mittam99

Another quote to ponder...

Ding Ding Ding. You may not need those glasses, Marg. Hearts is correct.

So true Kay. Food was definitely one of our pleasures. We did eat out a fair amount when Tammy was able to go. For the most part though, I cooked all our meals. Tammy grew up with her mom's cooking which consisted of "something quick". My mom was a really good cook and dinner was a festive occasion. So, I had a pretty good teacher. As a long time bachelor, I cooked and cleaned and ironed and all that good stuff... When Tammy came to live with me in Maryland, she tried many foods for the first time. Living in Illinois, she never had crabs or scallops or jumbo shrimp before and she loved them. Believe it or not she had never eaten pistachio nuts or even fresh cherries. She was like a kid in the candy shop and she loved all the "TLC" (her phrase) that I put into my food. It was true about the TLC. I take a lot of pride in my cooking and each time I make a dish I try to make it as good or better than the last time I made it. Tammy marveled that I didn't use recipes or measure anything. The only time I'd measure is if I was baking (rare) ... you can't "fudge" that. So many times we'd sit down to eat and I'd say, "Tammy, I think this is the best version of ("fill in the blanks") I've ever made. I probably sounded like a broken record but it did really seem like my best version at the time. Of course, I had a few "not my bests" along the way, too. Tammy always said I should have my own restaurant. One major hurdle though. No money. Which bring us to my grief journey. It still cook but I don't make full course meals like I used to. It's just not the same. I miss Tammy's eyes lighting up when she ate my risotto or shrimp scampi or manicotti or even my "hamgels". Hamgels were our made up name for a toasted buttered bagel with a fried egg and peppered ham. Kind of a fancy McMuffin. Tammy adored those. I miss all the holidays when I made a feast for me, Tammy and Katie. I miss Tammy picking up Katie from her karate lessons and the two of them coming home to a "restaurant meal". We had one of those big boards on the fridge and I'd write up "today's special menu" on it. They got a kick out of that. I miss going to our favorite restaurants and holding Tammy's hand while we were waiting for our order. I just eat now 'cause I need to eat. There's no joy in Mudville.

Gwen, just a thought ... As you know, they say don't make any major changes in the first year. You are of course, beyond that. And since that house seems to feel like a place of torment and a "prison of memories", have you ever considered a move? I'm only asking because you seem so tortured there now. You even questioned whether you could ever feel comfortable in that home again. In my case, I feel comfort here at home. I feel close to Tammy. I can't imagine coming home and feeling anxiety entering your own house. That has to be awful. I feel badly for those of you that experience that. Gwen, in no way am I suggesting you should move (a move can be traumatic in itself), just wondering if you've ever thought about it for the sake of your own healing. Mitch

I second that, Brad. It's always nice to see the person behind the words. And we get to see a picture of Dale, too. Thanks Joyce.

Butch, how can we not support and pray for your little peanut? Seeing Gracie get better day by day is just the medicine we need to see a little sunshine in our grief. I made a little smiley for her...

Probably a good thing, Marg. Ambien can potentially have some crazy side effects. People have been known to get in their car and drive somewhere or do something bizarre then wake up and have no memory of it. There are better choices IMO.

It's not easy Joyce. I spend virtually all my waking hours thinking about Tammy. Most of the time it's about how much I miss her. Or how unfair life was to her in so many ways. Or simply trying to comprehend why she died at 45 years old. Or what could I have done better. Or how I miss her soft skin and wonderful soft lips and amazing smile. I think about her in every room of this house. I think about her when I'm at work and in the car. I think about her when I'm shopping and when I'm eating. On and on. For a long time it was those thoughts that kept me in a constant state of pain and anguish. I couldn't function. I couldn't see any reason to think about a future either. Something had to change in order to not be eaten alive by my overwhelming grief. I started to think about some of the "amazing" things that have transpired since Tammy died. Like the night I fell asleep at the wheel on the highway (driving to Tammy's funeral in Illinois) and crashed into a concrete barrier. Going to the next rest stop and seeing not a scratch on my car defies all logic. Or the time I was talking to my niece about Katie being mean to Tammy and I was getting visibly upset. All of the sudden the ceiling fan in the bedroom turned on by itself at the highest speed. There were no electrical surges in my house. It was almost like Tammy was saying "Mitch, please don't get upset about this". And there have been other unusual occurrences. This helped me get a sense that, yes, Tammy is still here in some way and still helping and loving me. Maybe those incidents gave my mind the solace it needed to take a more hopeful outlook on this new life. I started to do things in a way that I knew would put a smile on Tammy's face. Of course, I still endure many grief waves and the tears still rain down my face but I also feel that the team of Mitch and Tammy still exists. I go through life with the feeling that she is by my side. She certainly resides in my heart. But let's be real here... I want my Tammy back with me so I can hold her and talk to her and share with her and love on her. I want my old life back and not just a "sense" that Tammy is still with me in "some way". I want to go back in time and cure Tammy's lupus so we can live happily ever after like we planned. Hopefully what I wrote made some sense. I didn't get much sleep.

