UnkleKrappy
New Here
I'm sorry for your loss. My wife died of sepsis in December, so I share a pain I can only guess may be similar. Please accept my condolences.
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My husband died today
- Post starter NarcSis
- Start date
- Status
- Post starter
- #1,166
I feel every day that I carry a dark cloud within me - is it grief or is it depression?
I feel incomplete most days. I talk to the dog, I walk with the dog but it's not the same as having my husband here.
A former coworker of his wants to come for a visit this week. He's a man I haven't seen in almost a decade, not since I left the road. I always fret over these things, my mind screams at me to be cautious, not to trust, don't say too much, don't appear vulnerable. The truth is, in my mind, 9 years ago was just yesterday and trying to relate to someone after that amount of time, well, I'm afraid it's going to be awkward. I'm always afraid these work people will only talk work, I mean, it's how they relate to one another, by calls..."Oh yeah I remember this one call we were on together..." I'm afraid of those conversations. My jaw clenches automatically, I start to hold my breath and bear down. I tap my foot or fidget. It's not good for me. Hubby knew that, he saw how anxious I'd get.
I'm also always afraid of finding out things about him that I'd rather not know, y'know? Like this one woman agonized over her husband's suicide for close to two years before someone told her he'd been cheating on her and found out the day before he died that he was going to father a child...her entire view of their 10 years together was destroyed. She said she would've rather not known, ever, because she said she'd essentially grieved over a lie; their life together, their happiness, it was all a lie. I don't ever want to see my husband as anything but the man I loved, the man who made me smile, gave me love and stood by me, so it scares me when these people come around, I'm afraid they'll tell me something in an effort to lessen my grief.
I knew a man who wasn't very sexual, didn't take kindly to sexual innuendo, who preferred to stay away from the public eye and who held these staunch beliefs about truth, justice, duty and honour. He believed we should be rewarded for our good deeds and was always hurt so badly when his rewards seemed to be stolen by the less deserving. That is the man I knew, the one I loved. I'll not have that destroyed because someone else knew a different person....the person he was at work.
I've been missing him so terribly. The loneliness feels threatening. I'm still waiting on his return. I can't fully accept his absence as permanent.
I'd give anything to have him back.
I feel incomplete most days. I talk to the dog, I walk with the dog but it's not the same as having my husband here.
A former coworker of his wants to come for a visit this week. He's a man I haven't seen in almost a decade, not since I left the road. I always fret over these things, my mind screams at me to be cautious, not to trust, don't say too much, don't appear vulnerable. The truth is, in my mind, 9 years ago was just yesterday and trying to relate to someone after that amount of time, well, I'm afraid it's going to be awkward. I'm always afraid these work people will only talk work, I mean, it's how they relate to one another, by calls..."Oh yeah I remember this one call we were on together..." I'm afraid of those conversations. My jaw clenches automatically, I start to hold my breath and bear down. I tap my foot or fidget. It's not good for me. Hubby knew that, he saw how anxious I'd get.
I'm also always afraid of finding out things about him that I'd rather not know, y'know? Like this one woman agonized over her husband's suicide for close to two years before someone told her he'd been cheating on her and found out the day before he died that he was going to father a child...her entire view of their 10 years together was destroyed. She said she would've rather not known, ever, because she said she'd essentially grieved over a lie; their life together, their happiness, it was all a lie. I don't ever want to see my husband as anything but the man I loved, the man who made me smile, gave me love and stood by me, so it scares me when these people come around, I'm afraid they'll tell me something in an effort to lessen my grief.
I knew a man who wasn't very sexual, didn't take kindly to sexual innuendo, who preferred to stay away from the public eye and who held these staunch beliefs about truth, justice, duty and honour. He believed we should be rewarded for our good deeds and was always hurt so badly when his rewards seemed to be stolen by the less deserving. That is the man I knew, the one I loved. I'll not have that destroyed because someone else knew a different person....the person he was at work.
I've been missing him so terribly. The loneliness feels threatening. I'm still waiting on his return. I can't fully accept his absence as permanent.
I'd give anything to have him back.
- Post starter
- #1,167
I feel a horrible amount of pain today. I have no energy to do anything but I also am not willing to let myself relax. I want to keep pushing and pushing but my body is telling me it won't cooperate.
I've been having difficulty sleeping ever since that envelope came for him. Last night, in the middle of the night my nose started running, but when I got to the bathroom saw it was blood. I spent the rest of the night lying in bed convinced I was going to die and terrified.
