Toosoon2.0

Did anyone contact "tableforone"? Wish I could come, too! Have fun!

Hi there, sorry you had reason to join us here. There are definitely some European widows/widowers in this community, though I don't know how often they post anymore. In fact, I think a bunch of American widow(er)s met up some place (Amsterdam?) with European widow(er)s a few years back, if I'm remembering correctly. I'm not in Europe, but I surely do love Spain (we have spent the last two New Years in Spain, first year in Madrid and then last year in Andalusia). I hope you can at least find some comfort here virtually until you connect with people more close by. Since people don't always check in regularly, you may not get a response right away so don't let that worry you.

You are obviously frustrated and hurting, but I want you to know how offensive I found this post. That's all I'm going to say about it because I respect your right to say it, and I believe it comes from a place of frustration and hurt. But I also expect to be respected in saying that I found it deeply offensive.

Two things, I didn't want to take anti-depressants but I had a very good and kind GP who helped me understand that it was something that would help me cope for now. Emphasis on for now. I took them for two years - one while my husband was dying and for the year after and then I stopped. It helped me. I knew when I no longer needed them. If you choose to take them, stay in consultation with your Doctor and have an open dialog about how you're feeling and when to stop. For me, it was a crutch I needed to get through the worst of it and I have no regrets. Also, I just read a review of a book called The Widower's Notebook. There is a lot of literature out there about grieving the loss of a spouse but much of it is, unsurprisingly, written by women. I do not agree with the premise of the book but I am not a man. What I can say is that I found a lot of comfort in reading others' memoirs (Joan Didion, Elizabeth Alexander) and fiction (Colm Toibin). Maybe this or other books might be a comfort, when you're ready, of course. And (ok 3 things), to echo what the others say: therapy is a good thing. I went to therapy for a long time and also went to therapy with my daughter. Having another person on your side of the court is always a good thing. We benefited enormously from having two neutral parties who let us speak our truth and who listened without judgement. They helped me to see that I was not in a static, fixed state but one that - with time and effort - I could move forward from. Wishing you all the best. It does get better, I promise.

Hi CW, Blending our two families was and remains complex. We were together for three years before we took the plunge of making a commitment to be together as a family, and it has been wonderful in many ways and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but it has been and is a stressful negotiation. But having taken it as slowly as we did (as I'm sure you remember, this was by necessity not by design, but still), we were able to build a foundation solid enough to weather that stress and all of the complex negotiations and some pretty uncertain, unpleasant times in the two years since. If something is holding you back, listen to it. There's nothing wrong with taking it slow. And there's also nothing wrong with deciding perhaps that you'd simply prefer not getting married or not co-habitating at all. In some ways, we had a lot more fun when we weren't under one roof with our lives now so inextricably intertwined - going from a family of two to a family of five with, at the time, four sets of living grandparents on two continents was no walk in the park (it still isn't). I wouldn't ever take our decision back; I'm just saying that things got a lot more complicated when we made that commitment.

I'm so sorry you have had to join us here but I am glad you found the message board. My husband died when I was 40 and my daughter was 6; we had also been married only about 10 years. That was about 5 and a half years ago. I'm not sure where you are in the world but culturally here in suburban America, I found that people REALLY couldn't deal with my daughter and me after his death. We were very obviously considered to be "those poor people." Sometimes I even saw people whisper about us - they weren't very subtle about it. Once I accepted that most people just simply don't know what to do with a 40 year old widow and her 6 year old, I forgave them for it and gradually started to build a new life. I just wanted to stop by and say I hear you, that it does (it really does) get better over time and you will find your way. It just takes time. I know it's hard to believe right now that anything will ever get better but it does. Be kind to yourself right now; you will find many empathetic and wise voices here on the message board. A good first step is that you're reaching out. Sending you support; please feel free to send me a message if you'd like to talk more. Christine