Gin, I wish I could invent that time machine and we'd all be back with our soul mates. Six months feels like a long time without Al, and it is. But honestly, you're still early in this journey. Try to be patient and gentle with yourself. I know it's hard and one day feels just like the day before. I also know these words I'm writing won't magically "cure" your hurt. Just know you have a lot of people at this forum rooting for you. Hugs.

Patty, I'm so sorry you're in so much pain. At two months everything is still very, very raw. At two months, no words I can say can soothe the pain or bring you comfort. As you know, I'm much further along in my grief but I wanted to quote myself from May 2015 when I was at two months. "This is just too hard. The hurt is too deep. I'm sort of functioning. I'm working, I'm doing the chores I absolutely have to. Beyond that, I'm going through the motions. Thinking about Tammy brings sadness, tears and guilt. The unfairness of everything she went through. The fact that I miss her so much it hurts. The fact I wasn't always the perfect husband. I know I tried my best but ultimately I wasn't able to save her. I was supposed to be her knight in shining armor and her protector. This life put simply... sucks. Honestly, I don't know why I even work. For what future? I know people say it gets better with time, better how? The truth is, I doubt life will get better. How could it? I lost everything that meant something in my world. This is how it will be. It's called torture." Contrast that with my more hopeful tone of today. Of course, the waves and tears still come daily but I'm learning to live and function in this new world. This grief journey is definitely a marathon. Keep on posting and we'll be here for you.

I am so sorry for the tragedy that has brought you to our community. You have my sincere condolences. First of all, I'm so glad your baby is healthy. I can only imagine the mixed emotions you must have. I lost my wife Tammy a little over a year ago. She was my whole world and truthfully, I will never be the same. The only thing you can honestly do is take things one moment at a time. Then one day at a time. You are so early in your grief journey. You need your sleep and you need to eat well. It sounds basic but in grief we sometimes neglect the basics. If you have supportive friends and family, that should help. Seeing a grief counselor is a good idea. Posting here about anything and everything will help. I wish you and your baby well. Mitch

Joyce, that's what we're here for, right? "Outsiders" (those who haven't experienced a loss like this) don't understand. We do. We all know the hurt of losing our soul mate. The emptiness, the angst, the longing to be with them again, the loneliness, the guilt, the waves of grief that knock us down. And on and on. We are all in this together. If I can help someone and make their grief journey a little easier, I've done a good thing, right? And in doing so I might just put a bit of a smile on my face. It's a win win.

I appreciate you saying that, Joyce. It's hard to truly convey in words how much I love Tammy and how wonderful she was. And how perfect we were for each other. But I try my best. I want to tell you something. Something important. The fact that you post here means you're not just "going through the motions". You truly want there to be some happiness in your life. Right now, you're just not ready to be super creative and make giant leaps. And that's ok. You're here and you're doing the best you can. Pat yourself on the back. You know Dale would. This new life isn't easy. Three truths to remember... 1, One day at a time. 2. Baby steps. 3. You gotta have hope.

Thirteen and a half months and it still hurts so bad. Sure, I'm functioning better than I was but that's the keyword... functioning. By definition, something that is functioning is working — doing what it's "supposed" to do. And that's where I am, doing what I have to do, doing the basics. Yes, I throw in a few "extras" like revamping some of the rooms in the house or the occasional burst of creativity. And yes, I work. Sleep and eat too. And do the chores, well, most of the time anyway. So, I'm functioning, but, compared to living my old life with Tammy by my side, there's simply no real joy to be found. Seeing a beautiful blue sunny sky or a wonderful sunset or a dog wagging it's tail etc. does give me a momentary bit of warm and fuzzy but it's short lived. Last night I was invited to dinner at my older sister's house. My younger sister was there with my brother-in-law. A friend of my sister's, her husband and their son were there, too. The food was great, the conversation was fine and I know I handled it better that I would have a year ago. I actually had quite a few funny lines that had people laughing. I helped with much of the cleanup after the meal. To others, it probably seemed like I was doing "better". I admit I am functioning better than a year ago, no doubt. Of course, back then, an invite to a meal pretty much put me in anxiety attack mode. What made the event so hard was coming home. The house looks great, neater than ever (cleaning is a new hobby of mine lol), actually. But, something was amiss. Where's my lovely, charming wife? That's when it hit me, hard. My sisters still have their husbands. My sister's friend was at dinner with her husband. I mean, I still feel married. Tammy will always be my one and only in my heart. But to others, I'm just "widower Mitch". The poor guy who tragically lost his young wife to the ravages of poor health at only 45 years old. So, it's easy to start feeling depressed. To feel like your life has no meaning and that, for all intents and purposes, happiness is something that only happened in the past tense. Living in the present feels like you're being tortured for some crime you didn't commit. The truth is, we're only "guilty" of one thing... loving our soul mate deeply and passionately. And as we all know, it's that deep love that's making our grief nearly impossible to endure at times. Having said all this, I'm still trying to live a life to the best of my ability. I'm functioning and I'm coping. How am I able to do this? The answer is easy ... it's my Tammy. Tammy motivates me. She makes me a better person. She makes me realize that life is precious and it is worth living. Tammy never gave up. She fought battles that would have put most of us on our knees and she fought back with courage and strength that few could muster. Her legacy, her persona and her essence is still alive, inside of me. With every step, I walk with her in my heart and in my soul. In that sense, Tammy will live on with me, forever. We will always be the perfect team. "Two peas in a pod" as we used to call ourselves. I love my Tammy for all eternity.

