mittam99

In the last couple of years of Tammy's life, she was mostly bedridden. Before I'd go to work, I'd make her breakfast and left snacks for her to munch on if she got hungry. I'd always tell her the remotes (3 of them) were on my side of the bed if she needed them. She also liked the way I'd straighten out the comforter. She'd ask me to "make it pretty"... Then, I'd ask if she was ok (if she wasn't, I'd call out of work) and tell her I love her. Fast forward to the present. Before I go to work, I straighten the comforter and "make it pretty" the way she liked. I put the 3 remotes on my side of the bed just like I used to. And I tell her I love her. Like you said Brad (and you're right), that's definitely my heart.

Has something like this happened to you... ?? The other day I was re-caulking the bathroom tub and around the toilet. I realized a tool I needed was in our bedroom closet and as I went to reach for it, I accidentally got caulk on one of Tammy's nice dresses. Frantically, I ran to get a wet cloth to remove the caulk before it dried. I was relieved that I was able to remove it. Today I noticed that I missed a spot and there still was a bunch of caulk on the dress. I spent 15 minutes working on it and got it almost perfect. I told Tammy I was sorry and told her "I did the best I can do". Ok, so why was I so concerned about this? Do I subconsciously think Tammy will actually be wearing this again someday? Was I upset that I somehow "hurt" Tammy because I ruined the dress? Has grief cause me to go temporarily insane?

There is no doubt that Marty's forum and the people in it are a godsend. Look, if we had the choice we would've never had to join here. Unfortunately, that wasn't our choice and the pain, confusion and trauma of our losses brought us here. I for one have gotten far more out of my time here than I did with my grief counselor. That's not to say grief counseling is a bad thing, it isn't. But the experience there varies greatly and depends on the quality of the counselor to a large extent. Here at the forum we are free to speak of our feelings and inner thoughts knowing that others "get it". And importantly, people here aren't judging us. This place is a little online oasis helping us deal with our gut wrenching grief journey.

Brad, I think that would be a crepe. Sorry, I couldn't resist. As far as fate... Tammy and I met chatting online. She was a young mother with a three year old daughter. I was a "young-ish" middle aged lifelong bachelor. She lived her entire life in Illinois. I'm a born and bred Marylander. Here's the thing. I had NEVER called anyone on the phone I chatted with online, EVER. This was back in the nineties and the whole online chat thing was sort of new. But something about Tammy changed that. I talked to her on the phone and six months later we met in person. Six months after that we were a family of 3 living in Maryland. And I didn't just find someone I fell in love with. I found my perfect soul mate.

hh... I wish I could ease your pain. Those reminders will always be there, it's just unavoidable. And it's not just the things you see and hear or even touch. We could move to the planet Jupiter and I guarantee most of our thoughts would be about our lost loved one (that and figuring out if there's is any food or water on the planet). It's truly overwhelming. I've been on the journey now for a little under 55 weeks. I still never know what will trigger an outburst of tears. Grief, like life is so unpredictable. But, I have seen some changes. Today for example. It turned into a gorgeous, breezy, sunny day. Months ago, I wouldn't even have cared or noticed. But today, on my way to the kitchen, I looked outside and said "wow, what a beautiful day" out loud. And then a bit of guilt went through my mind. Why am I here and Tammy's not? Even though Tammy's gone I still draw strength from her strength. I find myself seeing things from her point of view more than ever. As much as I ache because she isn't here, memories of my life with Tammy often serve as a source of comfort. And yet, it's those same memories of happy times that cause the tears to flow. Grieving a lost love is not only painful, it's confusing at times. There's no map for "success", there's no timetable and nothing about it is easy. All you can do is wake up, splash some water on your face, brush your teeth (deororant is probably good, too) and take the day as it comes.

Tammy was crazy for those Reese's peanut butter eggs you can getting at Easter time. I'm not sure what they change but they are so much better than the standard issue peanut butter cups. As far as holidays in general, I've had a year of those days and they've become non-holidays in a way. It's not the same without Tammy, Especially Christmas. When you consider we were married on Christmas Eve, you can imagine how tough that is.

It's simply a fact. No one in this world has any idea of exactly what you are going through emotionally. They may think they know but they don't. Each one of our journeys is unique and totally ours to experience, our way. Members of this forum do have an understanding of the pain of grief. The loneliness. The anguish. The anger. The guilt. We do share many common bonds. Even so, everyone's grief is different. Everyone's relationship with their lost love was different. That's why I'm learning to "tune out" those well meaning people that say those ridiculous, cliche things about your grief. Early on, it would upset me (well, it still does) and I would try to "plead my case" with them. I realized it just wasn't worth getting upset about because those people just don't understand. Grief is a learning experience for all of us. Yes, it seems like one lonely, sad and dismal day leads to another. But, along the way, we are changing. Maybe the changes are tiny but I know it my case, I am slowly (very slowly) learning to adapt to this new life. Not that I'm enjoying it in any way though. ------------ Tammy changed my life in so many ways. She made me feel special and so loved. When she said the word husband, I felt so proud to be her man. I was so lucky she choose me to spend her life with. And it's so painful to know she had less than 46 years on this earth. So, I'm living this life, one day at a time. I'm existing. Doing the best I can one moment to another. Tammy is in my heart, in my head and in my soul forever.