I remember those days all too well. I still hate going to our neighborhood pool because I can never erase the memories of watching people whisper to one another when we - my daughter and I - walked in. "Oh those poor people." Nothing made me feel worse than people not understanding just how not ok the whole situation was. Back then, it was searingly painful when people said or did insensitive things but in time I came into my own, came to own my reality and make something of it. It's definitely not the life I was planning on and I am not the person I used to be but it is mine and I think I came out of it more thoughtful and kind because of it. But it took a long time. Some days, it is still hard and confusing. Some people will fall away from your life but new people will join you on this long journey. I wouldn't trade the new friends I've made for anything. Try not to isolate yourself - I did and it was a big hole I had to dig myself out of that made things much more difficult than they needed to be. Two books that really helped me were Jon Kabatt-Zinn's "Wherever You Go, There You Are" and also "Full Catastrophe Living." These are books about mindfulness and meditation. I never did very well with the mediation bit but I appreciated the messages and the books did help me to find something of a "center" when I felt the world was out of control. Also, I made friends on this board. Some in real life, some just online. Its been 5+ years and we still message each other regularly and talk on the phone. That network saved me. They always picked up the phone. They talked me off the ledge during the really difficult times (which for me came long after three months); sometimes they just talked to me because I was lonely and bored. Now they talk to me as I navigate the new life I've created. Please try to reach out to others who are also in this early time frame. One of the great gifts my husband's death gave me was the community of widowed people who saw me through it, who helped me realize that I wasn't alone, that it is ok to laugh again and somehow, pain is less painful when shared. Mostly, I just want to say, it does get better. Time is a true friend, or it has been at least for me.

I don't think its weird at all. I have been dragging me feet regarding the ashes (5.5 years here). I spread some off the jetty at "our" beach in New Jersey but it was too soon and turned out to be traumatic. My husband gave me a nearly impossible list of places to scatter his ashes when he was in late stages of brain cancer (ie. not thinking clearly). I've been to two of those places - one of them more than once - and didn't bring the ashes. He asked for some of them to be scattered in the Ganges but I just don't see that happening anytime soon....But lately, I have been thinking it is time to do something. I'm happily remarried and my husband adopted our daughter; at some point we may sell this house (the only house my daughter remembers and the place that ties her to her birth father) and move. To leave this one thing unresolved any longer is starting to feel wrong. I've been thinking about finding a time to fly to San Francisco alone and scatter his ashes in the Bay. If my husband loved one thing in the world more than his daughter, it was San Francisco where he went to grad school and lived for years before I came along. Its all overwhelming - even to this day. I feel for you. I hope your decision to move to Guam turns out to be a happy one - it sounds divine! In February, from here in southeastern PA, I will definitely be jealous!

Year two was very, very difficult and very, very lonely and confusing for me. I read a lot of books and I drank a lot of wine. I knew I was still in no shape to make any major decisions (and wouldn't have known what to make decisions about in the first place) but I felt irritated that it all just kept being so difficult and nothing seemed like it was getting better so I just slogged through it in a daze. This was when I started taking myself on "dates." My parents would take my daughter over night and I'd go down to Philly to have a nice meal, get lost in the anonymity of a gig, stay overnight in an AirBnB, have breakfast in a nice cafe - I swear, every single time I came back so refreshed and feeling like I'd been gone a week. Doing that - getting out of that daze I mentioned above - and away from everyone who knew our story or had an opinion about our situation - helped a lot, even just for one night. It always helped me to remember that this is a marathon, not a sprint and that there are no quick fixes. The only way out is through, etc. Platitudes, I know, but in my experience, they all turned out to be true. Wishing you all the best.

Hi there - I wanted to lend another voice encouraging you to take the time off if you can afford it. I did not take any time off, except for one week, and I paid dearly for it later on as the mental/emotional and physical exhaustion of caretaking and then solo parenting piled up, there was no time to even think about my grieving. It was 24/7 autopilot until I crashed spectacularly after about 10 months. If you can give yourself this gift, I would do it.

Hi All - I wanted to come back and thank you for all of your supportive comments above. Nearly two months have passed and I neglected to do that and for that I am sorry. We're getting a handle on things now but it still sucks and it will always suck. But thank you all for your support in those scary scary first triggering days. We work with refugees and one of them has become like an adopted son in our family. When I told him about the diagnosis (he stays with us a lot of the time), he first couldn't believe it - totally incredulous - but once I convinced him that yes, healthy kids can get diabetes, he said, "Life is hard, Christina." Coming from a refugee, I couldn't help but recalibrate again and remember that we are fortunate in so many ways, in spite of how hard life sometimes seems. Thank you all.

