w1d0w3r

Get the Kleenex and prepare to feel the love. https://mobile.nytimes.com/2017/03/03/style/modern-love-you-may-want-to-marry-my-husband.html

I lost my wife instantly, as you did; it's only been 4 months and it feels like four years. I'm so sorry. I can completely relate. The pain is so hard and while I can't say anything to help, I can tell you that you're not alone. It helped me to talk about her, to talk TO her (as crazy as that must have sounded) - if only to say the goodbye I never had the chance to say. I have to keep reminding myself that the strength of my grief for her is a reflection of the strength of my love for her. It somehow helps me hold on and keep breathing. We're here for you.

Hang in there, Mike. My wife died suddenly 14 weeks ago and I don't know how I got through those first few months but coming here and relying on the people who are there for me - and seeing a therapist to talk through everything I have been feeling - was an immense help in the early days where you are now. You're not alone. I'm so sorry you lost her. Everyone's grief is different, but we're here to help if we can. If you want advice, here's mine: the happy memories will be with you forever; when you are ready, you will build a new life. Until then, try to stay busy. Find a therapist or grief counselor if you have the means and are comfortable talking about all of this. Even if it's just one "trial" session, sometimes it helps to talk to someone who isn't connected to either of you so you don't have to take their feelings into account. It can be about you. All you have to do is just keep breathing, eating, drinking water, sleeping when you can, and keep putting one foot in front of the other when you have to. Otherwise, give yourself whatever you need. Peace, love, and hope to you.

Although the memorial service for my late wife was held at the end of July a couple of weeks after she died so suddenly & without warning, I finally made the journey to the cemetery of her ancestors in another state to bury her ashes with her immediate family. I carefully unfolded and draped her wedding veil over the urn before closing the box forever. I couldn't help but feel that deep loss I've been slowly coming to peace with was hitting me all over, as if she had just died. After the family and I had said what we wanted to say, I held her one last time - whispering "I will see you in heaven" - I carefully placed her in her final resting place and watched as the internment concluded. There were pinwheels in one of the floral arrangements atop her grave that suddenly started spinning with the strong, steady gust of wind that lasted a full minute; it was as if she had willed the wind to blow through us as if to show her love and playful gratitude. Steady, unseen, yet tangible and palpable by the heart. I knew then - because I choose to believe it - that she was at peace on the other side, reminding us to be happy and that while departed from this life, she is still somehow with us. I feel like the wound of her loss has been freshly reopened; not nearly as deeply but raw nonetheless. Simultaneously I feel a trace of closure having been through this weekend, blessed by the company and comfort of loved ones in the shared mourning and support of family. I hope it will get better from here. I want to heal, move forward, and start life anew so I can get back to a permanently different but happy normal where I can feel comfortable with the process of getting past the vulnerability and stigma of seeking new companionship. Until then, I have work, newly blossoming friendships, my family, and time - the great healer. I guess I'll know when I am ready to love again for all of the right reasons. Any advice about this transition from a childless, grieving, unexpected widower to a man with a social and single life that isn't overshadowed by her death would be greatly appreciated. I've read the threads in the "Without Children" section - like the Island of Misfit thread - and read Abel Keough's book for widowers. There doesn't seem to be much else I can find that speaks to where I am. You all have been so wonderful. I should and do feel lucky that I am under 40 and don't have motherless children to raise. I'm simply seeking any wisdom or thoughts you amazing souls may be able to offer. Peace and hope to you all. w1d0w3r

The article that sufficiently answered the "history" question that got me thinking about all of this: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-16870579 Disclaimer: I might be nuts. I respect all beliefs, and I'm only sharing a strong feeling - I'm not telling anyone what to think or believe. This is just what I've managed to piece together through meditative grieving. Maybe my subconscious mind cooked it up as a coping mechanism. Maybe the dreams were true connections. Anyway, I feel like this is a safe place to share this, and I hope it helps someone. I've been deeply contemplating the afterlife, partially because I was curious; mostly because of the dreams and wisps of waking moments where I feel connected through time and space by love to wordless messages and immeasurably wise words spoken into my mind from behind the reach of my dreaming eyes, all from my late wife. 107 billion seems like a rational educated guess. That's a huge number of souls who know the peace and wonder of the infinite; who are their best selves, individual but united with what most call god, with one another, and we the living through the mystery of the soul's ability to evolve beyond its infant mortal chrysalis. What a revelation; for the transcended to know and become part of the vast bonds of love that echo through the generations of loving families, great friendships, and cherished partners that went before us and beside us. I am grateful to conceive of such beauty and wonder. I will enjoy this life with no fear of death 'til my time to become part of the great unknown arrives; united with all I love, those both transcended - some who know and wait for me, and those still mortal who I'll reach out to with peace and love, the same I feel from the friends, family, and beloved who are alive in my heart and on the other side. In the blink of their eyes, time rendered obsolete by the evolution of the soul, they will be there when I become part of the infinite. Their best selves wait now for us, their souls warmed by the peace and fascination of infinite love and knowledge. Just as I will be waiting there for those who I, ever so briefly in the great epoch of the next life, will have left waiting for what seems too long to reunite with me. We were all born to become more than ourselves; until that day, so very long from now - or an instant - I will try to live in peace with what we call death, knowing I am apart from that realm but not alone, waiting for the time when my soul is ready to emerge from this chrysalis and begin the next great adventure connected to more love than I can imagine.

