Sun was just coming up. I was driving north toward the roundabout. I thought, "Ha, some drunk driver is gonna get towed!"
I drove away from him. Didn't know it was him at the time. Kept hoping he'd just gone to the emergency department on his own and had shut his phone off and I was angry for nothing. Then as I drove I thought, what if he's crashed his car and CAN'T answer me, what if he's dying somewhere on the road and you're not home!? And I gave my head an invisible shake and said, "PTSD induced panic! He's just angry still and gone to cool off somewhere...like the park...would he go to the park?" A dark part of my brain whispered lowly, "And hang himself?" I shut it down real quick and thought, "Would he seriously go to the park hiking just to try to scare me? Okay calm the F down, you're heading north already, just go check to see if his car is there at the park."
Uggh, now I'm not sure what time it was I wrote the blog post, maybe 840-930? Now nothing makes sense again. If he was found by a bystander at the new time of 830, why were there only two initial responding officers there at now possibly 1030 when I drove by!?
Uggggh!!!!
Can't go back to sleep now. I want comforting little kid cereal, sweet and sugary. Uggh, I have no milk. I guess I'll just get up and make pancakes and start my day. The dog won't wake up for another 2 hours.
I wish hubby was here.
I don't wake up because I want to wake up, honestly I'm really tired but my mind seems to wake up on its own. I can't tell if this is the right light level, it might be.
I think about it every day. I wake up early every day. It's exhausting.
Today I hear the investigator turn to confer with her partner, "Didn't they say 330!?" Pause, he looks embarrassed and confused, "What?" She asks again, "The bystander? Didn't they say he was found at 330?" The male investigator looks at me apologetically, he brings his paperwork up, leans closer and whispers something imperceptible to me. Keep in mind they are sitting across from me, only a coffee tables width away. She sits back and says, "Oh okay. So 630 then? He was found at 630?" Of course by this time I'm barely there again. I keep seeing the car. Voices sound muffled. I'm only pretty sure now that she said 630.
This morning is the first time I ask myself if I could have misheard what she said that day. I lie here and my brain asks, could this 630 you insist you heard have been wrong? Perhaps you remember it wrong? Could she have said 830? Could you have only remembered accurately hearing the 30? Her head was turned. She was looking at him. Why are you so certain you heard her say 630?
So let's go over a new possibility. If she had said 830, would that make more sense to the story? Another part of my brain screams in defiance, She Said 630! Six! I'm sure I heard six thirty! The main part of my brain continues with the possibility of 830 having made more sense, it gives me more peace, it lays an outstanding question to rest, it enables me to let go of anger and unanswerable useless circling. Why can't I just accept it? Change what I remember hearing to 830? Why can't I just say that there was some ambiguity in the memory of what I heard? I mean, there's no concrete replay to refer too, everything can be changed so quickly by mere suggestion....is it possible that she said 830?
Another part of my brain, "Anything is possible, memory is so unreliable..."
Okay, so entertain the 830 idea. Does it make more sense to the narrative?....Yes.
It makes more sense because of what I saw. I saw only two police cruisers there at around 930, an hours response time is not out of the question out here, especially on a Sunday just after shift change. When I came back down this way at least another 40 minutes to an hour had passed, that is more than enough time for "the cavalry" to arrive. In my recall there were three police cruisers, a homicide highrise van/truck, a paramedic supervisor vehicle, and an ambulance on scene. If they'd just "found him" ("found" by police I mean) as i'd driven past the first time and were putting in the call for back up resources, THAT would make far more sense to this whole question.
It would help me to make sense of the door slamming noise I heard, but it wouldn't help me place the noise itself. It sounded like an interior door. Not the heavy house-shaking pressure altering thuds of our exterior doors. It sounded like the door to either the washroom or the laundry room. I remember imagining rolling my eyes and wondering what he was getting angry about again. Instead of getting up, I stayed in bed for at least another half hour.
If he left the house through the laundry room I Should have heard the squeak of the heavy interior door to the garage. I Should Have heard the garage door hum....unless he went out the side door....if I were trying to remain unseen, I would go between the houses out that side door...especially if I was carrying a gun and needed to get it to my car quickly and undetected.
I'm almost certain it was the laundry room door and I laid there afraid he was mad again, maybe at me for not waking up to be with him, maybe still about the whole physiotherapy thing....maybe he just slammed it by accident because he's sore and he didn't mean to. Whatever the reason, I layed around in bed for another 20 minutes or so.
Now, next question, had I checked the internet already or did I lay there And then get the brilliant idea to look up ways to help him. Now I can't be sure. For some reason I had noted the time in my mind of 710. Was it because of the slamming noise or was it because that was just the time that I decided to check the Internet?
Wow, here in the real world an hour has elapsed already since I woke up. So how long did I search the internet? It didn't seem long but it was exhausting and frustrating me. I know I put it down again to lay in the dark and think before coming up with the idea to go to the emergency department and fake chest pain to get him checked out. I remember it being quiet. I remember bounding down the stairs excited but also apprehensive because if he was in a bad mood still he might not accept my suggestions. 812am.
Noticed car missing. 822/23. Wrote a blog post here trying to figure this out, 930? Left my house angry at him for being gone and not answering me, approximately 1020-1030!? Noticed one cruiser leaving intersection and turning south toward me. Noted one police cruiser parked at end of short access road, possible small car parked on south shoulder of the roadway. Sun was just coming up. I was driving north toward the roundabout. I thought, "Ha, some drunk driver is gonna get towed!"
I drove away from him. Didn't know it was him at the time. Kept hoping he'd just gone to the emergency department on his own and had shut his phone off and I was angry for nothing. Then as I drove I thought, what if he's crashed his car and CAN'T answer me, what if he's dying somewhere on the road and you're not home!? And I gave my head an invisible shake and said, "PTSD induced panic! He's just angry still and gone to cool off somewhere...like the park...would he go to the park?" A dark part of my brain whispered lowly, "And hang himself?" I shut it down real quick and thought, "Would he seriously go to the park hiking just to try to scare me? Okay calm the F down, you're heading north already, just go check to see if his car is there at the park."
Uggh, now I'm not sure what time it was I wrote the blog post, maybe 840-930? Now nothing makes sense again. If he was found by a bystander at the new time of 830, why were there only two initial responding officers there at now possibly 1030 when I drove by!?
Uggggh!!!!
Can't go back to sleep now. I want comforting little kid cereal, sweet and sugary. Uggh, I have no milk. I guess I'll just get up and make pancakes and start my day. The dog won't wake up for another 2 hours.
I wish hubby was here.
D
Deleted member 37085
@Medic72 I am so sorry! No words. Here for you. JadesJewel
D
Deleted member 37085
As @gizmo shared, you're in my prayers too.
It came to me @Medic72 , for yourself or Tin, a dove with a broken wing is still a dove.The only question that matters, & of which you know the answer to, is that you both loved and trusted each other with all your heart and soul and strength possible, all factors (of which neither of you were to blame) included.
Prayers, hugs, a candle. Xox.
Prayers, hugs, a candle. Xox.
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