One Year

Hugo Drax

Well-known member
#22
Sir, I'm very sorry for your loss and, at the same time, quite envious of what you so clearly enjoyed. I'm quite sure that if I died tomorrow, my wife would wear white to the funeral out of sheer joy.

I can't express my sorrow at your loss, nor can I express how grateful I am for the time you had with her. You love those grandkids and raise them up in the Lord. And you tell them to never, ever marry outside of their faith, ok?

Praying for you and yours and the soul of your dear wife.
 

Sir Saartan

The Tan Saarlander
#23
it's taken me a while to reply to this. I'm not good at finding the right words in these occasions.
But I simply had to reply.

I followed your thread when your wife wasn't feeling well, and everyone could feel what you
were going through. It was heartbreaking at times. I wish you the very best, I hope you'll
have a great time with your grandchildren.
 

Russ H.

Fight The Good Fight
#26
May 29th was the day she went to join the Lord. However my kids, Grandkids, pets are the only thing that shrinks the hollow spot in my heart. I’m moving forward and doing well. @DGErwin11 sent me a private message almost a year ago. He needs to know that his words sunk into my thick skull. More than many words of advice I was given. He needs to know that through a simple yet to the point message did so much to help me. It reminded me of what my Father in a stern way would have said to me. Doug has a special place in my heart because through his PM it was a boot in my backside that I needed. Doug will forever hold a spot in my heart because of a simple PM that was timed just when I needed to hear it.
My beloved is now with God.
 

Attachments

Russ H.

Fight The Good Fight
#28
I'm glad it helped.
You may have never known what you sent to me in a simple and subtle PM were words that were timed perfectly. I cannot explain but the timing was perfect. Those words are advice I have shared with several other people who lost their spouses all too soon. Doug is a man I never met in person, along with those words were a unique feeling of “its all gonna be ok—follow my advice.”
 
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#29
One year is hard and at the same time a relief. No more firsts! First birthday. First anniversary. First Christmas. Etc... I just marked the 18th anniversary of my wife's death. I'm 52. I have now lived without her longer than I ever knew her. How did that happen... but one day at a time. I often ask myself why... why... why...? The only answer that has any merit is... to help others. Otherwise all the feelings and emotions I felt were for nothing. I found the following on Facebook. I with I could give credit. It struck me in the heart when I read it and now I pass it on to you. God bless.

I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and love did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything… and the wave comes crashing. But in between the waves there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from on old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
 

Russ H.

Fight The Good Fight
#30
One year is hard and at the same time a relief. No more firsts! First birthday. First anniversary. First Christmas. Etc... I just marked the 18th anniversary of my wife's death. I'm 52. I have now lived without her longer than I ever knew her. How did that happen... but one day at a time. I often ask myself why... why... why...? The only answer that has any merit is... to help others. Otherwise all the feelings and emotions I felt were for nothing. I found the following on Facebook. I with I could give credit. It struck me in the heart when I read it and now I pass it on to you. God bless.

I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and love did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything… and the wave comes crashing. But in between the waves there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from on old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
I re-read this post for what is a ton of times. The people here at PSD have helped me hugely with their kind words. Thank all of you so much. A big wave will come May 29th at 3:15 pm when she took her last breath. Pray for me.
 

Russ H.

Fight The Good Fight
#32
@Watchmaker
I was warned by folks just after my Wife's funeral that I should proceed very cautiously, slow, and do nothing rash. I was I also told that the hollow, empty feeling would remain for a long time. For me at one year--that hollow, empty feeling remains. I cope, and it has gotten easier as I move forward, but that memory, and hollow empty feeling has not went away. There is a constant reminder that something is missing, but it's ok. I will be ok. I am not sad, nor depressed. Those emotions have gotten much easier as time has passed. It's an odd, and strange feeling at times when certain waves wash over a man. But as you said--it has made me stronger, and able to handle things I never thought I could in life. I hold stead fast knowing, and truly believing that God has a plan for me. As I type this I am smiling--I am just fine--I am, or will be what I make of the bad situations in life. I refuse to allow myself to slip into a bad place. However the loss of my Wife has given me a new, and much different perspective about life, and what is truly important. I chuckle a little now--I won't let the devil take me--I will die fighting for my soul, and place in the ever lasting kingdom. My scars will be many, but in the end I will stand--beaten, and battered, but I'm going through the pearly gates wounded, beaten, but not defeated by evil.
 