Today is my 2 month milestone. I've started to tear up a couple of times as I've been sitting here at IHOP, as was our "sleep in and eat a huge breakfast for lunch" tradition on lazy weekends. It's fortunately not the first time I've done this, and have adjusted to the "Just 1?" greeting I get from the host. I've been thinking a great deal about the dissonance between what she would have wanted for my life and my inability to do those things right now. She wouldn't want my dominant emotion to be sadness, but try as I might I can't sustain more than moments of happiness in reaction to a provocative memory. She would want me to pursue the little projects and big ideas that used to inspire me, but I can barely make progress with handling the "must do" list, and feel like I've been put on the sidelines in living my own life because that life included loving her so deeply that grieving her feels equally deep. Love and grief seem to be two sides of the same coin, and I desperately want to flip it over, but the only way I know of, the only answer I read here or find in searching myself is that it will "happen in time". I wish I could do something active - even if only in thought - to will this sadness away. Letting time take its course is so passive, and I know time will help. But I wish I were stronger or wiser or knew a way. It feels like two years have passed. Sending my love and appreciation to all.

Let it out. Keep posting. The people here care about you and from one "new" person to another, can tell you there are fewer gifts more wonderful in this dark time you can give yourself than reaching out here as you grieve. This community is amazing and full of kind and understanding souls. My wife died not even 2 months ago and the collective wisdom of the brave widows and widowers, who like you, have opened their heart and shared their experience, pain, and loss here, has given me hope that the emptiness isn't going to take me with it. You are not alone. w1d0w3r

This is beautiful; it encapsulates so much and importantly speaks not only to us, but to others in our lives. It has articulated so many things that helped me understand how other people see me that I had yet to see put into words. Thank you. I hope you don't mind that I have taken some of the "You" statements, compressed/edited them a bit, and added some things so I can print this list on cards I can keep in my desk to share them with people I work with. This way, I'll have a better way to foster healthy communication, especially for the next person who arrives at my office door having only recently heard the news. Work is my altruistic distraction; most days I like my job (in healthcare IT), and my efforts (although indirectly) ultimately help people who are sick or injured or at risk of death. I've found it hard to walk the line between work and coping, especially since I have a "work family" of colleagues - many of which have really gone out of their way to help see me through this. Others just don't know what to say or do, and while I know there's no intentional lack of sympathy, this is for them: _______________________________________ Feel free to fold this and read it later if you want to. This is my way of thanking you for respecting the memory of my late wife and taking your time to offer condolences and show support. Thank you for talking with me about a painful and uncomfortable subject. You may have asked me if there's anything you can do to help. You just did. Thank you. You are probably uncomfortable with the emotional nature and accompanying pain of my uncommon circumstance. Knowing I've passively put you in this position makes me uncomfortable too. So here's a way we can make this easier: I respectfully ask you to accept that this is my reality, and the only thing that can and will make things better for me is time. In the meantime, I would like to focus on the good we can do through our work. While I will always try to do my best, I may not be back to "100% pre-widower productivity" at work for a long time. This is due in part to the fact that my perspective on life has changed. The upside of this change is that I will be kinder, more empathetic, and more emotionally intelligent when I interact with my colleagues and our customers. Our goal of helping healthcare providers to minimize the number of preventable deaths now has a much more personal meaning for me. Some days will be harder than others for me. Please don't take it personally if I'm quiet or don't respond quickly. It's natural to habitually or intentionally ask people "How are you doing?", "How are you?", etc. Please know that I'll happily & normally respond to these greetings. It's OK to ask me how I'm doing about my loss, progress, etc. I'll answer honestly, and I will appreciate your support - but please don't ask unless you want to know and have time to listen. If you don't know how to bring it up next time, just ask me "Do you have a minute? How are you feeling today?" Thank you for your kindness and understanding. _______________________________________ I can't believe I just made a "How to talk to your widowed co-worker" pamphlet. At least writing out this post feels good. Maybe I'll show it to one or two of my closest work friends to get their reaction as to where this idea falls on the crazy-o-meter. Yes & yes. Thank you so much for sharing and posting here. I'm 7 weeks in and I needed to read this and respond in this way. I hope my reply wasn't too tangential to your intent for the thread; I'm grateful you took the time to contribute this. Wise and so very true. Peace and love, w1d0w3r