A small list of things not to say to someone who is grieving... "They would want you to……" "It was their time…" "It's been a year; you should be over this by now." "They're in a better place." "Time will heal this…" "They lived such a full life in the time they were given." "It's time for you to move on." "I know someone who lost their spouse and within three years they were happily remarried and….." "Don't you think it's time you got over this?" "You must be devastated! If I lost my spouse I would kill myself!" "At least you had the chance to say goodbye." "At least they went quickly and it was painless." "God wanted them back." "It's just a part of life." "Their work here was done." "When you're ready I have a great guy/gal for you." "They would not want you moping around the house like this." Those are just a few. I'm sure each of you has heard many more things that make you cringe.

Maryann, we all have those well intentioned people in our lives that think grief has some sort of timetable. Try to grin and bear that the best you can. You and I both know that unless they've walked in our shoes, they haven't a clue. And please, please, please stop pressuring yourself!! This new life sucks bad enough without the added stress of self-induced pressure and expectations. ((((((hugs)))))) Mitch

Kevin, For me and many others it's just not always that easy. Getting rid of my stuff is no biggie whatsoever. On the other hand, my beloved Tammy's belongings aren't so easy to part with. Emotionally, it's very difficult. I mean, I've lost my wife and I've lost the life filled with love I once had. That was the life I wanted and needed. Getting rid of Tammy's clothes or others items (even to a good cause) takes away a measure of comfort that I need. Maybe it's a form of denial in some way but I'm not ready to deal with the anguish of it. I figure, those items aren't hurting anything staying here, right? Everyone is different, of course. Maybe some people are bothered seeing their spouses things. Maybe for some it's a reminder of what they've lost and for them, it's painful. Just like everything in grief, there's no rulebook. Well, there is one rule... just do what's best for you and your fragile emotions. Mitch

It's totally understandable. You're just a few months into your grief journey. It's so hard to believe what has happened to your life. Hard to fathom what kind of future you'll have. You probably are questioning everything that you once believed in. And it's all to be expected under the circumstances. If you're anything like me, posting and venting here at the forum will help. Unlike people in our "real" world, our forum members are understanding and truly enlightened to this torturous thing we call grief.

Today, I made some changes at home and it feels weird. I finally put the two plates in the dishwasher that Tammy and I ate our last meal together on. I know it sounds nuts to have left the plates in the same spot for over a year but something inside me wouldn't allow me to move them. Tammy also had a special chair for the shower that I've kept in the tub. I don't use it and every time I'd shower, I'd take it out and put it back in after. Last night I dismantled it and put it in a closet. I feel guilty in a way. Taking it apart was painful and tearful. I've never been one who likes change. Losing Tammy was of course more than just "a change". It's a devastation in every way. My life will never, ever have the measure of joy I had with Tammy in it. Putting things away (or removing them) that Tammy used or touched or wore is a step that confuses me. There still is that part of me that wonders if Tammy still needs that chair to take her showers in. Or still needs her robe that's hanging exactly where it always did. Am I doing the right thing? I do know Tammy is here with me. She's proven that to me on a number of occasions. I can't see her, I can't hear her voice. Yet she's here. I feel her love always. I sometimes wonder if she's frustrated that I can't see her or hear her. I talk to her often. I still want to make her happy in every way I can. I just hope she's ok with me putting that chair away. Writing this down in a post like this may seem silly to some. But, I'm sure my words will resonate with some of you. Thanks for reading.

It's the new version of us, I guess. Kinda the opposite of "new and improved". More like "broken and shattered".

Hmm... I'm usually pretty good at putting on my "game face" at work. You know what I mean.. No matter what I'm feeling, I do a pretty good job of not letting people see the pain I'm in. The past two days though, two people at work have told me "you don't seem like yourself" and "you're in a bad mood". Oddly, it feels like I'm putting on my normal work "game face". Maybe it's the anniversary of Tammy's death that's doing this... I'm not sure. I'm being friendly to people, I'm trying to smile, it feels like I'm doing what I usually do. Maybe I simply can't hide the pain anymore. This grieving life is so freaking hard.

Well, Spring is here. The sun is shining, birds are chirping and the grass is starting to grow. Flowers will be blooming soon. Yet, somehow it still seems as bleak as the coldest, grayest winter day. Grief seems to put a dark cloud over everything. How will we ever truly see the joy in this world again?

People in our lives think they understand or can imagine what losing a soul mate might feel like. And those people do mean well, with their suggestions and ideas, no doubt. But, unless they've lived your life through your eyes and with your heart they truly and absolutely have no clue. None. It's all just babble. Well intentioned as it may be.

Gin, this pretty much sums up our grief journey... Sometimes though, it surely feels like we're swimming in very rough waters and against the tide.

