spiderwebb

Good Morning, I'm so sorry for your loss. I texted my wife a few times after she passed. I talk to her almost everyday. The texting didn't do anything for me, but talking to her helps me a lot. Hugs, Rob

I've been a Widda member for a couple of weeks now. The forums provide me a little comfort knowing that I'm not alone in my hell. I'm so sorry that life sucks for so many people and hope that as we continue to read and participate, our lives will suck less. Dawn and I met when we were 21 years old. We're both raised in North Jersey (I call it Soprano Country) and know all the same people, had/have the same friends. Our parents went to high school together. Through our friends and family, our lives were intertwined before we met. We just didn't meet until our early twenties. Which is probably a good thing. When we finally met, we clicked. The chemistry was there and everything we did together was natural and wonderful. We were very much in love. We married at 23. We immediately started to travel and experience the world together while raising two boys, who are now 25 and 23. We have a ton of great experiences and memories most people just read about. On April 8th 2017, Dawn was diagnosed with 4th stage breast cancer. On August 4th 2017 she passed away in my arms. It wasn't peaceful and it wasn't pretty. It was a horrible ugly death that is still very much seared into my memory. We were still, very much in love. The natural and wonderful ways only got better throughout the years. We are both 48 years old and we almost made 25 years of marriage. We never talked about what she wanted for me before she died. We never talked about whether either one of us thought she was going to die. We were very hopeful. I really, really struggle with this. With not really knowing what she would've wanted. Sure I know her better than anyone on the planet, but still. We have a home in Central Coast California, which is where we decided to grow roots. We've been here since 2008. Dawn was a wonderful homemaker and has made our home a reflection of us. When I walk into some homes, it almost feels like a Pier One or Pottery Barn exhibit. Our home is a unique warm welcome of who we were and who we became everywhere you look. It literally hurts to live in my home. After Dawn's Celebration of Life, I decided to get away from the home and go on a three week road trip to Portland. I made it as far north as Chico, CA and was back home within a week. Too much time on the road meant too much time in my head, too much time listening to songs that bring back a wave of memories. I couldn't concentrate enough to follow digital books in the car. It was hell. I saw some great things: General Sherman Tree, General Grant Tree, amazing views of the Sierras, etc. I didn't care about any of it. I am numb. I returned home about August 26th and thought I'd go back to work. I couldn't focus, so by September 12th I was on a plane to Europe. I visited friends we had while we live there. I did a bit of country hopping and was fortunate enough to stay with friends and family the majority of the time. I had a lot of fun. I thought of Dawn often and talked to her alot, but it wasn't overwhelming. I returned to our home in California last night. I went to bed at 1030pm last night after a long 24 hour travel day. I was wide awake at 2:30am. Maybe jet lag. I cried in my bed for over an hour, missing Dawn. Missing her smile, missing her voice, missing her touch. Being in this home is very difficult. I want to pack up all of her things and put them away, but I know I'll miss her even more and feel guilty about it. I'm numb, I'm depressed, I'm lonely, I'm angry, I'm disinterested. I'm lost. I can't get her final days out of my head. So many beautiful memories of our life together, and the ugly memory haunts me in my sleep and while I'm awake. What helps...at least a little.. Talking about Dawn with our friends. My boys and I have an awesome support system of friends and family who are doing their very best to help us. Most of them of great listeners and I've already cried like a baby in front of a few of them while talking about Dawn. At first, that was very unusual and uncomfortable for me. Now I don't care. I know I have to feel to grow. Working at my hobbies. I don't have many, but the few I have refocus me on something productive. Talking to Dawn. I'm not a religious person at all. I believe genetics and science took Dawn from me. She can no longer hear me, see me, or love me. But that doesn't mean I can no longer see Dawn, hear her, or love her. All of those things are in my head and my heart. That is where her spirit lives, in the minds and the hearts of all of those who love her. Having her spirit in my head helps me. I can hear her voice, and it tells me to do the right things for the house, the boys, and for me. I often ask myself, 'What would Dawn do?' It helps me be true to myself and my family and friends. If you've made it this far, thanks for listening. Rob