LostMyCharles

I sent our wedding bands to a jeweler to meld together into a double infinity pendant; I'm attaching a picture of the inspiration (hope it works!!). I'm also having our daughter's birthstone placed in the middle of the two loops. I plan on wearing the necklace daily.

Ironically, I had stopped wearing my wedding ring about a year before C's death because I had gained weight and it became too tight. The day after he died, I put it back on. Now, at almost 6 months out, I have stopped wearing it again because the summer heat makes my fingers swell. I have decided to have our wedding rings melded together into an infinity symbol to wear as a pendent, either on a necklace or a bracelet, not sure which. We all have our own timetables, and our own ways of coping. Do not second-guess yourself. You are making decisions based on gut reactions, and nobody can (or should) fault you for that or say that you're "doing it wrong." If they do, screw them. Jessica

Uplifting, yes. But the 4th, 5th and 6th lines still make me sob (I'm a little under 6 months in)... This is from the movie Tinkerbell and the Legend of the Neverbeast (I have a 5 yo); the movie also made me cry, and made me angry at a very specific part because in real life that never happens! Still, worth a listen and 75 minutes of your life for the movie, if you have the time.

I've been losing my hair at an alarming rate as well. I also completely agree with the above. About 2 months after C passed I went to my physician and said I wanted a full screening done. All blood work, EKG, mammogram, the works. Thankfully, he agreed and understood the motivation behind the request. I'm happy to say that everything came back clear, so although I could stand to lose several pounds (thank you, stress-eating!), I'm a healthy 40 year old. I should be around for many many more years for my daughter.

4 months. 17 weeks, 2 days. 121 days. 2904 hours. Feels like a lifetime since I held your hand, kissed you, laughed with you, made plans with you. How? How did this happen to you, to us? How do I keep moving forward when all I want to do is go back? How do I hold tight to the memories and share them with our daughter when every waking minute threatens to write over those memories? How do I stop the crying, the searing pain, the daily thought "I hate my life"? Why is it so difficult for me to remember you? I remember bits and pieces, fleetingly. Images of your hands, your smile, your navel, the shape of your calves - all flashes doled out to me and gratefully accepted like water in a desert. But why can't I see you whole? What is my mind shielding me from? The horror of acknowledging my loss? Sorry, I've already crossed that bridge, no going back. I see pictures of me taken recently. The smile never reaches my eyes anymore. When will that spark of life return? When will I be able to smile at our daughter without the shadow of loss looming over us? When that day happens, will I grieve again? Feel guilty? Or will I embrace the light and keep striding forward? Why do I not feel you around me anymore?

Here's another organization that came recommended to me: http://bearyhuggables.com/ Pillows starting at $40 and bears between $50 and $60 (and up depending on customization); much more affordable than the $180 you had quoted!!

Love this typo!! ;D

I would LOVE to use my crockpot, but I run out the door at 7:00 am and don't get back in until 5:45 pm. My crockpot runs hot, and most recipes are for 8 hours; by the time I get home and ready to put food on the table, it's been cooking/heating for 11 hours and is fairly inedible. Wish they made crockpots that allowed for delayed starts. :-\

((((((((HUGS)))))))) LisaPop. That's heartwrenching.

It was a Sunday night; he had been putting our 5 year old daughter to bed and they got into an argument. As usual, I entered her room to be the peacemaker; sent him out and calmed her down enough to explain why Daddy was upset and how she needed to correct her behavior. After about 10 minutes, she was settling into sleep when he came back in the room. I was kneeling on one side of her bed rubbing her back, and he circled to the other side of her bed, knelt down and laid over her as if to shelter her in his arms. He bowed his head over her and began whispering. I excused myself to give them time to reconcile; I will never know what he said to her. Another 10 minutes passed. I was in the master bedroom folding laundry when he returned. He walked into the room, bowed his head and gently said "She kills me." His tone was different. Not angry but more bemused and thoroughly in love, but also tired and defeated. I asked what he meant and he just shook his head and began to change for bed. I don't know if we said much more that night. I'm sure I said good night and I love you out of habit. The next morning at 5:30 I found him dead. I will never tell my daughter about that conversation. I do not want her to think she holds any responsibility for his heart attack. I do not want to remind her of their argument. I want her to remember the positives, to cherish the love he showed her. Maybe when she is older and can understand the nuances of those three words and not just a stark interpretation. But I will never forget what he said and wonder if he knew... Jessica