I'm so exhausted. I feel like a failure because I've decided to not walk the dog today. Even though I walked him pretty hard yesterday, he needs his exercise every day. We did a 90 minute hike in about an hour yesterday, I kept him moving as punishment for eating a brownie someone had thrown in a field. He's a beagle who likes his sniffing, so he was pretty pissed at me during this hike but I think he got it.
I'm struggling to survive, like literally. I'm pushing myself harder every day to take the dog out further and further away from our house, deeper and deeper into the woods. I don't know why, I'm just doing it, whether I feel like it or not I'm pushing my butt out that door and giving myself an obstacle to survive. I feel only a tiny sense of accomplishment each time.
I'm exhausted but it's like I don't know how to stop anymore...
Ahhhh, and there it is! There was one thing I noticed about some people after trauma, they latch onto something and go at it obsessively claiming this is how they healed themselves. They bury themselves in something and keep pounding away never admitting to how it's an avoidance reaction.
I'm doing just that. I'm avoiding.
I'm avoiding this pain and it's coming out in strange ways. I walk one to two hours a day now and it still does not make me feel any better inside. It doesn't because I'm storing stuff and burying it rather than facing it.
Today I want both to go into a crowded area and pretend everything is normal AND disappear into the freezing wilderness with a tent for a few nights and disappear.
I don't want to feel this pain anymore. I'm afraid of it, it's too huge.
I'm going to move the couch cushions to the floor today and hope the dog is okay with a camp out and movie day.
I hope I'm okay with it. I need to force myself to stay put and go silent for a few days.
I've done this before. I can do this again. This is trauma reactivity. I can do this.
I've been having difficulty sleeping ever since that envelope came for him. Last night, in the middle of the night my nose started running, but when I got to the bathroom saw it was blood. I spent the rest of the night lying in bed convinced I was going to die and terrified.
I'm so exhausted. I feel like a failure because I've decided to not walk the dog today. Even though I walked him pretty hard yesterday, he needs his exercise every day. We did a 90 minute hike in about an hour yesterday, I kept him moving as punishment for eating a brownie someone had thrown in a field. He's a beagle who likes his sniffing, so he was pretty pissed at me during this hike but I think he got it.
I'm struggling to survive, like literally. I'm pushing myself harder every day to take the dog out further and further away from our house, deeper and deeper into the woods. I don't know why, I'm just doing it, whether I feel like it or not I'm pushing my butt out that door and giving myself an obstacle to survive. I feel only a tiny sense of accomplishment each time.
I'm exhausted but it's like I don't know how to stop anymore...
Ahhhh, and there it is! There was one thing I noticed about some people after trauma, they latch onto something and go at it obsessively claiming this is how they healed themselves. They bury themselves in something and keep pounding away never admitting to how it's an avoidance reaction.
I'm doing just that. I'm avoiding.
I'm avoiding this pain and it's coming out in strange ways. I walk one to two hours a day now and it still does not make me feel any better inside. It doesn't because I'm storing stuff and burying it rather than facing it.
Today I want both to go into a crowded area and pretend everything is normal AND disappear into the freezing wilderness with a tent for a few nights and disappear.
I don't want to feel this pain anymore. I'm afraid of it, it's too huge.
I'm going to move the couch cushions to the floor today and hope the dog is okay with a camp out and movie day.
I hope I'm okay with it. I need to force myself to stay put and go silent for a few days.
I've done this before. I can do this again. This is trauma reactivity. I can do this.
XXbabydollXX
Bronze Member
Oh My God. I'm so sorry. He is a handsome angel singing in God's choir. God Bless you and your family.
- Post starter
- #1,169
I needed him today. My truck wouldn't start and I had to search through boxes of tools just to find that the piece I needed was missing.
Our booster pack was dead and I was all kinds of losing it in my house today. I felt so damn helpless and stupid.
I didn't know how to disconnect the connectors to the battery to clean the terminals; none of the sockets seemed to fit. My neighbors weren't home. I called five tow places before I found one that would give me a boost and wow, the cost of it these days!
I have to take the vehicle in tomorrow, likely will need a new battery. Uggh, if hubby were here we could e just gone out to get the tools we needed or he would've figured out how to get the darn connectors off for me.
I hate being lonely helpless woman. We were a team, we worked together on things like this.
I want him to come home dammit!
Our booster pack was dead and I was all kinds of losing it in my house today. I felt so damn helpless and stupid.
I didn't know how to disconnect the connectors to the battery to clean the terminals; none of the sockets seemed to fit. My neighbors weren't home. I called five tow places before I found one that would give me a boost and wow, the cost of it these days!