Thanks - I put everything together to sort of outline the plan, and have attached a photo. I'll post it when it's finished; this sounds so cheesy when I think of saying it out loud, but I for the sake of groan-worthy puns (and healing): I think by the time I complete my mirror I will be seeing myself and my life in a new light. Thanks for sharing this. I've done a great deal, but I'm not yet done with the process of sending all of the things that I don't want to (or can't bear to) keep to their new home, be that Goodwill, a family member, the trash (I don't think anyone wants a half-empty bottle of makeup or Veet), or a buyer for the things of significant monetary value and little or no sentimental value. I may be judged for this, but there are some relatively expensive shoes and dresses that I'm perfectly comfortable selling that is such a difficult necessity. Other things, well...for example, I wept and grieved so much when I found her wedding veil nestled safely in a box in her dresser that she had put back in its box, folded in tissue paper along with some of the rose petals from our honeymoon bed. I ensured the veil went with her to her resting place. I'm glad I found the thread here about wedding dresses. I'm not done yet, but I know I'll feel so much better when I'm down to only the things that I should or want to keep (although that's up to me, and I've done all of the "right" things - returned "family" jewelry and photos to family; let family take their time to look and think about and look again and take any and everything they may want to keep before I did ANYTHING with her belongings). I of course have my "widower's box" with all of the cards we ever gave each other, photos, the various wedding mailings, all of the photos that aren't still in frames, every love note, journal, and all of the special tokens of love unique to every couple, the stack of sympathy cards I got after she died, her funeral program, and the other priceless sentimental objects I will never part with. They're all in an ornamental box in a waterproof/fireproof safe. If I ever share my home with another woman (and I hope I will; I couldn't imagine living alone for the rest of my life), she'll have to be OK with the safe and the fact that I may privately choose to open it when I need to. You're welcome ___________________________________ Thanks to all for your support and kindness. I'm so glad to have this place to share my story, my experience, and thoughts about my past, present, and future with people who understand. w1d0w3r

Thanks again to everyone for the warm welcome. The gift of your kindness, wisdom, and support has filled an empty place in my life that was so incredibly heavy for a void. When filled with the fellowship and positivity and unity we share in our loss, that emptiness - the solitude, the loneliness, the silent void of a widow(er)'s grief - that burden my heart didn't know how to carry isn't as heavy. I suppose that means that this community, in its collective abundance of grief, somehow creates love through sharing our emptiness. How wonderful it is that by combining our voids that they diminish; I guess in the mathematics of a widowed heart, -1 + -1 = 2. Hope & Love to you All, w1d0w3r