Hugs to you, Dahlia. I am sorry for your loss, but the way you wrote about your anticipated future made me smile, which is rare these days. What would any of us give to have lived to a ripe old age with our loved ones, tearing it up the whole way? It sounds like you have a wonderful support system and are coping the best way you know how. I hope you continue to turn to us in the cyberworld to commiserate with you about those folks who just don't get it. I almost punched the woman I met at the mall who tried to tell me that her husband's sudden request for a divorce was just like my husband's death!! :

Ah yes. The trauma of finding him. I suffered from PTSD for several weeks after, and it still rears its ugly head sometimes. As my post above indicates, I found him in our guest bedroom on the bed, he'd been watching television. I thought he had fallen asleep, so I reached out and shook his arm to wake him. His arm was cold, but I attributed it to being outside of the covers in a house that was 64 degrees; it wasn't any colder than those conditions called for. Of course, he did not wake up and I looked at his neck and saw no pulse and sat him up. I knew. About a week later, I woke up in the middle of the night as I often do now, and went to check on our 5 year old daughter. She was laying in bed and I waited, listening for her breath. I couldn't hear her breathing, so I reached out and touched her arm. It was cold, just like Charles' that horrible morning. I freaked out and gently shook her until she took a deep breath and moved - reassuring signs of life. The next morning I realized why I reacted the way I had, and knew I had to seek help in working through the PTSD. Fortunately, I no longer wake her up in the middle of the night for reassurance, but I still listen for her breathing. I don't know if that will ever go away. Jessica

Thank you, Robunknown. That made me laugh as well.

A few weeks ago, my 5 year old daughter said to me out of the blue "Mommy, I wish they made medicine to stop you from crying all the time." Poor sweet child. Anyone else have stories to share, funny things their children have said?

^^ THIS!!! ^^ We moved to a suburban semi-Stepford (I read your posts on YWBB) community 4 months before my DH passed. I would say about 60% of the female population here are SAHMs, and with professional husbands, so they are the epitome of THE LADIES THAT LUNCH, if you know what I mean. So when they ask for my assistance, or send home yet another fundraising "opportunity", I politely remind them that my husband died in December and my plate is full. They always seem so shocked and sympathetic, but I know as soon as I walk away the gossiping starts. Whatever. I enjoy the 'OMG, I just stepped in a huge, steaming pile of dog s**t' looks on their faces. :-*

My brain has started switching words on me. I'll be saying something to my daughter like "You need to brush your hair" and end up with "You need to brush your homework." Cracks her up, but makes me want to stop talking lest I say something really oddball, and in the wrong company!

I wish I lived nearby so I could help you with some of your worries. I have a refrigerator in my garage that isn't really being used and I would give it to you in a heartbeat, but I live in California. :-\ All I can do is say, I hear your calls for help, I hear your anger, frustration, desperation and fear. And we all will always be hear to listen and give virtual hugs. All these words seem so inadequate, I wish I could actually do something to help. Jessica

I'm learning to do things myself that I usually delegated to DH. I know they aren't terribly difficult, but the first time actually performing these tasks successfully have made me want to celebrate a little, and that is a rare feeling these days. In the last couple weeks, I have: Put the registration tags on my car myself Changed the air filter on the A/C unit Figured out how to turn on and off the automatic sprinkler system Added oil to my car Organized the garage and put away the Christmas decorations that have been sitting in boxes in my living room for 3 1/2 months How about you guys? Any small victories you'd like to celebrate?

My husband, Charles, also passed from Atherosclerotic Cardiac Disease, and was asymptomatic. He had slightly elevated blood pressure and cholesterol, but the doctors never flagged him for it. He was fit (only 15 pounds overweight) and active. He died overnight in our guest room where he often went to watch tv when his insomnia struck. I don't know what time the event occurred, but it was probably within an hour or two before I found him at 5:30 on a Monday morning. He had propped himself up in the guest bed to watch television. I found him slumped over, blankets undisturbed so I know he didn't thrash in pain. He must have died instantly. I performed CPR until the EMTs arrived and they worked on him for about 20 minutes, but I knew. His lips and feet were blue. The EMTs said they could find no electrical signs at all. At 7:00 am the Coroner's Office arrived to remove his body. I woke up our 5 year old daughter and took her into another room so she couldn't see what was happening (I figured she was due to wake up any minute and wanted to prevent her walking into the scene). A chaplain told her that God had taken her daddy. She asked to watch cartoons. It will be 14 weeks tomorrow. The shock has worn off, although I still have a hard time processing it. His heart was so strong, whenever I laid my head on his chest I could hear it beating so clearly. I still barely believe it.