Keep on rocking Gracie!

Tammy once told my niece that she wanted the two of us to die together, old and gray, snuggling and holding hands in bed. I want her back so bad. I need my Tammy. I need this to be nothing but a hellishly bad dream. And then, reality hits me like ice cold water in the face. This is my new reality and I have to live it alone. The only chance I have to make it is to live with Tammy by my side, in my heart.

Gwen said: "I wish I found more comfort at home too considering how much time I spend here. I love our home and how we made it ours. But I sure miss him in and out of rooms, playing with the dogs, playing his music, just in general being a life force here. I don't know how to live single. Not liking it as I did when I left home at 18. Plus, the place is too darned clean! " ----------------------------- The solution Gwen? Throw things around and mess the house up. Play loud music all the time. Get all wild and crazy. Yeah, I know. If only it was that easy, I'd write a book and earn millions. I look around our house and of course, I have memories everywhere. I just choose to believe that Tammy's essence is everywhere here. In doing so, some of the feeling of missing what I no longer have, is lessened to a degree. Of course I miss everything about Tammy. I've often wondered if the devil said "Hey Mitch, have I got a deal for you!... just sell me your soul and I can bring Tammy back and cure her Lupus". Would I take that offer? Would you?

I was shocked when I saw the headline on my local newspaper's website. Prince was a hugely talented guy and a genuine superstar. Tammy's favorite musical era was the 80's (her car radio was always tuned to the Sirius 80's station) and she was a big Prince fan. He will be missed. I hope he plays a concert in heaven. Tammy would be all over that!

Another quote that struck me as rather true...

Makes sense to me, Joyce. This home is where a large part of my life with Tammy was spent. We ate here, slept here, made love here. There were also many difficult times when we dealt with horrific medical issues. But we dealt with everything, good and bad, as a team. On the other hand, going to a restaurant alone that we enjoyed together is something I can't imagine doing. Like you said, the comforting things we have at home aren't there. And what we really won't see is our loved one smiling and having a good time with us. All we'd see is a cold restaurant and wonderful memories that will never be again. But again, grief is an individual journey. We're all different. Some people may find that going to "old haunts" brings comfort yet staying at home is torture for them. Like I always say, there's no rule book for grief.

I read the whole quote this way... When our loved ones were alive, we lived and loved in the moment and even though we felt deep love, it wasn't until they died that we truly came to grips with just how staggeringly sacred and profound our life together was. Because of this overwhelming sense of loss and lost love, it's easy (and understandable) to dwell only on our past happiness. However, we need to realize that the amazing life we had is something few have ever experienced. And it can never be taken away from us. Looking at this new life as empty is certainly understandable, yet, if emptiness becomes our mantra we're not respecting the life we shared with our soul mate and their precious memory.

Gwen, this just goes to show how each of our grief journeys can be similar, yet so different. I like being in this house. It is still our house and always will be our house.. It's where the two of us spent most of our time together, especially in the last few years of Tammy's illness. I feel comfort here. What's harder for me (and right now almost impossible) is going to places outside of the house we spent time at (restaurants and such).

Well then, I guess I'm learning to swim, Marty. I'm still in the kiddie pool though.

One word: Awesome. You did Ron proud. I know it wasn't an easy thing to do.

Another day into this journey that I didn't ask for. I was off of work so I gave myself a pretty big to-do list. And, everything got done. I even was able to help a new member set up her profile a bit. I did almost skip the exercise but I've been doing that way too much recently. Of course I have a valid excuse... I injured my rotator cuff badly a while back. So, the day was going fairly well, the sun was shining brightly and then it came. One of those painful thoughts that brought me to tears. Thoughts of my beloved Tammy and the emptiness of being without her. The tragedy of this wonderful woman's life being so hard and so challenging. Thoughts of March 6th. Grief waves still overwhelm me when they hit. Though I have to say, I do bounce back quicker these days. I've learned to take my mind to a different place after the wave has subsided. That's something I couldn't do a few months ago. It's not that the waves have lost intensity, I just realize that if I ride them too long, I can't function the way I need to. That's progress, right?