I have to take the vehicle in tomorrow, likely will need a new battery. Uggh, if hubby were here we could e just gone out to get the tools we needed or he would've figured out how to get the darn connectors off for me.
I hate being lonely helpless woman. We were a team, we worked together on things like this.
I want him to come home dammit!
- Post starter
- #1,171
I wake up every day, I touch his shirt and I say, "I miss you." I'm so tired of saying I Miss You because it just doesn't cover what that even is. I Miss You goes without saying, I guess these days, so I may start just touching his shirt, he knows how I feel.
It's been well over a year hasn't it? How can that be? What happened to the time in between? 1 year, 1 month and 18 days. How am I even still breathing? How in hell did I even survive that?
You know I was on the loo the other night, in the middle of the night and I looked toward the dark shower stall and I thought, "He's dead." and I was struck by a sudden and overwhelming sense of disbelief. I came out to the room swearing up and down that what I'd experienced was just a terrible nightmare. I got back in bed and I could hear him snoring and I thought, "Yes, it was all just one of those really believable dreams." It took a few seconds to register that the snoring actually belonged to the dog. I then reached over and felt his shirt wrapped around his blanket and my heart sank again. The believable dream is really that he is still alive.
I see so many suicide widows coming out of the darkness and reaching out for help these days. So many. I'm talking thousands of women, hundreds of men. Unbelievable that this many people take their lives every single day and still people whisper and shush it. I mean, we all need help. Some of us are just trying not to die in the undertow of the suicide itself. How many peripheral people to the actual suicide are also struggling not to die themselves?
I see life differently now. He had a mug, a "special" mug, it was "the perfect mug" and he only used it on those rare occasions because he was so afraid that he'd drop it or break it somehow. In the time I'd known him, he used that mug maybe 30 times and I'm being generous in that estimate. But WHY!? I look at that mug now and I think, if I want to use that mug, I'm going to use it dammit because what is the point to even owning "the perfect mug" if it's just going to sit on a shelf and not be used!?
I have a small amount of money sitting in a bank account that is supposed to last me the rest of my life - I'm looking at maybe another 40 years, again, being generous to myself but what if I die tomorrow? What if I get hit by a falling piece of airplane junk? What if some random mechanic leaves a wrench wedged on a plane somewhere and it comes loose over head and it's trajectory sends it smack down into my skull? Will I have been able to enjoy a new pair of shoes or a new sweater or a fancy coffee or a trip to the wilderness BEFORE that happens to me? What is the point to being alive? So I can deny myself things that I want in order to conform to some societal expectation of how I'm supposed to be living my life?
It was St. Patrick's Day yesterday. Hubby and I used to have a pint if he wasn't working. We used to salute his great grampa who was Irish but always said, he was no Irish, his roots were in Scotland. I thought, you know, hubby and I used to take it easy on St. Patties day because he was Scots; because of the stereotype of him being an alcoholic, and me, being native, again had a stereotype to fight against, so we'd deny ourselves any fun with St Patrick's Day because of how we wanted to appear. Yesterday I said, F the Irish, Scottish and Native stereotypes and I cranked my celtic tunes and colored my beer green (things I'd never allowed myself to do in my entire lifetime!) and proceeded to get drunk. It didn't work. My body fought it all the way. I had five beer, and considering I'm not a drinker, was not drunk. It's the PTSD, I swear, the body goes into panic mode when it starts to lose control and the adrenalin fights off the alcohol effects. I tried.
Hubby wasn't a drinker...until that last year or two when I'd have to remind him that he was having too much or should be careful. I discovered the first time he got drunk that he was not a "fun drunk", he was irritable and biting in his comments. Most times he'd drink, suddenly find himself drunk and he'd go straight to bed - all in pure silence. Now, hubby was Scots, so with that came this obsession on occasion to possess the perfect Scotch. We have at least 5 or 6 bottles of Scotch in the basement, never opened, but each was either a Special Run or the most expensive or something he'd researched. To me, it's a permanent marker made liquid form, gasoline with a fancy label...I'm not a fan of it. That being said, he had one "drinking bottle" that he'd take from at least once a year, Christmas, his birthday, New Year or some other day he'd designated as a Scotch shot day. He'd have one shot, dedicate it to his Great Grampa or other ancestor and that would be that - he wasn't actually fond of Scotch. My whole point is, I now have bottles of Scotch in the basement that have never been opened, are just sitting there existing and I'm not even sure if this stuff gains in value over the years.
