mittam99

Back where she belongs and looking none the worse for wear. Terrific news, Butch!

My first real job was selling vacuums part time for Hoover one summer out of high school. Btw George, there actually is professional vacuum humor. If we were selling a lot of them, business was "picking up"; if sales were slow, business "sucked". You don't wanna know what we called our vac that reversed itself into a blower.

Gin, there seems to be a new and unique trigger daily. BTW, I'm with you on the canister vs. upright argument. And sadly, just like a vacuum... Grief sucks! (sorry, I couldn't resist)

Hey Marg, with your around the house "handyman" skills have you ever considered a part-time job at Home Depot? Also, I don't necessarily think a cherry red door screams "Madam Marg's Cathouse".

George, just like you I was a caregiver for my beautiful wife Tammy. I always had one goal in mind... that somehow Tammy's health would get better. But, it seemed like no matter how hard we fought, the MRSA, the Lupus, the Raynaud's and the Sjogren's were winning the battle against us. Like you, I don't understand what happened on March 6th. It started out as a hopeful day. It was going to be Tammy's second full day since coming home from rehab. We had such plans for the future, a future filled with love. And then by the evening she was gone. How did I not see the signs? I always was so in tune with her. I just don't think I could fathom that something like this could ever happen. Not to my Tammy. Like you said, we shouldn't dwell on that final and horrendous last day but how can we not? I've been traumatized by the events of that day and things I saw. Tammy's last words of "help me" will forever cause me a hurt and anguish that rocks me to my core. I wasn't able to save her and at that moment the paramedics took her to the ambulance and she was gone...forever. My sweet Tammy.. the woman of my dreams...the most precious and most wonderful wife a man could ever have... died, and my world turned into complete and utter torture and emptiness. Of course, I would never define my life with Tammy by that dreadful day. Our life was about love and laughter and the joy of being with each other. Of being the perfect team. Mitch and Tammy forever and always.

I'm so sorry for your loss. My wife Tammy died unexpectedly on March 6, 2015. She had just been sent home after a prolonged hospital and rehab stay and a day and a half later, she was gone. Losing our spouses, our soul mates, is not only life changing it makes you question everything you once took for granted and believed. As to the "why" question, I still ask that almost daily. There is no answer. There is only confusion and pain and anguish. It's only been a month for you, honestly the shock hasn't even worn off. It's good that you are seeing a grief counselor. Seek support from understanding family and friends and continue posting here at the forum. It will help. This is a wonderful resource filled with empathetic members. Thank you for your post and again my sincere condolences on the loss of your beloved husband.

Had a very intense, drowning in tears, stomach twisted in knots grief burst tonight. More like a grief explosion, really. It wasn't one of those triggers that catches you by surprise either, I knew this one was coming. I just didn't know how gut wrenching it would be. I was rocked to my core. For the first time in a while I decided to look at a bunch of pictures of Tammy. Everything from her baby pictures to the recent ones. That started the tears. What really got me crying to the heavens was reading a long letter I wrote to Tammy a couple months after she died. That brought every emotion that you could imagine out. I've been on this journey over 14 months and even though I'm "adapting", the pain and the longing for Tammy hasn't changed. She came into my life and changed me forever. Showed me love that no one ever did. Made me feel like I was something special. My life moving forward will never feel anything remotely like the life I had with my Tammy. There will always be the lingering sadness of what should have been, but never will be.

Ana, that pretty much sums up the way our grieving minds work, doesn't it?

Patty, when my Tammy died unexpectedly and suddenly last March, the world seemed to have changed completely. Everything seemed so surreal and different. People seemed more distant and cold. I couldn't shake the feeling that I just wanted this alternate universe I was now living in to stop. The world without Tammy in it was a very scary, very uncaring, very harsh, bleak reality. It became so awful and so unbearable that, one night, I felt like I simply couldn't take it anymore. If this was what life was going to be like, I didn't want to experience it. The thing was, I couldn't commit suicide. I simply am not capable of doing it. I never came up with a plan, That's not who I am. Kind of sucked at the time because that would have been an easy way out! Instead, I made some calls to a bunch of people to talk things out and posted my thoughts here at the forum. The fact is, I want to live. But life without Tammy is not a life with any measure of happiness even 14 plus months later. Over time, the world seems somewhat less bleak. People seem less cold and distant. That's either me adapting to it or my outlook on life being a little more upbeat. I'm not sure. But I can tell you first hand, I've gone from the bottomless pit of grief to a place where I have some sense that life will slowly get better. It's an evolution that takes work and a ton of patience. I still have a long way to go to figure out what my ultimate goal is. Right now, at least I'm functioning in a somewhat "normal" way. Although nothing is normal about my life without Tammy. I personally think that some of the things you describe, the accidents, the forgetfulness etc. is something all of us grieving have experienced. Our mind isn't as focused as it was. I mean, honestly, I think about Tammy pretty much 24/7. And I find myself leaving the stove on or the fridge open or misplacing things with alarming regularity. Patty, we simply aren't the same people anymore, especially when it comes to concentration. Sometimes we just need to do things slowly and as carefully as we possibly can. I know what you mean when you call you and Ron the "two musketeers". Tammy and I were "two peas in a pod" and were an incredible team. It's so devastating to lose someone who made you better, made you whole. You're only 3 months in. At three months in, I was still finding my way in this grief journey. I was a basket case a good portion of the time. Just try to be gentle and patient with yourself and take it one day at a time. Simple advice, but honestly, that's all you can really do. Hugs to you.