On Monday I took my delightful daughter, the love of my life, in for her annual 11 year old appointment with the pediatrician. I knew she was underweight but she'd grown four or five inches in a few months and I figured it was all just going to sort itself out, level out, over time. We talked about how to bulk her up with healthy fats before her swim team season started again this summer. Then she told the Dr. that she sometimes felt pain when she urinated so he said, since you're here, let's just do a urine sample to rule out a UTI. Next thing I know, we are speeding to the ER with a now confirmed diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes. We're still in the hospital - the same one where I got my husband's brain cancer diagnosis, the same one where I roamed the halls asking what in the hell happened to my life. We've been here for four days. Andy is in Europe. I haven't slept. I've learned how to do everything I need to do to check her glucose, inject her insulin, count her carbs yet because her body is still not purging all of the sugars we are still there. I am gutted you guys. Why couldn't it have been me? Why, why, why, why why? How is this f***ing happening? I am ready to face the challenge but after four days and three sleepless nights (and facing who knows how many more), I just needed to come here and unload. The kid who had all of the breastmilk and none of the processed foods. None of it mattered. No history of diabetes in any of the four branches of her genetic family. I know she can and will live a full life but I am absolutely gutted. Thanks for listening. I feel like the world is again falling apart around me and the universe is asking me to move mountains, hold my head high, put on a good face, etc. etc. etc. But that's a big ask. My poor little girl. This is total sleep deprived stream of consciousness but I'm not getting a lot of support from the people here who know what's going on, the long weekend is starting tomorrow and I feel very much alone. And by the way, WTF health care in this country?

To be fair, while I didn't read the article, I have read the conversation. I've remarried a widower. We have three children between us on two continents who have wildly different needs and issues. Its complicated, to put it mildly. But we committed to one another and - while sometimes stressful - we follow through on that commitment. I guess my philosophy has always been that as long as we have one another we'll be fine. Hierarchy is a word I do not like. Maybe I am being over analytical. But a relationship/marriage is a partnership. Sometimes one person carries more of a burden than the other. I've always believed a family is at its best when every person is building up the others in the family, helping them to actualize their best selves; sometimes one family member has greater, more immediate needs than another and as a family, it is our responsibility to lift that person up. I get it that it isn't always that easy and I admit I have my own moments of weakness sometimes but I hold to this philosophy.

This thread is bringing a lot of stuff back up for me - this was the time of year my husband got his diagnosis, too. Anyway, I wanted to underscore one thing. About half a dozen people identified themselves as people willing to do just about anything for us and I leaned on them. Others helped but those half a dozen people (and their families) said: just tell me what you need and we'll do it. And they did. They put in a huge vegetable garden for us (we always had one and I couldn't manage on my own); they came and sat (this coming and sitting thing became very important toward the end - it was like a 3 month 24/7 open house at our place); one person helped my husband keep working in his studio until he could no longer stand; others came and sat at hospice while I was at work and couldn't be there. If you are comfortable approaching his wife, I would do so. Brain cancer does change the person into not just someone unrecognizable but in my case someones unrecognizable. It is traumatizing not to know who your spouse is going to be from day to day. My husband's absolute, determined denial did not help either. I will never fully recover from it but I had a very loyal, small coterie of people who I let in to help me through it - the personality changes, the falls, the ER visits, the delusions and paranoia, the denial, etc. - and keep me steady (ish). She will appreciate knowing you have the mettle (and having been through losing your wife, I know you do) to be one of those friends. She will need that support. I hope this makes sense; I still have trouble talking about it.

YES. All of this. Thanks for putting into words things that are still hard for me to articulate. xoxo

Yes. Everything abl said.

My husband died from GBM, a grade 4 terminal brain tumor. If you'd like to talk more about my experience and what I didn't know I needed at the time to help my husband walk that path and to make things easier for my daughter and me after he was gone, I would be happy to share via pm, messenger or the telephone. Just let me know. Mostly, as the caregiver, the hardest thing for me was keeping a lot of the really unpleasant stuff secret while also living his cancer very publicly which is what my husband wanted (he, too, was a figure in this community). Living that "double life" took a very serious toll on me that reverberates to this day. If I can offer anything, I gladly will. I am sorry to hear this news about your friend. Christine ETA: my husband believed he was going to beat it until the very end. This made it very difficult to be the caregiver, so I understand that piece of it, too.