Maybe it was the Scots in him but he was always investing in something that he felt would gain value over time. It was a crap shoot really. I don't know if any of his stuff has gained any value since he bought them - he's got old books (his old book phase), vinyl records, knives, pins, Scotch - all of it in the hope that one day he'd be able to make some cash from them. It wasn't things like specifically rare books or currency or rare comic books, nope, he collected what I think may all wind up bulk by-the-pound stuff. I've almost fully inventoried his book collection and I've pulled out some early gems for the SciFi fans but again, maybe only two or three times face value (like maybe now worth $40). There aren't any first editions or rare hardcovers but again, I have to do further research. I haven't seen any desirable authors.
Knives. Where do you even go for that stuff? I have no clue. His stuff was bought locally, new, not rare or collector. I saw some on a resale site that only pay just above what he paid or even less.
Do I continue to hold onto this stuff in the hopes that they will someday be of value or do I liquidate it now? Again, when I die, will anyone even know to look through this stuff or will it all just be tossed into the trash? He had so many things that were of specific value to him, well, he's gone now and this stuff, I struggle to see the meaning in it.
What is the point to all of the THINGS we acquire over our lifetime? Hell, even some of the things we did, the memories are just gone. I look at some of our vacation photos and I hardly remember being there. I pulled a photo of my hubby sitting on a log and I thought to myself, "Where in hell was this taken?" When I finally figured it out, it was actually from a memory he'd shared with me about us climbing up a steep hill on one of our camping trips, it was straight up and when we got to the top, there were further hills on top of it that we just didn't have the energy to summit. I remember him telling me the story. I took the picture, so I was there and I scaled that hill with him and my jacket is even in the photo but I DO NOT remember doing this at all or even what age we were or what year it was.
After a while, some things just become meaningless.
He took his own life. He couldn't find any reason to continue. He could only see an inevitable end and it scared him so badly he cut to the chase. He cheated. He cheated life by meeting death head on. He let go of the value of everything and he just let things lie where they were. He let go of everything. Including me.
And I can't let go of him. He gave my life meaning. Now all I have are empty breaths and pointless days wondering what the purpose of it all is. Scared to die but wishing I had the strength to go through with it. To plan something instead of just dreaming of romanticized versions of what it would be like - the kind of things they show you in the movies.
I feel like a waste of space. I do. Right now I don't work. I can't work and that alone makes me feel less than human. Am I always going to never be able to work or am I going to somehow be able to be okay being on a disability pension for the rest of my life? I feel ashamed when my sister goes on about people who "are fully capable of working, there's nothing physically wrong with them. If you can still walk or use your hands, you can work!" And here I sit, capable of hiking for two entire hours straight, collecting a disability pension because I fold like a deck of cards when I have to deal with people or face any slight type of stress. I took my vehicle to the shop yesterday, sat there the entire time reading a book - I don't remember a word, what I do remember is the smell of the room, the cars going by outside, the details of the man's face sitting next to me, the surprise when the secretary opened a section of the wall that hid another office, the sound of the television, the stories of shootings and stabbings, black boots walking by and the fact that I eventually became aware that my entire body was tensed up and I was clenching my jaw so tight my teeth were sore. Apparently I read over 100 pages in the time I waited. I don't remember a word.
The slightest stress. Anything remotely unfamiliar and I'm not functioning at peak performance - well, actually I am, just not in the desired way for the goal I'm trying to achieve....but I'm physically able to work. :(
Hubby was in trouble psychologically.. I've been in trouble already for years, its pretty damned normal for me now. He didn't know how to think his way out, he was never taught any skills, he didn't know how to hang on and he didn't even know he had to fight. All I've been doing is fighting. It's tiring. I wish I could have helped him. I really do. I wish I could have seen he needed help. I was always just wrapped up in keeping me alive.
What is dead? What is it? Because I haven't "heard" from him in a long, long time. There have been no "signs" here in the house, just the things I want to interpret, like, "Ooooh, the room is cold, maybe he's here with me." or "what is the dog staring at? Are you here?" But the things dropping for no reason, lights buzzing, that stuff doesn't happen anymore. Has he moved on? Has he forgotten me?
I write backwards on the shower door every morning. I write notes to him. I write backwards because if he's on the outside looking in on our world, then I want the writing to be right way around for him. Sad huh?
I miss him just doesn't even cut it anymore.
It's been well over a year hasn't it? How can that be? What happened to the time in between? 1 year, 1 month and 18 days. How am I even still breathing? How in hell did I even survive that?
