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OMG! Now I am terrified!

I have been reading blogs by other widows and now I am scared shitless! I have come to the realization today that I have been in shock and denial for the last 3 months, while I honestly believed I was recovering nicely and thinking I was ready to venture out. Out to get a job, out to meet new people, out to find myself. Then came reality, and it is so unbearably painful. Physically, emotionally, sickeningly painful. The tears that I thought I had packed away safely for just me now are pouring out uncontrollably. Even when I am not crying the guttural wailing that takes over, they continue to flow freely, like a leaky faucet. I ache; my physical being is knotted and tense with so much pain that I can hardly breathe.

My rational self believes that death is inevitable and a few months off to reflect, cry, plan was all that would be needed to 'move on' without my best friend, lover, soul mate, definitely the better half. Then I started reading other blogs of widows who are many more months, sometimes years advanced in the grieving process and that is when the true reality set in for me. My emotional self has been locked up and is now screaming to come out.

Then the life insurance statement arrived and the shock that I can't go on this way much longer has caused panic. How can I "sell" myself to an employer in my current state of mind? Our youngest daughter is still living at home and entering her junior year of college. We had been paying as we go, now she is forced to seek financial aid and that has yet to be finalized. The business we ran together was suffering through the economic crisis and I opted to shut it down. Without him as an active participant, it was not feasible to continue. Because we had no will, I cannot sell the house or the excess vehicles until probate is complete.

We had the house on the market when he died. We had made our plans for our last move and were still deciding on the layout of our new home and workshop. Back to his ancestral hometown, the one he longed to return to and be the patriarch of his remaining family. The one he at his most peaceful, enjoying the work, the land, the history and a promise for the future. His father had passed away suddenly in 1996, his mother now a widow; his older brother ailing from a rare form a leukemia; his only sister had lost her only son in 1998 in a fiery car crash. It was time to go home to roost and I was more than happy to make the move and be part of the support team. And time to slow down, enjoy more time together, and be the glue to reclaim the family center that seemed to have waned over the past few years. Now everything is in limbo. The dream is shattered. Hearts are broken.

So I try to find answers and I try to stay busy. No, that's a lie. I don't stay busy and I don't try. It is a struggle every day to do the most mundane things. I haven't cleaned house since the service three months ago. I don't remember the last time I showered. I did strip off the sheets a few weeks ago and then slept on the bed wrapped in the comforter. A few days ago, I washed the comforter, so now the bed is totally bare. I now sleep on the couch. I've lost weight without trying. I don't answer the phone very much and I rarely initiate a call.

But Thanksgiving is next week, so I'll have to make an effort. An effort to put on a brave face, an effort to put on a smile. But I'm not cooking an elaborate meal. We are going to have a steak cookout, drink some, play cards, watch movies and just be together. And he will be with us, perched in the center of the room on the mantle.

It was John Lennon who said "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." While that may be true, I've come to believe that death is what happens while we're busy making life's plans.


I remember that point, too, when I realized that all I'd felt so far was just superficial. That the loss and hurt hadn't hit yet.

I'm not going to tell you it will be easy, cause it won't, or that there is one trick because you will use all your tools and talents to survive and you'll gain some new ones -- but I will tell you that you can get through.

Unfortunately, the only way out is through. We're all here for you, I do know that.



November 21, 2009 at 10:14 PM  

Lonesome Dove, i have found you. thanks for the email.

so you have started sewing? that is good. whether you use a needle as i do or a sewing machine, it doesn't matter. you have made a decision to do something and it is for yourself. that's what i did at first. it was for me.

as Supa says, the only way out is through. when you are wailing like a wounded animal, come tell us. i cannot tell you how many of my entries have been done while i was sobbing. but to feel that much pain means you had your soulmate. you had him, girl. so many do not ever find that kind of connection to feel this depth of loss.

i'm so sorry about your financial troubles. i can whole heartedly sympathize. i'm in the thick of it myself. waiting on the VA. sewing as fast as i can. it's so hard and yet, oh, God, the memories of their smiles, their laughter, when they would come up and embrace us. i will never let those memories go.

when the pain gets too hard and i can't breathe, i close my eyes and leave this apartment. i'm on the beach and the moon is up and we are dancing in the sand. no music except what we always heard when we looked at each other. close your eyes and go somewhere. try to calm your breathing. try to slow it down. i drink hot tea and hug my pillow that has my favorite picture of him on it. my daughter got it for me within 3 weeks of my Dragon's death. it's the only pillow case i use.

and for what it's worth, i sleep on a bare mattress covered now with our heating blanket and his denim jacket over my feet. (i really need to start my own t-shirt/boxer shorts hubby quilt.)

take care of yourself. and again, as Supa said, we are here for you.

November 23, 2009 at 5:26 PM  

Thanks ladies.

November 25, 2009 at 1:08 AM  

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