#33
@Watchmaker
I was warned by folks just after my Wife's funeral that I should proceed very cautiously, slow, and do nothing rash. I was I also told that the hollow, empty feeling would remain for a long time. For me at one year--that hollow, empty feeling remains. I cope, and it has gotten easier as I move forward, but that memory, and hollow empty feeling has not went away. There is a constant reminder that something is missing, but it's ok. I will be ok. I am not sad, nor depressed. Those emotions have gotten much easier as time has passed. It's an odd, and strange feeling at times when certain waves wash over a man. But as you said--it has made me stronger, and able to handle things I never thought I could in life. I hold stead fast knowing, and truly believing that God has a plan for me. As I type this I am smiling--I am just fine--I am, or will be what I make of the bad situations in life. I refuse to allow myself to slip into a bad place. However the loss of my Wife has given me a new, and much different perspective about life, and what is truly important. I chuckle a little now--I won't let the devil take me--I will die fighting for my soul, and place in the ever lasting kingdom. My scars will be many, but in the end I will stand--beaten, and battered, but I'm going through the pearly gates wounded, beaten, but not defeated by evil.
That hollow empty feeling will probably never go away. You lost a giant piece of you... much like a limb amputation. You will never be the same. You will always see the scars left from the amputation. You will learn to adapt, to walk again. But you will never be the same. You will get used to the new normal. You will shed your crutches, stop walking with a limp as you get used to the prosthesis, and someday you may even run again not thinking about your missing limb but you will never forget. A pastor told me once two years is around the point I would start getting used to the new normal. I can't tell you how pissed off I was at that blunt statement. But he was right. God bless you brother.
 

Arkie

Well-known member
#34
As I have gotten older I have begun to understand how painful it is to lose a spouse. After decades of being together a couple gradually ceases to be a pair of individuals and they begin to think of themselves as part of a whole. Losing a lifetime partner is like having half of yourself being ripped from your life. I've been married for over 40 years and I can't imagine life without my wife. I have observed that the dear Lord first takes the one who would have more trouble coping with life without the other. I believe, in His mercy, He took your wife first because she would have suffered even more than you if He had taken you first. I continue to pray for you. God bless.
 

Sir Saartan

The Tan Saarlander
#35
@Watchmaker
I was warned by folks just after my Wife's funeral that I should proceed very cautiously, slow, and do nothing rash. I was I also told that the hollow, empty feeling would remain for a long time. For me at one year--that hollow, empty feeling remains. I cope, and it has gotten easier as I move forward, but that memory, and hollow empty feeling has not went away. There is a constant reminder that something is missing, but it's ok. I will be ok. I am not sad, nor depressed. Those emotions have gotten much easier as time has passed. It's an odd, and strange feeling at times when certain waves wash over a man. But as you said--it has made me stronger, and able to handle things I never thought I could in life. I hold stead fast knowing, and truly believing that God has a plan for me. As I type this I am smiling--I am just fine--I am, or will be what I make of the bad situations in life. I refuse to allow myself to slip into a bad place. However the loss of my Wife has given me a new, and much different perspective about life, and what is truly important. I chuckle a little now--I won't let the devil take me--I will die fighting for my soul, and place in the ever lasting kingdom. My scars will be many, but in the end I will stand--beaten, and battered, but I'm going through the pearly gates wounded, beaten, but not defeated by evil.
Isn’t it awesome that you have spent so much time with this person? You always will remember so many things about your beloved wife. You will miss her forever because you were blessed by having her by your side.
I remember what it was like to live before I met my wife. It’s those few very special individuals who give our lives the meaning that god wanted for us. Only those who have had this opportunity will grief like you do.

But aren’t we blessed to have something to lose? Every one of these memories means more than anything you could’ve done without her.

I still find it hard to express my thoughts and feelings, but I believe you’re a lucky man. And she’s with god. She never is truly gone.