You know I was on the loo the other night, in the middle of the night and I looked toward the dark shower stall and I thought, "He's dead." and I was struck by a sudden and overwhelming sense of disbelief. I came out to the room swearing up and down that what I'd experienced was just a terrible nightmare. I got back in bed and I could hear him snoring and I thought, "Yes, it was all just one of those really believable dreams." It took a few seconds to register that the snoring actually belonged to the dog. I then reached over and felt his shirt wrapped around his blanket and my heart sank again. The believable dream is really that he is still alive.
I see so many suicide widows coming out of the darkness and reaching out for help these days. So many. I'm talking thousands of women, hundreds of men. Unbelievable that this many people take their lives every single day and still people whisper and shush it. I mean, we all need help. Some of us are just trying not to die in the undertow of the suicide itself. How many peripheral people to the actual suicide are also struggling not to die themselves?
I see life differently now. He had a mug, a "special" mug, it was "the perfect mug" and he only used it on those rare occasions because he was so afraid that he'd drop it or break it somehow. In the time I'd known him, he used that mug maybe 30 times and I'm being generous in that estimate. But WHY!? I look at that mug now and I think, if I want to use that mug, I'm going to use it dammit because what is the point to even owning "the perfect mug" if it's just going to sit on a shelf and not be used!?
I have a small amount of money sitting in a bank account that is supposed to last me the rest of my life - I'm looking at maybe another 40 years, again, being generous to myself but what if I die tomorrow? What if I get hit by a falling piece of airplane junk? What if some random mechanic leaves a wrench wedged on a plane somewhere and it comes loose over head and it's trajectory sends it smack down into my skull? Will I have been able to enjoy a new pair of shoes or a new sweater or a fancy coffee or a trip to the wilderness BEFORE that happens to me? What is the point to being alive? So I can deny myself things that I want in order to conform to some societal expectation of how I'm supposed to be living my life?
It was St. Patrick's Day yesterday. Hubby and I used to have a pint if he wasn't working. We used to salute his great grampa who was Irish but always said, he was no Irish, his roots were in Scotland. I thought, you know, hubby and I used to take it easy on St. Patties day because he was Scots; because of the stereotype of him being an alcoholic, and me, being native, again had a stereotype to fight against, so we'd deny ourselves any fun with St Patrick's Day because of how we wanted to appear. Yesterday I said, F the Irish, Scottish and Native stereotypes and I cranked my celtic tunes and colored my beer green (things I'd never allowed myself to do in my entire lifetime!) and proceeded to get drunk. It didn't work. My body fought it all the way. I had five beer, and considering I'm not a drinker, was not drunk. It's the PTSD, I swear, the body goes into panic mode when it starts to lose control and the adrenalin fights off the alcohol effects. I tried.
Hubby wasn't a drinker...until that last year or two when I'd have to remind him that he was having too much or should be careful. I discovered the first time he got drunk that he was not a "fun drunk", he was irritable and biting in his comments. Most times he'd drink, suddenly find himself drunk and he'd go straight to bed - all in pure silence. Now, hubby was Scots, so with that came this obsession on occasion to possess the perfect Scotch. We have at least 5 or 6 bottles of Scotch in the basement, never opened, but each was either a Special Run or the most expensive or something he'd researched. To me, it's a permanent marker made liquid form, gasoline with a fancy label...I'm not a fan of it. That being said, he had one "drinking bottle" that he'd take from at least once a year, Christmas, his birthday, New Year or some other day he'd designated as a Scotch shot day. He'd have one shot, dedicate it to his Great Grampa or other ancestor and that would be that - he wasn't actually fond of Scotch. My whole point is, I now have bottles of Scotch in the basement that have never been opened, are just sitting there existing and I'm not even sure if this stuff gains in value over the years.
Maybe it was the Scots in him but he was always investing in something that he felt would gain value over time. It was a crap shoot really. I don't know if any of his stuff has gained any value since he bought them - he's got old books (his old book phase), vinyl records, knives, pins, Scotch - all of it in the hope that one day he'd be able to make some cash from them. It wasn't things like specifically rare books or currency or rare comic books, nope, he collected what I think may all wind up bulk by-the-pound stuff. I've almost fully inventoried his book collection and I've pulled out some early gems for the SciFi fans but again, maybe only two or three times face value (like maybe now worth $40). There aren't any first editions or rare hardcovers but again, I have to do further research. I haven't seen any desirable authors.
Knives. Where do you even go for that stuff? I have no clue. His stuff was bought locally, new, not rare or collector. I saw some on a resale site that only pay just above what he paid or even less.
