mittam99

Unfortunately Maryann, this is our society. It's been like that for a long time. Everybody seems to want their 15 minutes of fame. From YouTube, to "selfies" and everything in between we've become a "look at me" world. It's seems like people have changed but I'm not so sure. I often wonder if our parents and grandparents had access to the kind of technology we have if anything would be different. Maybe not. People as a rule want to be heard. Want to be liked. It's human nature, I think. Facebook in particular has gotten out of hand. Used properly, it's a nice way to communicate with family and friends. But things often are posted that probably shouldn't be and the ripple effects can be devastating. I know Katie was so proud she had well over 1,000 "friends" on her page. Of which, (I'm guessing) ten were actually real friends, if that. Maybe the fact that our emotions are already on shaky ground (as grievers) has us more apt to be bothered or irritated by things in general. I mean, when Tammy was alive I was able to vent about things that "bugged" me to a loving, understanding ear and now it's just me and my inner voice. All of life's irritations seem magnified now.

Well, I just got home from a difficult work day. It's been hot and miserable here and it was the end of another long week. At the end of my shift I pretty much "lost it". A customer asked "how my wife was doing". I was shocked by the question because her husband was a former co-worker and he knows Tammy died last year. I thought she knew. I told her Tammy died. And then I heard this... "Well at least she's out of her pain"... I tried my best to keep my cool. I almost always do. I'm known for that. Even when I was a kid one of my nicknames from friends was "Cool McCool". Maybe it was the heat, maybe I was tired and just let my defenses down, but I couldn't deal with her words. I shook my head and implied that I didn't think what she said was appropriate. And that she honestly wouldn't understand how this grief feels. She replied "I was only trying to be nice". And that's when I lost it. I had to say something but I didn't want to get fired. So I told her that people just say things like "she's in a better place" or "she's out of her pain" because they think it's nice and it sounds like a caring thing to say. But it really isn't very nice. And that, to be honest, the only way she could begin to understand my loss, would be dealing with her husband's sudden death. In a public setting like that, I know I probably went too far. It's just that this pain is so deep. I have nothing left in this world but pain. And anguish. And emptiness.

That's a great point, Kay. Even though many of us feel like we haven't really "progressed", the little battles we win (like the trip to the grocery store without a breakdown) is progress. I'll never forget coming home from Illinois after Tammy's funeral and having to leave my house to go to the bank to open a new account. I felt so overwhelmed sitting there and seeing that empty chair next to me that Tammy would have occupied. It was like I was having an out of body experience. Every word the bank lady spoke was irritating me. I simply had to get out of there. I think I was having an anxiety attack. When I finally left the bank, I literally ran to my car and sped home to my house. Even going to the grocery store and passing by things that Tammy liked overwhelmed me. Probably the best thing I did was going back to work a when I did. The first week or so was very hard. The coming home to an empty house was even harder. In time, I've adapted to being with the public and the fact that they just don't understand my grief. I have to put on a happy face at work and I'm able to do that by concentrating on my job and the fact that there's very little free time to just "think". It helps in the sense that I'm not feeling the pain of grief all day. When I get home though, it's another story. It's home sweet home, or at least it was. At least I don't have to put on a happy show for everyone. But it's like you said, Kay. We feel a little "safer" at home and those breakdowns occur and those tears flow often. As always, it boils down to just taking it one day at a time and seeing where it takes us.

I agree on the group hug. If it wasn't for all of you, I'm not sure where I'd be. This place has helped me so much and I try to help others in pain. With my life feeling so empty, the forum also gives me a sense of purpose and accomplishment when I can touch someone's heart or give them hope. I love this place, although I wish none of us ever had to join. I'd much rather be watching Wheel of Fortune now with Tammy instead of posting this! If only.

I read these words today and found them comforting and so true. It made me think of all of us here at the forum. We have people here who have given me hope when I've felt hopeless. I feel comfort "walking" with others here who share and understand my pain. I also believe my journey and my words have given hope and comfort to others from time to time. We are all in this together and I'm thankful you all are part of my grief journey. Yes, I'm alone. My Tammy, my everything, my one and only has died. But, I'm so grateful for this forum. Marty, and all the members here have become like family. And unlike our "real" families, I truly feel understood here. Mitch

Thanks Marty. I like that phrase "dosing your pain". Dr. Mitch has been prescribing quite a few of those doses for me recently!