THANK YOU!!! I just ate dinner after working late, sat down and logged in. I couldn?t believe my eyes. As I read all of your wonderful replies I slowly melted into the *best* ?group hug? I?ve felt in a long, long time. I just shed the first tear of happiness since I lost my late wife. Thank you. Thank you all so much. It feels so good to have so much support and encouragement and warmth ? I am so glad I found you all! I?ve had no one to lean on that really understood. And now you wonderful strangers have just made me feel for the first time like I?m not alone. I must sound crazy; I?ve read many posts here and so much resonated, but this is exactly what I need. Thank you for joining, thank you for reading about my instance of our common circumstance, thank you for reaching out ? thank you for sharing your story and your pain. My heart goes out to all of you ? anyone and everyone here. Thank you for your wisdom. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for your bravery. I am humbled by your compliments. Well said. I feel better when I?m with people, especially people I know or love, but they don?t know you the same way. The hardest part of this is the loneliness. I keep telling myself I lived by myself quite successfully and happily as an adult, and if I did it then then I could do it now. But it?s easier said than done. In order to survive without moving, I had to paint all of the walls (which would have never happened if my family hadn?t come over in the days following the funeral to help). I've since rearranged the furniture, bought new sheets, donated or otherwise removed the things that were ?us? - basically trying to hit restart when it comes to home and all of the things that we associate with home. I am in the midst of making ?home? completely new, as if I had just moved in. I have little projects here and there, like replacing the old bathroom mirror with one I'm making myself ? I have the frame built, mirror ready to go in once the frame is ready, glass tiles, chrome paint, Ikea LED strips, heating element (mission: no fog after a shower), grout & spacers, and everything else (I think), and I?m slowly but surely making progress. I think about moving but I won?t know if that will help until I at least try to reinvent this space. There?s no way I could be here if it went unchanged; I?d be unable to move an eyelash lest another memory trigger a huge wave of grief. May I ask how your move affected your ability to grieve? I?m glad you are smiling again. My humble request is to consider the possibility that it may not always falter. Thank you for your wonderful message. What are the odds?!? I am so sorry we had the exact same circumstance. The night before I had to put our dog to sleep, I let her snuggle with me in bed and she spent the whole night against me (on my head, actually), as if to say ?Dad, I?ll always be with you.? I will heed your advice. When the grief comes, I let it tear me apart. I?ve had to take a few breaks just writing this reply. Thank you for your kindness and for sharing your strength and your story. ________________________________________ I am full of gratitude for having found this place, which is but a tool to connect us; that connection is the true gift you ALL have given me, and to each other, I'm sure. I will keep writing and sharing, and I will write each and every one of you back who have sent PMs. I have to get some rest. I look forward to my future; I look forward to new friendships and I feel so lucky to be welcomed here. If I?ve learned anything in my years, it?s that love and forgiveness are as essential to the soul as air and water are to the body. Every day I am grateful that my broken heart can still love; every day I forgive the unfairness and injustice of the world as I seek peace. Today I am reminded that all we need to defeat the loneliness is each other. Thank you for being here for a complete stranger who came with his broken heart in hand and giving him hope. w1d0w3r

