Members

This site is run by widowed people, for widowed people

Widowed Village connects peers with each other for friendship and sharing. The moderators, administrators, and others involved in running this site are not professionals.

Please don't interpret anything you read here as medical, legal, or otherwise expert advice. Don't disregard any expert's advice or take any action as a result of what you read here.

We're friends, not doctors, financial or legal professionals, and we're not "grief experts." But we are here, and we've been "there."

The one thing about death is that it is final. There’s no going back, as much as I wish it were possible. No amount of wishing has yet brought Alan back. I keep trying, though.  But I think I’m stuck with this unhappy reality, as much as I don’t like it.

But what does that mean? It means a lot of things. Most painfully, the things we thought we would do in the future aren’t going to happen. We aren’t going to travel and retire together, and we aren’t going to grow old together. That trip to the beach next summer isn’t going to happen.  Every hiking trip brings memories of our times camping and exploring North Georgia. I have yet to let go of these things and I keep wishing with every fiber of my being that Alan could come back to do them with me.

There’s also the mundane: Where did he put the car battery charger and how do I use it? How do I open the safe? Where are the pictures that I remember he had but now can’t find? The repository of Alan’s knowledge is now gone. I have to go on and figure everything out by myself.

And of course, there are the decisions to be made.  What would he have wanted me to do? There are so many decisions to be made, and I can’t ask him what he wanted.  Am I doing it right? I don’t know. I wish I did. 

Views: 268

Comment

You need to be a member of Widowed Village to add comments!

Join Widowed Village

Comment by iunderthefarmhouse on December 20, 2016 at 8:04am

That is a wonderful picture of Alan. Try not to beat yourself up over making decisions, we all do the best we can with what we have. I had some pretty awful decisions to make after Morris died (like turning his workshop back into the company that we rented it from, because I couldn't afford the buyout price), but that's OK now, somewhat. I believe that Morris knows I'm doing the best I can and struggling with a grief tsunami, and he just wants me to be OK, someday. You know that Alan feels the same way. Morris did show me how to use his power tools, and I got pretty good at it, so I was able to take a lot of things apart in his workshop before they hauled it away. It gave me a small sense of achievement and independence to realize that I can use power tools! Sounds silly, but it helped me at the time.

Just take it easy and give yourself a break. You've gone through a horrific loss and nobody can handle everything with ease after that. I sure cannot, even now. Peace and hugs to you.

Comment by dougn52 on December 15, 2016 at 3:42pm

You are doing the hardest thing you will ever have to do.   I spent the first three weeks in my bedroom.  I ran out of vacation and had to go back to work.  Then I spent the next 6 months at work or in my room.  Then I decided I wanted to live, so I went online to try and make friends.  I made a couple of friends that got me through the next 6 months by chatting every day. It's been almost 3 years now and I am drawn to this site because I can read posts by people like you that understand.  I wish I had discovered it a long time ago. Hang in there it's going to be rough, but it will get easier. 

Comment by Branbran36 on December 5, 2016 at 2:30pm

The aftermath of death absolutely sucks! I catch myself asking John questions and then fighting back tears because he can never answer my questions again. Like you said, the repository of your husbands' knowledge is now gone. You have to go on and figure out everything by yourself. I totally understand.

Comment by WittyBlondeWolverine on December 4, 2016 at 3:37pm
Sherry, I cannot imagine I could have put this feeling into words more eloquently. Rob's repository of knowledge is gone. I want his recipes, his passwords and most of all his advice. I miss him so very much. I know he fought as hard as he was able to be here with us for as long as he could. But it was not to be. Every time I manage a task he handled (no matter how small) I congratulate myself. I would like to think he is somewhere helping me. And cheering me on.
Comment by camsmom on December 4, 2016 at 12:44pm

Sherry,

I am going through the the same thoughts. Our SUV back window wasn't closing properly and I tried to figure it out. I knew that my husband would have been able to and I didn't feel like taking it to our mechanic. No luck- my brother ( who is not handy at all) and SIL tried without success too.

When our son came home for Thanksgiving I told him about it and he fixed the problem! I started to cry- missing my husband for so many reasons-like you said, the mundane.

We're getting our first snow and I did remember to disconnect the  outdoor water hoses. 

What a nice picture of your husband! Hugs and good thoughts to you and your family.

Comment by chef (John) on December 4, 2016 at 11:44am

i agree. It just sucks.

Take things a day at a time.

If that's too much, then do it by the portion of the day/hour/minute/second.

After a while you will learn to trust yourself.

It's hard (and it takes a lot of time, but you can do this.)

I'm in my sixth year.

© 2018   Created by Soaring Spirits.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Terms of Service