Do I continue to hold onto this stuff in the hopes that they will someday be of value or do I liquidate it now? Again, when I die, will anyone even know to look through this stuff or will it all just be tossed into the trash? He had so many things that were of specific value to him, well, he's gone now and this stuff, I struggle to see the meaning in it.
What is the point to all of the THINGS we acquire over our lifetime? Hell, even some of the things we did, the memories are just gone. I look at some of our vacation photos and I hardly remember being there. I pulled a photo of my hubby sitting on a log and I thought to myself, "Where in hell was this taken?" When I finally figured it out, it was actually from a memory he'd shared with me about us climbing up a steep hill on one of our camping trips, it was straight up and when we got to the top, there were further hills on top of it that we just didn't have the energy to summit. I remember him telling me the story. I took the picture, so I was there and I scaled that hill with him and my jacket is even in the photo but I DO NOT remember doing this at all or even what age we were or what year it was.
After a while, some things just become meaningless.
He took his own life. He couldn't find any reason to continue. He could only see an inevitable end and it scared him so badly he cut to the chase. He cheated. He cheated life by meeting death head on. He let go of the value of everything and he just let things lie where they were. He let go of everything. Including me.
And I can't let go of him. He gave my life meaning. Now all I have are empty breaths and pointless days wondering what the purpose of it all is. Scared to die but wishing I had the strength to go through with it. To plan something instead of just dreaming of romanticized versions of what it would be like - the kind of things they show you in the movies.
I feel like a waste of space. I do. Right now I don't work. I can't work and that alone makes me feel less than human. Am I always going to never be able to work or am I going to somehow be able to be okay being on a disability pension for the rest of my life? I feel ashamed when my sister goes on about people who "are fully capable of working, there's nothing physically wrong with them. If you can still walk or use your hands, you can work!" And here I sit, capable of hiking for two entire hours straight, collecting a disability pension because I fold like a deck of cards when I have to deal with people or face any slight type of stress. I took my vehicle to the shop yesterday, sat there the entire time reading a book - I don't remember a word, what I do remember is the smell of the room, the cars going by outside, the details of the man's face sitting next to me, the surprise when the secretary opened a section of the wall that hid another office, the sound of the television, the stories of shootings and stabbings, black boots walking by and the fact that I eventually became aware that my entire body was tensed up and I was clenching my jaw so tight my teeth were sore. Apparently I read over 100 pages in the time I waited. I don't remember a word.
The slightest stress. Anything remotely unfamiliar and I'm not functioning at peak performance - well, actually I am, just not in the desired way for the goal I'm trying to achieve....but I'm physically able to work. :(
Hubby was in trouble psychologically.. I've been in trouble already for years, its pretty damned normal for me now. He didn't know how to think his way out, he was never taught any skills, he didn't know how to hang on and he didn't even know he had to fight. All I've been doing is fighting. It's tiring. I wish I could have helped him. I really do. I wish I could have seen he needed help. I was always just wrapped up in keeping me alive.
What is dead? What is it? Because I haven't "heard" from him in a long, long time. There have been no "signs" here in the house, just the things I want to interpret, like, "Ooooh, the room is cold, maybe he's here with me." or "what is the dog staring at? Are you here?" But the things dropping for no reason, lights buzzing, that stuff doesn't happen anymore. Has he moved on? Has he forgotten me?
I write backwards on the shower door every morning. I write notes to him. I write backwards because if he's on the outside looking in on our world, then I want the writing to be right way around for him. Sad huh?
I miss him just doesn't even cut it anymore.
- Post starter
- #1,172
Walking the dog today down in the valley below where he died, does "his car" not come driving down that road toward us! Exact make, model, color and snow tires still on!
My heart skipped a beat, my breath caught in my throat, I looked at the dog and thought, "He'll get to see the dog!!"
The car slowed down as if it were going to turn into the park then sped up again and drove away. How stupid of me to think in that instant that an entire year of pain just didn't happen.
I almost cried right then and there. I thought, "But I wanted to see you. I need to see you."
After a while I thought to myself that maybe it was a sign. Maybe he was telling me that he's near or maybe it's his way of letting me know he's okay. I almost wanted to stop someone and ask if they'd seen the car too just to see if it actually was real.
Walked the dog a little much this week, after our walk today he was walking directly behind me very slow, I was sauntering and he was still lagging behind. I don't know if he's exhausted, sore or just plain old. He was panting a little and that always concerns me because he won't take water while we're out. I'm going to keep him in tomorrow and let his joints rest.