Hi everyone. I?m so sorry you?re here reading this. I?m new, and want to thank all of you for the inspiring and supportive things you?ve shared here that have helped me and everyone else here. I hope one day I can return the favor. I?m in my late 30?s; two months ago, I had a family of three. Me, my late wife, who died suddenly without warning six weeks ago ? on our 3rd Anniversary, no less ? and our dog. Due to the complications of very old age, mini-strokes, and undoubtedly the loss of her ?mom?, these circumstances had rendered our little ball of fur and love unable to do anything on her own. So with the agreement of family and the vet, I had to put her to sleep exactly one week after losing my wife, whispering messages of love for her and for my wife to take to the other side as she fell still in my arms. In the span of 1 week, I lost my whole family. The loneliness is so unbearably heavy, but I guess if you?re here you know exactly what I mean. I need to tell you all about my wife. When we met and expressed interest in dating, one of the first things that offered a view into the astonishingly beautiful soul that was my wife was the way she wrote to me. Her writing was beyond eloquent; the intelligence, attitude, nobility of character, and pure wit woven throughout her prose was undeniable. I spent the most enjoyable hours of those magical days on the phone with her in our courtship leading to our first date, and each time we regretfully agreed that it was time to say goodnight, I was always struck with the same two thoughts: 1) I have found a kindred spirit that I?m fairly certain is my soul mate, and 2) I am going to win her heart. It's easy to elucidate the theme here - we were two galaxies, each with our own spinning worlds of circumstances, which since the beginning of time had been on a high-speed collision course that nothing could stop. When galaxies collide, there are fireworks of astronomical proportions and I have no words to describe how beautiful it felt to fall in true love with my soul mate, knowing that the same thing was happening to her. One of the few things that has been keeping me together since losing her has been a LOT of help from my friends, and the entire family that we created through our marriage. The outpouring of love and support has been wonderful and reminds me that no matter where we are in life, we are never alone. If I?ve learned one beautiful thing through losing my beloved, it is this: The greatest gift life gave us is each other. The other thing is the memory of my wife as I knew her; the woman I married. I hope my words bring justice to the beauty of her soul. Although I only knew her for just under 4 years, it?s evident from the decades of photos I went through (to create a video slideshow to honor her memory and show those who attended her funeral the story of her life in pictures) and hilarious family stories confirming my experience was that she had a remarkable zest for life; she was so kind to people ? treating them as we should all treat one another - she would go out of her way to stop and bring a moment of kindness into the life of a stranger, and was deeply empathetic for others. Now imagine that that level of benevolence focused on a friend, or someone she loved. Or her husband. She was more than I ever could have asked for. She was a joy to be around; fun, and very, very smart. I was lucky to marry such a breathtakingly beautiful nerd ? we would spend hours talking about biology, medicine, philosophy, society, music, the arts ? anything ? especially the deep discussions about the meaning of life and how we could strive to be our best selves in this flawed world; I will always treasure those conversations. She loved music, had such a beautiful voice, and loved to sing. She found physical and spiritual strength in practicing yoga. She was absolutely hilarious. She had such curious fascination and a thirst for learning about the myriad cultures and places on our small blue planet, and loved to travel; not as a tourist in a walled resort shut off from the true destination, but as a traveler to witness and understand the ways of the culture she visited. My wife also had the same thirst for knowledge in other intellectual pursuits. She was in many ways an erudite renaissance woman, but in a circle skirt dress and high heels. She was the sharpest wit I've ever met, and a writer so talented with the gift of prose that she really could have written the next great American novel. She was a wonderful companion, dropping everything if I had a bad day or knew that I just needed to talk to my best friend. She made me feel like the most wonderful man and most loved husband in the world. That alone is more than I could ask for. She was the yin to my yang ? she perceived so much, and we often spoke of how we balanced one another; her silliness to my seriousness; her singing and dancing like no one was watching to me knowing people are, in fact, watching; her emotion to my logic; yet the dots in yin and yang are planted in the center of their opposite as these attributes are meaningless in the absence of their counterpart. We fell in love instantly; we later both confessed that we both knew - just from our first glance at one another on our first date - that we had just met the person we were going to marry. Together, we tried to be students of life, and the most important lesson we taught each other was of unconditional love; it is essential to the soul ? it forgives - it never gives up ? unconditional love is the ultimate representation of trust when it is given out of will and not out of obligation. We loved each other this way ? no matter how our days went, we had a rule that we would always hold hands as we fell asleep, and we refused to let the things made irrelevant by the passage of time intrude upon our sacred bond. We would often say that before we found one another, we didn?t realize it was possible to love someone as much as we loved each other. The old adage may be trite, but I can say with absolute honesty that I feel better to have loved her and lost her than to never have known our love at all. Most of all, we were each other's best friends. Life isn't fair; we hear that at a young age. It's true. She was my dream, my best friend, my true love, my refuge, my soul mate. Every day with her was a living valentine. No matter what life threw at us, despite the flaws that accompany human life, I was so lucky that I was able to share my life with her. She was everything I could ever have imagined and more - in love, companionship, romance, friendship, family, and in marriage. Because of her, I had more love, hope, and peace than I could have ever imagined. If I were thinking this having lost her when we were both old and grey (we often joked of being able to start a cleaning business if our sexy parts sagged low enough in our old age), I?d be sad but at peace, waiting to meet her on the other side in due time. But now I?m in this strange undesired bachelorhood, feel the ghost weight of the wedding band I can?t bear to put back on, just turned 38, have no children, no pet (nor desire to be responsible for one at present), and as I read somewhere (here maybe? I can?t remember ? you understand not remembering sh!+, right?) a quote that went something like: ?You marry and pledge to spend your entire life with someone. When they die early, you don?t know what to do when you realize you get a partial refund.? I?m doing my best to follow the advice of the widows and widowers (or others who have suffered great loss) who were kind and wise enough to learn from their experience, write something constructive, and share it somewhere on the internet ? I?ve got a lot of grieving ahead ? and I know I cannot and do not want to replace her. The wound to my heart is large, barely showing signs of healing, and will leave a permanent scar. That I cannot control. Every morning, by the time I?m awake enough to process why my life is so very - permanently different, I?m crying in the shower and pull it together by the time it?s time to face the world and go to the office. When I come home to an empty place, on the worst days the tears come as soon as I have privacy, or on the best days they inevitably begin when I lie down in an empty bed and feel that newly familiar palpable absence. I am starting to understand what it means to be a young widower. Your soul is married, your heart is broken, your body is single, and your brain is understandably incapable of reconciling all of this cognitive dissonance and screaming WTF whenever it gets a break. I know all of our circumstances are different, and I know everyone can learn something from anyone. I feel like I?m in a very small demographic and hope to find my way toward rebuilding a happy life. If you?ve read all of this, thank you so much. I?m sorry you lost your beloved, too. Maybe we'll have a chance to talk about it. Until then; One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. w1d0w3r