I just looked at the calendar and realized the it's been 16 months today since my sweet Tammy lost her battle with that vile disease, Lupus. Still trying to find some meaning in my life. Still wishing I'm actually in some alternate dimension and will be back to my reality and life with Tammy. Still wanting to hold Tammy again. To see her smile. Hear her laugh. Hear her say "Mitchie Pooh". Why do the good die young and bad people live to be 100? Trying to make sense of it all. Not a good day. Then again, few if any, are.

I'm off of work today and I was reflecting on how empty my life is. I'm generally a glass half full person and I try to look at the positives. I guess the positives are that I have a job. I can still walk and talk. Beyond that, there's not a whole lot happening in my life. My grief has become my way of life. At any moment, the unbearable sadness creeps in. The thoughts of how Tammy should still be here and how awful it feels to be in this life without her. And I'm wondering if I'm doing things the "right way". I realize there's no roadmap or instruction manual in grief but am I grieving in a way that will truly move me forward? Specifically, is the way I "compartmentalize" my grief thoughts holding me back in some way? Let me explain what I mean. In my world, Tammy was all I had. She really was everything to me and made my life worth living. Now that she's gone, if I thought about her loss 24/7, I'd cry 24/7. Every time I think about her and her death, I fall to my knees in anguish. So, I "limit" those thoughts to an extent so I can function and not just lay in bed staring at the walls all day. From a "practical" point of view it makes sense. I need to work and eat and do stuff around the house. But am I somehow affecting my grief journey by restricting those sad thoughts that bring me to my knees? Don't get me wrong, just about every other thought I have daily is about Tammy. But, I know if I dwell on the thoughts that bring tears, I simply can't function the way I need to. There's probably no answer to my question but I just needed to write this down for my own sanity.

Patty, you titled your topic "when you have to be with people who don't understand". Unfortunately, it's pretty simple. If you are going to leave your house and be with people, you pretty much will be with people who don't understand about 100% of the time. Believe me, I know. On a daily basis, I talk to and deal with people by the hundreds. Even most of the widows and widowers I speak to don't really understand. And here's why... The members here at the Spouse forum are the select few. The ones who were in a relationship with their one and only true soul mate. Most couples didn't have the type of relationship we had. That's why even though there are thousands of new widows and widowers daily worldwide, we probably have less than 50 members who regularly post here. Our relationships were once in a lifetime. Honestly, as far as trying to "educate" your new business partner regarding your feelings, it may be worth a try but don't expect the desired results. I've learned to just go with the flow around people and sort of just "consider the source" and realize they'll never react the way I want/need/expect. I do a lot of "grinning and bearing" around the public. In a perfect world, people would know just what to say and have just the right amount of empathy for us, but that's not the world we live in, unfortunately.

Robin, Steve has it right. At first, no matter what you do, you feel stuck in that deep, dark hole of grief. Sometimes it will feel like you're going backwards. Then, you take those tentative little baby steps and even though you'll take some steps back from time to time, you start moving a bit forward. Eventually, those baby steps become bigger strides, and at some point you realize just how far you've come. The thing is, the grief will be with you forever but you learn to not only endure it but you adapt to it. It's a long, hard journey and I'm so glad you find a sense of comfort here. We need all the comfort we can get.

Gin, the weather here was rainy so the cookout was moved inside. It was nice but I still don't do all that well at these family social gatherings. Going as a couple with Tammy was the life I knew. I feel out of place and out of sorts now at these kind of events. Then I come home and it hits me so hard. The silence is deafening. I need Tammy. I need my old life back and I need Tammy's love. I can't believe all this happened. It's my new reality but even after almost 16 months, I'm still staggered by the pain and the overwhelming sense of emptiness I feel. Tammy was not only an amazing person, she and I fit like a glove. You find that perfect someone and you think it will last forever, and then, in a flash, everything you ever wanted in life is gone. Sometimes it's incredible that we even halfway function in this new life. A life that's for all intents and purposes our worst nightmare. Except this isn't just some bad dream, it's our painful reality.

Gin, I know this is a tough day and my heart goes out to you. I too, feel abandoned by Tammy's family. It hurts to an extent, but I've come to an understanding that, in the scheme of things, it's not really a big deal. My older sister actually invited me to a cookout today and I have to say, my sisters have been kind and supportive of me. Right now, the most important thing is you and your health. Both physical and emotional. It's so hard to deal with the emotional side of things though when you are having medical problems. I wish I could take your pain away, I wish I could go back in time and give Al and Tammy and all our beloved soul mates the gift of good health, but I can't. I hope tomorrow is a better day than today and I hope you begin to find some comfort and some peace in your life.

