MisterWes

As you said, I'm not sure that all those things are really widow-related. Some of what you describe sounds like the same things I felt when I left single-life (for the first time) and married a woman with two children, and suddenly I had overwhelming obligations, a job I didn't love but couldn't afford to leave, a long commute, and dreams I had to put on hold. And at the same time, was experiencing the joys of being married and helping to raise children. And, yet, I felt like my identity, my self--which was still not well defined in my early twenties--had somehow gotten swallowed up in all that. It was a difficult time, but the difficulty stretched me, and over the next several years, I grew up some, and I became somewhat less overwhelmed. And my dreams changed. And things got easier for a time. But that's not the whole story. I feel I would be remiss if I left out this part. Both during my early marriage, and after she died, I recognized the thing that fed me, sustained me and inspired me. That thing that filled that empty "gnawing feeling like I want more, like there's something missing, like I need to be doing something fulfilling". That thing has been my closeness to God. I don't know if you're religious, and I don't want to get preachy, but I'll tell you that for me, reaching out to God, returning to God when I've drifted away, seeking His will and trying to live like Jesus Christ has always filled that void of emptiness that you described so well. In short, yes, I think I have felt what you're feeling. You're not alone in that. And I hope that, at least, provides a little comfort to you.

I'm 7 years out now, and I have had a really difficult time with this. I wouldn't have described it as 'not wanting things', but more that I can't see my future anymore. Which, I realize as soon as I say it, is pretty silly--when could I ever really see my future? And yet, that's how it feels. Before my wife was diagnosed with cancer and then died only a handful of months later, I thought I had control over my future. I had plans and goals and a map for my life. And then, suddenly, I had no future. None. It was all a blank fog in my mind when I thought of anything ahead of me. But it wasn't just that my future was wiped clean. I couldn't even fill that void--I was too terrified of finding that my sandcastle futures would be washed away again, that I simply couldn't even imagine anything in my future. For the first several months, I couldn't conceive of anything more than 24 hours ahead. I lived one day at a time. It was all I could do to just stick to a daily routine of taking care of my 8 year old son and trying to function at work and at home. After a few months, during my son's summer vacation, I planned a two-week trip with my boy to go see my brother out of state. That was a difficult thing for me at the time, though, planning is a loose term for what I did. I was merely taking advantage of an unplanned break in my contracting schedule, and it was simple for me to make the decision to go, and then a few days later, pack up a few things, and start driving. Even then, I couldn't make any firm plans about what I would do when I got there, or even exactly how long I would be staying. Look two whole weeks ahead to a point at which I would drive home again, was a difficult stretch for me. After nine months, I moved into an apartment. I wanted to go month-to-month, but couldn't find a place I liked that would offer it. Signing even a six month lease filled me with dread and anxiety. I'm not sure how I even managed to do it. It was still a couple years before I could look ahead to the following year. I'm getting better. Now I can think about and plan for the holiday season, and into next summer without too much trouble. 5 years, 10 years, 20 years, retirement... those still look pretty empty, though, and I simply can't imagine how to repopulate that vast blankness. On a more positive note, though, I have come to terms with the fact that I really don't have control over my future, and never did. I could lose my job due to unforeseen circumstances. I could lose all my earthly possessions in some crazy natural disaster. I could lose the function of my hands, eyes, legs, ears, or mind in an accident or from some terrible illness. I could (heaven forbid) lose my current wife, or my child. And, terrifying as those things might be, I know that those futures are just as insubstantial as anything else I can dream up. I've learned that to cling to an ephemeral future is folly. I've learned the peace of living one day at a time. I have plenty that I enjoy in my life *right now*, and I've learned to be grateful, content, and happy with my world *as it is today*.

(I wanted to post this yesterday, but I had to wait on my registration approval. I'm glad I found this community again after it vanished.) Today was the 7th year we celebrated her birthday without her. She would have been 41 today. We would have been married for sixteen years. We got married on her birthday. Life would be different if she was alive. Alive and ... well? If she had never gotten cancer? But what if she was alive and had cancer still? What if she was still alive and sick, still battling, still struggling? No. This isn't about what ifs and what would have happened. This is just remembering Misty. She was a beautiful person, with her own unique flaws and more than her fair share of emotional scars. And I had the privilege to love her. And be loved by her. I miss her. Not as much as I used to, though. No, that's not quite right. I still miss her as much as ever, but it doesn't hurt like it used to. My life is full--I've been remarried now for 5 years, and I've had advances in my career, and things are generally pretty good. Most days, I'm content. Some days, I'm even happy. I've moved past the grief... except for days like today. I don't think about her every day anymore. But I do remember her. I still see her smile, hear her laugh... and the other, less pleasant expressions of disappointment, frustration, and anger. I remember her hair, her curves, her lips, ... and more. (I've reconciled myself to the feeling of cheating on her with my new wife, and cheating on my new wife with memories of her)*. Celebrating her birthday today... Usually we just commemorate the occasion by eating some of her favorite foods--KFC coleslaw, or Entenmann's glazed donuts, or maybe Olive Garden, or Souplantation. Often we'll make her a birthday cake. I want to do something better this year. I want to remember her better nature. She was vain and judgemental, but she was also tenderhearted and generous. She freely gave of herself. her personality. her substance. her laughter. I want to give like she did, but i don't know how. freely, i guess. without thinking too much. Thanks for listening... *note: there was never actually any cheating going on. I didn't meet my new wife until more than a year after the funeral. It just feels like I'm cheating on them both, sometimes, and I've learned to be ok with that.