It truly is a one day at a time plan. Thinking ahead too far and imagining this life 2 or 5 or 10 or 20 years ahead is maddening and downright scary! As hours turn to days and days to weeks and weeks to months... somehow we learn to "hang in there" and adapt in some way to the new life. For example, a few months ago I couldn't even write or say that Tammy died. The pain and finality of that was too much for me to bear. I would say Tammy "passed away" or "went to heaven". So, in some small way I am changing and adapting. It's a very gradual thing. I don't think any of us will wake up one day and say "wow, the sadness has lifted, I'm no longer grieving, life is wonderful". Somehow, some way we do survive and we do function. It will never be the same, of course. It can't be. We lost our one and only ... our everything. But, I know my Tammy is here with me in some way. I know she wants me to try to live my life the best I can. It's not easy. At times it hurts so bad that we question our reason for being here. We ache to our core for our loved one. All we can do is get up in the morning and do the best we can do. We'll have good days (good being a relative term), bad days and the in-between days. Yes, life is not the same. The love, the fun, the sharing, the happiness all seem like ancient history at times. Remember, we are the special few. We are the ones who found our soul mate. Most people never get to experience that. The downside? Incredibly painful, prolonged and profound grief.

Sting is putting it mildly. More like a bazooka blast to your core and then an atomic bomb is dropped directly to your heart. And somehow you survive all that.

Maryann... I was also 44 when I met Tammy. She had just turned 30. Truth is, before this I wasn't sure I'd ever meet someone I'd want to spend my life with. In some ways, our story is an amazing one. We met online and hit it off. I knew she was special and I know she felt the same about me. When we met in person, it was wonderful... it was magical. So much so that 6 months later she left her entire family and came to Maryland with little three year old Katie to start a new life. Tammy loved me for me and unconditionally, and my love for her knew no bounds Tammy had a very severe case of systemic lupus; she'd been diagnosed in the early nineties and had already gone through some life threatening medical ordeals. There were people in my life that told me lupus can be very challenging and questioned if I was making the right choice. For me, it was a no-brainer, I was in love with Tammy and that's all that mattered. Tammy gave me joy I only imagined before. She made each day brighter for me. The medical battles we fought were hard. They were frightening. They were downright horrific. They caused much emotional and financial trauma, But we fought them together and we made the best of each and every day. I had the best wife... my perfect Tammy. She was everything to me and I cherish her with all my heart. It's so hard to think that all I had is now in the past. Memories can be great, but they also serve as a painful reminder of what I've lost. I know I'm a better person than I was before I met Tammy. I think we all incorporate our lost loved ones into our own persona a little bit. I find myself doing things that Tammy would do, taking things she "taught" me and doing it her way... a better way. Tammy hated the word "aint". She would cringe if somebody used it. I rarely say it, but if I ever do, I find myself apologizing out loud to her. I realize I'm starting to ramble... I think I'll stop now.

This may not be the perfect analogy but I think it's close: Our lives before... Our "new" life:

We all just feel so broken without our soul mate. Like we are just a shadow of what we once were. Me and Tammy together were much more than what we were individually. Together we could move mountains. Here alone and without her in my world, I sometimes can barely lift a fork and knife.

Enjoy these songs sung by the Irish band, Celtic Woman. Danny Boy Amazing Grace Bridge over Troubled Water Over the Rainbow You Raise Me Up You'll Never Walk Alone

Maryann... and I'm not trying to be cliche, in any way... We were truly blessed to find the perfect person that made our life complete. Many people (maybe the majority) never experience that. Mark and you clearly had something special and it was perfect for the two of you. When Tammy and I found each other, we knew that life was going to be better for both of us. We had a one of a kind, once in a lifetime love. We all had spouses and significant others that made our lives magical. I'm not saying that everything in our lives was perfect everyday. Hey, we're all human. But none of us would have chosen to spend our lives with anyone else. And now we're "weeble wobbling" our way through this journey of grief, the best we can. It's so hard because we had everything we ever wanted. Now we have so much pain and so much sorrow. It's overwhelming. But somehow, here we are, surviving.

Tammy always said I was the best hugger but hers were as amazing. Those hugs were pure magic. We didn't want to let go. And don't get me started on how perfect our lips were for each other. Funny story. When Tammy and I were early on in our relationship we decided just to lay in bed and kiss... just kiss. I put a romantic CD in my computer and away we went. Well, the album repeated itself about three time before we stopped locking lips. Afterwards we reaized how numb and swollen our lips were and neither of us could even talk properly for hours. But... it was well worth it! Tammy was much more open about public displays of affection then I was. Typical trip to say, Applebees restaurant... We'd get out of our car and Tammy wouldn't hesitate to pinch my ass. I remember the time she did that and this older couple just about fainted! Then we'd sit at the table and Tammy would start playing footsies with me. Oh my Tammy was quite a firecracker! It's so hard to have the best... to have the perfect love. And then, in a flash... your whole life as you knew it, is gone.