I applied to take a professional certification exam, something that he had been encouraging me to do for years. It's the logical next step in my career but I never felt I was ready to take it. I guess I just had the realization that life is too short (don't we all know that!!) and nothing ventured, nothing gained. So... I have a few short weeks to study for the exam, and the only time I'll have available to do so is after the youngster has gone to bed. Not my optimum time of day for retention, but so what. I guess this is one way of moving forward, and knowing that he's showering his huge grin and unparalleled support down on me from the other side of the stars. Jessica

This resonated with me so much. Before I lost my husband I felt (and confessed to him) that I did not feel like I was succeeding in any aspect of my life (career, parenting, being a good wife, nurturing my own soul). Now, with him gone, that feeling has amplified. I work in a typical 8 to 5 career, but am on the upward track towards executive level with my organization. That means I am expected to put in more time at my desk, but I have a 5yo DD that already spends 10 1/2 hours a day away from me. So, I come in, put in my hours and leave promptly at 5. Maybe doing so will remove me from consideration for executive-level, but I have an obligation to my DD. Then, after picking her up from after-school care, I have to rush home, cook something (anything), bathe her, read to her, and put her to bed by 8:00. I'm always rushing through the evening. I don't feel like she and I are getting any quality time. Finally, I get an hour or two for myself. An hour or two to grieve the fresh loss of my DH, to fold laundry, to wash dishes, to numbly finish the day and mentally prepare to do it all over again. I'm failing at it all, but I'm still going. I'm going to give it everything I've got because my DD and my DH are worth it. Someday, God willing, I'll believe I'm worth it too.

Deedee, thanks for joining the board and allowing us to support you through this horrible time, as you will also support us in the future. I am grateful that you have such a wonderful support system there for you in person. Do not be afraid to utilize every bit of their assistance. Don't cook, don't clean, don't run errands. Just hug your son and focus on eating and continuing to grow the beautiful human inside you. You can return to the every day duties of life in good time. Jessica

I haven't vacuumed in 3 months. I haven't cooked an actual meal for my DD or myself in probably the same amount of time; so glad she keeps requesting quesadillas for dinner!! I am paralyzed at the thought of spending any money to replace our old, dying electronics because we always consulted each other first. I sleep with the shirt he was wearing the day he died. I've sweat and cried all over it so it smells nothing like him anymore. I smear his deodorant on it once in a while to "freshen" it up. When I smell his deodorant now, my mind barely recognizes it as "his scent" and it terrifies me that I'm losing him that quickly. I look at his pictures and watch video to remember his face and voice, but it's like stabbing myself repeatedly. I need it, but it kills me. My electricity and water bills have decreased dramatically, so yay! I have much less laundry to do each week, and I feel guilty being happy about that. I celebrate the small things like putting the registration tags on my car by myself, or figuring out how to turn on the automatic sprinklers, which were typically his domain. Jessica

I'm Jessica. My husband passed on Monday, December 8, 2014 at the age of 48. We had spent a wonderful weekend buying and decorating a Christmas tree and putting lights up outside the house. Sunday night we put our 5 year old daughter to sleep and went to bed. He often got up in the middle of the night due to insomnia; he would go to our guest room and quietly watch tv until he became tired again and would return to bed. Monday morning the alarm went off and he wasn't in bed. This had only happened a couple times but it didn't alarm me. I went to the guest room and found him in the bed; he had been propped up watching the tv but slumped over. I tried to wake him and realized something was terribly wrong. Called 911 and performed chest compressions until the EMTs arrived 5 minutes later. They worked on him for about 20 minutes but could not bring him back. He had suffered a sudden, massive cardiac event (no history whatsoever). I know it must have been extremely sudden because the blankets he had on up to his waist were not disturbed so I know he didn't thrash in pain. It's like, it hit and he went down. We had been together 20 years, married for 17 (our 18th anniversary is at the end of this month). I'm 40 and find myself a single mother to a 5 year old daughter and we're both grieving very hard. Thank you for providing this forum. I tried to register for YWBB, but, well...... you know.

I'm here! I'm holding on to the raft with every last bit of my strength. I don't want to speak for other new widdas, but for me it's daunting to consider creating a new thread. I guess I feel like, since most of you who are long-timers and have been there, done that, you've seen the same topics over and over and over. I can't possibly bring anything new/original to the conversation. I WILL speak for the others, though, when I say THANK YOU for being here for us and letting us know that it is possible to move through the grief, in our own time and our own way. Jessica