Marita, you are right. This new life will never be the same as your life was with Gord in it. But you actually are a blend of the two of you even though you may not be feeling it this moment. Think about the young Marita before you met Gord. Think about what you did and things that you enjoyed. Now, think about the Marita of today. The Marita that married Gord. And I don't want you to dwell on the pain and sadness right now. Are you really the same person you were before you met Gord? If you're anything like me, you'll see that you see things a little differently now. Through his eyes to an extent. He may have shown you things that you never knew or turned you on to things you weren't even aware of. All that is now part of your thought process. So in a way, you truly are a combination of Marita and Gord. And that's good. I definitely feel like I'm Mitch still intertwined with the essence of Tammy. I know I'm a better person because of that. Because I feel this way, I know Tammy will be with me (in that sense) for the rest of my life.

Like others here at the forum, I've dealt with the loss of all of my elders. When my grandfather died (and it was in a most shocking way... suicide) it was difficult. He was the first person I was close to that died. But in the natural order of things, I was able to function and move forward. Then my other grandparents died, and again there was sadness, but I moved ahead with my life and while I thought about them often, the pain was tolerable. It was different when my mom and dad died. After all, they gave me life and I lived with them nearly all my life. They were my role models and my mentors. It took me a long time to fully function without overwhelming sadness after they died. But, nothing, absolutely nothing could compare to the overwhelming sadness and soul searching devastation that's happened since my beautiful Tammy's death. It's different than other losses. It changes every aspect of your existence to the point that you question if life is worth living. Everything from the way you eat and sleep to how bills get paid is affected. You don't even know who you are anymore. You feel married but my W4 form says I'm single. And the loss of love and intimacy is world changing. Robin, it's going to be hard for your children to understand exactly how you feel. Let's face it, unless you've lost your soul mate, the pain of this loss is impossible to fathom for others. Still, I would sit down with them and try your best to let them know what you are feeling inside. They don't like seeing you hurting, but, if they can just understand your pain a little better, it might help them see things a bit more clearly. As far as being "depressed". I think all of us that are here and dealing with our devastating loss are depressed to an extent. Of course it's different than other types of depression. We know why we are so sad. It's understandable, our world has been turned upside down and the pain and tears are our constant. Last but not least, I wanted to comment on that one line you wrote... "I must feel everything I am feeling and one day hopefully find some peace" You are so right, Robin. Those words (in a nutshell) are the essence of our grief journey. Unfortunately, so many people out there (not here at the forum, just generally speaking) try to make this journey a sprint because the pain is often too much to bear. The only way you can move forward and eventually find some sense of peace is to experience all this overwhelming pain and to express your feelings. It's certainly the hardest thing any of us have done but eventually, I believe our lives will become better and the darkness of our grief will make way for some sense of "happiness" in the future. Mitch

Joyce, I know this has to be such a hard time this 4th with those very difficult memories. I fully believe Dale is looking down on you and feeling proud that you are his wife. Hugs. Butch... You've been dealing with so much sorrow in recent times. I hope and pray things ease for you soon. You're so right about the power of a song that keeps you connected to your wife. Those songs will always be important. They brings tears but they also remind us of the amazing love we shared.

This seems to be as good a place as any to document all the things that have happened in my life since Tammy died that give me hope she's still here. And that she's trying her best to show me she's still here and loves me and is trying to help and communicate with me... 1. Driving to Illinois to go to Tammy's funeral I fell asleep at the wheel on the highway going over 70mph. I awoke to the sound my car violently smashing into a concrete construction wall. The metal to concrete sound was horrific and I knew the damage to my car was severe. Yet, inspecting it at the next rest stop revealed not a scratch. Miraculous? I think somehow, my angel Tammy was watching over me. 2. After returning home to Maryland, I was talking on the phone to my niece and I was getting upset. The topic? Katie's "meanness" towards Tammy. I was getting upset when out of the blue, the ceiling fan turned itself on to the highest setting. That was a fan Tammy loved. It was as if she was trying to get my attention and tell me to calm down. 3. Flickering lights that often appear when I'm thinking about Tammy. 4. That butterfly that kept following me wherever I went and tried to come in the house with me. 5. Often, I'll be cooking something in the kitchen, downstairs. Our bedroom floor has a particular spot that creaks, near the bathroom. I'd often hear Tammy getting out of bed and the unmistakable sound of her walking on the creaky spot. Even today, almost 16 months since she passed, I still hear those unmistakable creaky sounds that can only be made if someone is walking on that exact spot. 6. Things moving on their own. There is a picture on the wall in our bedroom that always seems to be crooked. It never used to do that. Now I straighten in out almost weekly. I still have some of Tammy's combs on the bathroom vanity. Sometimes, they have changed position... slightly. At first I thought I was imagining it, but now I make a note of their position to see if they move and they have on occasion. 7. The broken entryway blind. This blind had been stuck in the open position for years. No amount of tugging or cajoling would budge it. A while back I tried to fix it again. This time I asked Tammy if she could help. It was worth a try, right? To my amazement, with no effort at all on my part, the blind closed easily. I fell to my knees. That convinced me that, indeed, Tammy is still in my life at helping me and loving me still. There may be a few other things I'm forgetting but all these incidents give me the feeling that this isn't just crazy coincidence. I believe Tammy and her amazing, loving, smiling spirit... her essence, is somehow, some way, still with me.