He whined at me this evening wanting me to lay on the floor beside him, so as i spread a blanket to lay down, he steals my spot! I curled up in a little place at the end of my "bed" and started petting him, so he rolls over into my arm and his head is resting perfectly on my shoulder. We snuggled like that and fell asleep for about an hour. It reminded me so much of how hubby and I used to curl up together, right down to the twitchy-ness. Hubby used to twitch as his body settled in to sleep, I used to say he was like a dog. Well, now the dog is like him, sleep twitches, snores and lip smacking while asleep. It was very comforting to fall asleep there today. The more he reminds me of hubby, the more I love this dog.
I miss you, hubby. I miss you so much it hurts.
My heart skipped a beat, my breath caught in my throat, I looked at the dog and thought, "He'll get to see the dog!!"
The car slowed down as if it were going to turn into the park then sped up again and drove away. How stupid of me to think in that instant that an entire year of pain just didn't happen.
I almost cried right then and there. I thought, "But I wanted to see you. I need to see you."
After a while I thought to myself that maybe it was a sign. Maybe he was telling me that he's near or maybe it's his way of letting me know he's okay. I almost wanted to stop someone and ask if they'd seen the car too just to see if it actually was real.
Walked the dog a little much this week, after our walk today he was walking directly behind me very slow, I was sauntering and he was still lagging behind. I don't know if he's exhausted, sore or just plain old. He was panting a little and that always concerns me because he won't take water while we're out. I'm going to keep him in tomorrow and let his joints rest.
He whined at me this evening wanting me to lay on the floor beside him, so as i spread a blanket to lay down, he steals my spot! I curled up in a little place at the end of my "bed" and started petting him, so he rolls over into my arm and his head is resting perfectly on my shoulder. We snuggled like that and fell asleep for about an hour. It reminded me so much of how hubby and I used to curl up together, right down to the twitchy-ness. Hubby used to twitch as his body settled in to sleep, I used to say he was like a dog. Well, now the dog is like him, sleep twitches, snores and lip smacking while asleep. It was very comforting to fall asleep there today. The more he reminds me of hubby, the more I love this dog.
I miss you, hubby. I miss you so much it hurts.
- Post starter
- #1,173
- Post starter
- #1,174
I dreamed I was with him and I was having his child. We never had children, he was always afraid to be his dad and I couldn't work out the logistics of it without him...I mean childcare / finances not actually making the child! :)
I always tried to get him to engage in a serious discussion about it and he'd avoid me or get lost in how we could afford it. Then my body decided for us that it was never going to happen. That was one of the first thoughts I had after he died, "I never gave him kids" along with, "I never took his name, so now he doesn't even exist at all anymore."
I still beat myself up about us not having kids. We always dreamed we'd win the lotto and be able to adopt.
I felt his hand in mine in that dream and it felt so real. I wish it was real.
It's been almost 14 months since he died and I still don't get it. He died. He's dead. He doesn't exist anymore and never will. He's not going to just walk back into the house one day and pick up where we left off. He died....he shot himself.
That last bit still blows me away. It's not believable at all to me. I don't get it at all. How could he? How could he even do that? How could he go through with that? What kind of angry do you have to be with yourself to do something that violent?
I was talking to my sister about a poor woman whose in-laws blame her for their sons death and have been harassing her and threatening her since his death. My sister defended the parents...??? She cited the "you're only hearing one side of the story," argument and went on to add, "she was probably a sleaze and running around on him behind his back. Why else would he want to die?"
I thought, then what was my husband thinking of me why he shot himself? What did other people blindly and automatically say to blame me for his death? Was I a sleaze in others eyes? Was I painted with a big red A in some minds? How was I to blame for this and how did they blame me trying to make sense of it all?
I was a little insulted. Sadly I feel a kinship with these women now and I don't (or at least try really hard) not to judge them or the appearance of their circumstance simply because my husband died without giving me any indication. We didn't have a fight, there were no ill feelings between us, neither was in trouble for anything, we were surviving our hell together and then out of the blue he was triggered and then dead before I could even see anything.
What did they see?
What do a lot of these people still think of me?
I miss him so much, I still hold out hope that I can be the one who changes how the universe works and get my husband back. :(
I always tried to get him to engage in a serious discussion about it and he'd avoid me or get lost in how we could afford it. Then my body decided for us that it was never going to happen. That was one of the first thoughts I had after he died, "I never gave him kids" along with, "I never took his name, so now he doesn't even exist at all anymore."
I still beat myself up about us not having kids. We always dreamed we'd win the lotto and be able to adopt.
I felt his hand in mine in that dream and it felt so real. I wish it was real.