Butch, I hope and pray Gracie gets back home soon and this is just a very tiny bump in the road. You and your family are in my thoughts.

Gwen, even though we are all dealing with a similar emotionally devastating loss, we all handle things and react in our own way. You feel like a stranger to yourself in this new world. Me, I still feel like Mitch, just a version that's been forever changed by grief. Of course there are many feelings that we share. Happiness and joy are found in memories not in our new life. I think we all keep that tv on all the time, rarely actually watching a show from beginning to end. Our minds are usually "elsewhere". It hurts trying to enjoy things alone we used to do together. Unfortunately for us, our grief doesn't come with an instruction manual and it's definitely not one size fits all. Those waves seem to pull you back down just when you think you might be climbing the ladder out of that dark place. Gwen, I consider you a real friend and it hurts when I read how much pain you're in. I wish I had the words to ease your suffering. I wish I could wave a magic wand and Steve and Tammy (and all our loved ones) could come back to us! I wish it was that easy. Hugs.

That shattered vase analogy is so true, Terri. Our hearts, our hopes, our dreams and our whole existence really, has been shattered into millions of pieces. There is no chance of our lives ever being back together like they were. But, I think there is hope that our new lives of misery will become more bearable and at some point may actually resemble a life of more than just going through the motions. It takes time, it takes perseverance, it takes courage and along the way we need to be kind to ourselves. So many of us tend to be so hard on ourselves, and ultimately, that's a very self-defeating behavior. I'm about 14 1/2 months into my grief journey. When I lost Tammy on March 6th, 2015, it felt like my life ended when hers did. Our hearts beat as one and I couldn't fathom the concept of my heart still beating after hers stopped. But somehow, some way, we do live on. This new life is the hardest thing any of us could ever go through. It's moment to moment and one day at a time. It's about trying to live a life in a world that often feels unlivable and unbearable. And somehow we have to adapt and learn to function in place we never wanted to be. GRIEF... it's not for the feint of heart.

Ana and Gin, personally, I don't really think "honoring" them necessarily means doing the things they enjoyed or things that you both loved doing together. Trying to do those things (especially the things you enjoyed together) actually causes much anguish and much pain. In my grief world, I honor Tammy in a number of ways. For one, as often as I can, I tell the world who Tammy was and how amazing and truly inspirational she was. She had a gentle, smiling nature that belied her incredible courage and strength. I also try to live my life in a way that incorporates Tammy's courage and I see things in a way that Tammy would. What I mean is that, we are all changed people because of our soul mates. Before we met our beloved one, we were one person, now we are in many ways a combination of the two. I live my life now knowing that many of my choices and decisions are made with Tammy in my soul. To me, that is the best way to honor her. I hope that makes sense.

Uhhh... no. I know where you're coming from Stephen but people may think you're implying you enjoy being a widower. I can't fathom the happily widowed concept. If you had any control in the matter you'd still be a married man. I know you're kidding about the shirt, but... wouldn't this be even more effective?

I've mentioned this before but it's appropriate to mention this here. Just a couple months after Tammy died a customer of mine proclaimed "Mitch, I know, what you need... you need a woman!". Talk about not getting it and being insensitive. After the shock of what he said subsided, I kept my cool and just told him that wasn't what I need. All I needed was/is my Tammy. The crazy part about it was that this guy was recently widowed himself. Clearly, his relationship was nothing like the one Tammy and I shared. There sure seem be an awful lot of people out there who think they know what's best for us.

Little Gracie sure showed herself to be a real fighter! So happy she's home now. I know everyone here at the forum has been pulling for her and this is awesome news. That's a great picture of her wrapped up snug as a bug in her car seat.