For what it is worth, I plan to sell my house "as is." We don't have to move (yet) so I plan to put a price that I'm comfortable with on it and stick with it. Unless you just want to be done with it, I would not take the low bid right away. Counter offer. I swear, this house thing is such an colossal PITA that I'm just about ready to rent for the rest of my life. Good luck - I feel for you.

Hi, I don't know about profile photos but my husband also died of brain cancer (GBM) - five years ago. It is a very specific kind of trauma, and if you ever want to talk, please send me a private message. Please take good care of yourself. Christine

Oh, jeudi - this is just perfect. It is me then and it is still me now. Thank you for sharing it.

Hi Christine (I am also Christine!). I was in very, very bad shape at 11 months. At my boss' not so subtle urging, I took an extended break from work, got help and then took a trip over the holidays to visit an old friend and let her take care of me and by the time I went back to work two months later, I was in much better shape. Not ok by any means but more grounded. Things looked a bit clearer. But at 11 months - having tried to run from my grief - it all came crashing down on me in a major way. I hope you will take very, very good care of yourself in this time in every way you can. I don't know where you live, but springtime is almost here in the northeast and I found spending time outdoors - walking, gardening, reading - to be some of the best (and free) therapy available. You will come through this. It does get better. I promise. Sending loving support from another Christine.

The one I get the most is, "You have been through so much." As if that explains away everything in life that frustrates me or angers me or stresses me out forevermore. My father is the worst with this, but others say it as well. Yes, I have been through a lot and I'm still standing. I AM STRONG (imperfect but strong). I'd prefer "You're so strong." to the former but I remember a time early on when that comment drove me wild. I'm no longer as sensitive about these things as I once was. I've become a bit like the proverbial duck with the water on its back. For better or worse, I just no longer care. People, I think, are just clueless sometimes and unable to really empathize. "Youre so strong." or "You've been through so much." are easy fixes for thorny emotions and situations.

I got rid of it all. Every page, every MRI print out, EVERYTHING. I never wanted to be reminded of brain cancer ever again more than I knew I'd be reminded of brain cancer every day for the rest of my life already. Burn it. Shred it. Make papier mache out of it. I didn't even bother to do that - I just tossed it all in the recycling. Seriously though, I've never needed any of it in five plus years. Hugs.

One of my very best friends is coming to the end of a long and ugly divorce. We have known each other since we were teenagers and the arcs of our professional/parenting lives have been similar. She's needed me a lot lately and I am happy to be here for her to lean on, but on Sunday, she said something along the lines of "Well, you know how it is, this is similar to what you went through with Scott in a lot of ways...." And I kept my mouth shut but was sort of like, "Um, no. It is nothing at all like that." People just can't know until they know. Glad you're back! Stick around!

I don't have voicemails from Scott (because I dropped my phone the toilet by accident when it fell out of my sweater pocket) but my husband was an artist and loved posting videos on Facebook. I never archived his account so that I could go back to them whenever I wanted to. They're mostly with our daughter when she was very young and I find them very comforting and grounding now - 5 years down the line. My last text to my husband was, "I'll be there as soon as I can." It must have been during the hospice days. To tell you the truth, I'm glad that one is went with the old phone. There must have at one time been weeks of panicked texts like that while I was still commuting between work, hospice, our daughter's school, and home. Those I don't need to remember. Pictures - of which there are thousands - just seem surreal to me now. We were only together for just under 10 years. There is a place for those memories that live with now me in our daughter, now 11, but I sometimes feel like the one who is a ghost - was I there? Did that really happen? Because of my work, we were able to visit a tiny village on a tiny Croatian island three times in three years and it was beyond idyllic - each time we went I felt more and more in love with everything - my little family, my good fortune, the beauty of the place. Those picture are still painful for me even now. I find it very very hard to look at them even now - 3, 2, 1....cue tears in eyes. But I am grateful to have known that kind of innocent, naive happiness even if it did not last longer than 18 months after our third and final trip there. Making sense of these sorts of things is, I think, hard for all of us in uniquely personal ways. Hugs.