It's been almost 14 months since he died and I still don't get it. He died. He's dead. He doesn't exist anymore and never will. He's not going to just walk back into the house one day and pick up where we left off. He died....he shot himself.
That last bit still blows me away. It's not believable at all to me. I don't get it at all. How could he? How could he even do that? How could he go through with that? What kind of angry do you have to be with yourself to do something that violent?
I was talking to my sister about a poor woman whose in-laws blame her for their sons death and have been harassing her and threatening her since his death. My sister defended the parents...??? She cited the "you're only hearing one side of the story," argument and went on to add, "she was probably a sleaze and running around on him behind his back. Why else would he want to die?"
I thought, then what was my husband thinking of me why he shot himself? What did other people blindly and automatically say to blame me for his death? Was I a sleaze in others eyes? Was I painted with a big red A in some minds? How was I to blame for this and how did they blame me trying to make sense of it all?
I was a little insulted. Sadly I feel a kinship with these women now and I don't (or at least try really hard) not to judge them or the appearance of their circumstance simply because my husband died without giving me any indication. We didn't have a fight, there were no ill feelings between us, neither was in trouble for anything, we were surviving our hell together and then out of the blue he was triggered and then dead before I could even see anything.
What did they see?
What do a lot of these people still think of me?
I miss him so much, I still hold out hope that I can be the one who changes how the universe works and get my husband back. :(
AngelKeeperJ
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((( :hug: Medic :hug: )))
- Post starter
- #1,176
My sister and I met up with two of our nieces last night and went to the movies. I was a passenger in the car and halfway through the evening realized I was searching for him. Every car, every face, every crowd, I was looking for his familiar shape, his face, just something to make me feel more settled inside.
"But what if it was just an elaborate ruse?" My mind always whispers this to me.
I keep anticipating one of his coworkers coming to me to admit that they know he's not dead and he's just gone into witness protection or on some covert mission. It sounds crazy but this is what happens.
I wouldn't think that or even have that idea if he hadn't always spoken of those things. Secret private security companies, covert overseas missions, guys he'd been exposed to during his time on the tactical team. Applications he'd filled in, contacts he had. This dream of his to be able to disappear for months to years on a contract and return with a boatload of cash for us.
This delusion gets reinforced by the idea that I should be able to feel him missing from the earth and I have no sense of that. I have a sense of him missing from the house but not from the earth.
There are other women who share this delusion too, usually soldiers or police officers wives. Most other civilian women have the standard "he moved away and is living another life somewhere else" delusion. So strange how the sudden death of a spouse is so complicated and difficult to comprehend.
I had my nephew's new wife post on Facebook the other day, an article about how losing a pet can be far more difficult to cope with than losing a close relative or friend. I had to stop myself from throwing my iPod. People who say that have never had a true connection with another human being. She lost her dog two years ago. She's an only child. It was her first pet, so yes, devastating but seriously!? If you've never lost a close friend or relative, don't even try to compare the loss of your pet to the loss of a true love.
It still burns my butt.
The man I loved died horrifically. Nothing compared to him. Dare I say, nothing ever will. I still look for him, he's not dead, he's missing. :(
"But what if it was just an elaborate ruse?" My mind always whispers this to me.
I keep anticipating one of his coworkers coming to me to admit that they know he's not dead and he's just gone into witness protection or on some covert mission. It sounds crazy but this is what happens.
I wouldn't think that or even have that idea if he hadn't always spoken of those things. Secret private security companies, covert overseas missions, guys he'd been exposed to during his time on the tactical team. Applications he'd filled in, contacts he had. This dream of his to be able to disappear for months to years on a contract and return with a boatload of cash for us.
This delusion gets reinforced by the idea that I should be able to feel him missing from the earth and I have no sense of that. I have a sense of him missing from the house but not from the earth.
There are other women who share this delusion too, usually soldiers or police officers wives. Most other civilian women have the standard "he moved away and is living another life somewhere else" delusion. So strange how the sudden death of a spouse is so complicated and difficult to comprehend.
I had my nephew's new wife post on Facebook the other day, an article about how losing a pet can be far more difficult to cope with than losing a close relative or friend. I had to stop myself from throwing my iPod. People who say that have never had a true connection with another human being. She lost her dog two years ago. She's an only child. It was her first pet, so yes, devastating but seriously!? If you've never lost a close friend or relative, don't even try to compare the loss of your pet to the loss of a true love.
It still burns my butt.
The man I loved died horrifically. Nothing compared to him. Dare I say, nothing ever will. I still look for him, he's not dead, he's missing. :(
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