I hear you Gwen. We're living in the new world of me when it used to be we. We were so used to having a life where we were so much more because we were a team. When you talked about feeling invincible because of Steve, that really hits me hard. In my life with Tammy, I always did my best to make sure she'd be OK. When things were bad, I always was there trying to let her know it would be alright. Then, the evening of March 6th 2015 came and I couldn't protect and save my Tammy. That will always hurt so bad.

That's probably a very wise move, Maryann. We all have pressures/stresses in this life but the worst is the pressure we tend to put on ourselves. You've waited this long to get your license anyway, a small delay to get some practice and boost your confidence is just what "the doctor" ordered. Get some rest, OK? And.. when you feel ready to take your test, take some nice, deep breaths and just relax. You got this, Maryann!

Gin, I'm so sorry you felt so much pain today. Everything we do in this new life is harder than it used to be, isn't it? I think that's what makes our loss so incredibly hard and stressful. It's not just the loss of our beloved (the loss of love), this affects every action we take. Driving, eating, watching tv, paying our bills, decision making, sleeping, doing chores... the list is endless. Hugs and hoping your day gets better.

Stephen... I hope you get a chance to read this. I've tried to contact you via PM but it says you aren't accepting personal messages? Maybe your inbox is full? This is the only way I can let you know...

Maryann, parallel parking is one of the most difficult things to do. Even long time drivers find it tricky. Please don't put so much pressure on yourself... it will overwhelm. I am so proud of you for taking this big step! Hugs.

If you love someone with all your heart, they never really die. Yes, physically they've left us. We no longer can feel their hugs and kiss their lips. But that loved we shared, the sweet memories of who they were and what they gave us, lives forever. We ache because they aren't physically here with us. We ache because all we have left are memories. We ache because we can't understand why all of this happened. We live in a world where pain and despair is our one constant. But, what if we can somehow look at things in a different way? What if we can dwell on the fact that we were truly blessed to have had someone love us like they did, more than dwelling on our loneliness? To dwell on the fact that we are a different and better person thanks to them. That we still have their love and their essence inside of us. I'm not saying that we still wouldn't be heartbroken, but somehow we'd look at life in a more positive, hopeful way. And we all need some sense of hope to heal.

That's great to hear, Bill. This new life is hard and sometimes even a glimmer of hope can make a big difference!

Maryann, I can understand how disappointed you were that the film didn't have any new memories for you. I know that felt crushing, as you said. But remember that you will always have the life you lived with him and all the love you both shared locked in your heart, forever. That's what really matters. As far as the driving, I have two key phrases to remember. One is for before you step into the car and one for after. First the before... "try to relax". And once in the car remember "hands at ten and two"! You'll do just fine. And the feeling of independence you'll have from the ability to drive will be huge for you. Think how proud Mark would be of you. An interesting little driving story for you. Back in the early 80's, I'd been driving for about 10 years but always had automatic transmissions. I had the "hots" for the new little Honda CRX so I bought one, in red. The only issue? They only came with sticks. So there I was driving it off the dealers lot, never having driven a stick before. And talk about scary, the dealer was a block from a major highway and major intersections. Sure enough, I conked out a few times leaving stoplights but, you know what? A couple days later I was driving like Mario Andretti and having a blast. Best of luck behind the wheel, Maryann!

In an earlier post I told BillT to check out my "Dealing with those moments" topic. I wanted him to see how devastated I was and how hopeless everything felt for a long time after my Tammy died. The reason I did that was to show Bill that even though he is in utter misery now, there is hope that he will find some peace and comfort. Well, I went back and revisited that topic and it was both painful and enlightening at the same time. I realized that I have grown during my grief journey and have adapted in some ways to life after Tammy. It's not the life I want, but it's all I have now. On May 5, 2015... (about two months after Tammy died), and in that very same topic I started, Katpilot wrote something that touched me deeply. Sometimes we say "it's only words" but these particular words helped me see things in a new way. In a way that, I believe, helped me begin the healing process. Here are Stephen's profound words: Those words changed my outlook about this new life. It wasn't an overnight change, but a year later, I can honestly say that I'm handling things in a more upbeat, positive way. Of course, I still have those waves of grief that hit so hard that my breath is taken away. That's the price we pay for loving so deeply. And I love my Tammy with every beat of my heart. To those of you that can't imagine life getting better, know that I felt the same way. I was convinced that all my days would be consumed by sadness and a gut wrenching anguish. But, I was wrong. Some days are still nothing but misery, yet many are filled with moments of comfort and some sense of peace. Like Stephen said, I'm not the same person anymore. I have Tammy's unwavering courage and her zest for life inside me. I'm trying to live my life in a way that honors Tammy and I'm living with her love in my heart 24/7.