Marg, I know you feel like you need to motivate yourself and in your situation, that's understandable. Yet, honestly, considering all that has transpired... not just your beloved Billy's death but all the extra turmoil you've been dealing with, I'm amazed at your fortitude. Give yourself a pat on the back, you deserve it and you are entitled to do that once in a while. I wish you nothing but peace in the upcoming days and weeks.

Been a while since I posted in this topic. Today it just hurts so bad. It's a holiday weekend and the sun is shining. A perfect day to throw some meat on the grill. But, I have no oomph to do that and no one to share the food with. Barbecuing is too much work to just cook for one. I used to love cooking on the grill. Tending to the fire and getting the food "just right". Sure it got hot and smoky and sweaty doing it, but that's what us men do to please our women. We've been doing it since the cave man days! Tammy loved anything cooked on the grille (who doesn't, right?). Her beloved dad was a master at it. Ironically, the last grill I bought was the same exact smoker/grill he owned. I think holidays ars so hard for me because it's a painful reminder of all I've lost. My beautiful Tammy is gone. My parents ard gone. My grandparents. All my aunts and uncles. All that's left from my family are my sisters and Katie, and a few in-laws (Tammy's sisters and her mom). Tammy's family lives in Illinois and my sisters, although local, don't really stay in touch much with me. I'm so alone in this world. It is so hard.

Butch, of course it hurts terribly to lose your mom; after all she gave you life and has been in your life forever. But, how lucky you are to have had her there for you for all those years. I have to admit I'm a bit jealous of people who have parents that live to old age. My dad died when I was just 26 and my mom passed when I was 43. Cherish her memory and I hope your sadness turns to thoughts of how blessed you were to have her in your life for so long. My belated condolences on your loss.

About a month after Tammy died, I was outside in the front yard, when a pretty butterfly appeared. A couple things were unusual. For one, it's pretty rare we see butterflies that early in the season. And two, this butterfly seemed to be following me wherever I went. Matter of fact, it tried to come in the house with me, except I closed the door before it could come in. The whole incident had me thinking. I looked up butterflies and read that they often are a symbol of life after death. And then my grief laden brain took over and I started feeling guilty that I "ran away" from the butterfly. If by chance, that was Tammy, would she somehow think I didn't want to be near her? Which of course would never be the case. I'm pretty sure she knew I was just running away from the pretty flying insect.

Ana, I hear you. Nothing brings me any real pleasure and even when I feel a tiny sense of accomplishment, the moment is fleeting. It's as if something in our brain changed when our soul mate died. I don't just mean the sadness and anguish of grief. It's as if our "pleasure switch" has been permanently turned off. Maybe in time, it gets turned back on or maybe it never will. I guess time will tell.

I'm still just in the mode of trying to function in this new world without my beloved Tammy by my side. That means going to work and eating and doing the basics. For now, that's all I'm ready for and I look at that as an accomplishment. I have gone to a few family events but beyond that, my social life doesn't exist. I never really was one to go out and eat by myself or watch a movie alone in a theater.

Yes, I did change to a different picture of Tammy.

I like this little poem and hope you do as well.

Butch if he's asking for his space you need to give it to him. We all know what it feels like to lose our beloved spouse and each of us grieves differently. I know you love him and want to help but, for now, show your support by honoring his wishes. I am very sorry he lashed out at you. That had to be bewildering. Anyway, like you said, give him some time.