Charlie

I wrote her a song. I think I started to write it about two or three months after she passed. I took some of the words that were going round and round in my mind, I began to find the melody and then the harmony. Something needed to get out into the world, something new, something that represented her. I would play her some when I felt I needed calming, and sometimes it is like I feel her gentleness somewhere in the harmony. The song feels like some bridge from the world she lived in to the world without her. It also is a secret, I can play it in front of people and they don't know it is a song for her. They don't know the heartbreaking lyrics. But, they can be with me, and the emotion can be shared. When I play it alone, I let myself be reminded of the strength she gave me, and I can feel the hurt in a way that is hard to reach verbally. It is far better than the wailing I used to do when alone in the house. Is part of grief finding a way to move forward while including what you left behind? How do you write a new song?

I took the ring off within days of her passing. I tied both of our rings together using a necklace that my daughter had made for her many years prior. On days that were special to both my wife and I, I slip both rings around a finger (both are bands) and wear them during the day. On days when grief gets darkest, I wear a Buddhist Mala on my wrist, working my fingers down the beads as I try and stay present with my feelings. The wedding ring represents my marriage to my wife, I will always keep our rings together.

Diagnosed Stage 4 Breast Cancer at age 42, died 4/2013, survived by 14yo daughter We lived a contented life together for 19 years. The impermanence of the human body was clearly demonstrated by a wide spread cancer. The acceptance, abiding, of this fact was/is an ongoing and transcendent process bringing me to a place of humility, where I recognized the limits of my own humanity. Now, this process repeats in big and small cycles, endlessly. When I resist it, it is painful, when I accept it, the process is blissful - I don't always have control over this, but when I do, I feel in synch with her. I've read much of what you have so far written here, and I already feel well supported by this community. TL;DR: Contentment: Meeting in your late teens, being with someone for 23 and a half years, spending much of the time working and living at home with them, recreating as climbing/tandeming/flying/backpacking/parental partners... in short being soul mates, feeling like twins that can read each others minds... this creates a uniquely "shared" life experience. It is hard to separate your self from the other. Although, it made it so I didn't have to wonder what she thought or needed, leaving little room for regret or guilt. Impermanence: After discovering a lump in her breast at age 42, my wife was diagnosed in December of 2009 with stage IV breast cancer, our daughter was nine at the time. Given only six months to live, the next three and a half years of treatments were similar to the previous two decades of our marriage: full of life, tears, love, grief, laughter, and many challenges. The end was her choice, she comforted family and friends until she could no longer maintain consciousness. Five days later, her lungs stopped and then her heart stopped. I hope I can pass as peacefully, surrounded by love, on my own terms. That was April 13, 2014. Abiding: Ten days of profound pain and crying later, on Easter, I had a psychotic break. No one was hurt, but I did not know who I was, my mind's limit switch had triggered, I no longer was able to be aware of any responsibilities/consequences. It only lasted a few hours, and I was arrested. This was a major wakeup call for me, showing me that while I was able to function in life, the effect of the event of her passing was way beyond my control and awareness. I needed help. Being overly thorough, I worked with two psychologists, and three counselors (all five at the same time). I compared notes across my sessions with all of them, also sharing what the others had said as well. The processes was very intense, and I followed their advice the best I could, but, sometimes I could do nothing but cry or stare at the wall/ceiling. Transcendance: Since that time, I've had many stages that I have passed through, never knowing which one was next. But, each stage felt necessary to me, and I learned something. Sometimes the lesson was a beautiful one, sometimes freeing, other times difficult realizations of more that I needed to let go of, and some lessons that I haven't understood quite yet. I am profoundly amazed at the unbelievable depth and character of the emotional pain, I never knew humans could hurt so badly, and it makes me feel like I should hug everyone I see. Humility: If my attitude seems cavalier, I can assure you that I too have been hit by the endless waves of pain that seem unbearable and unpredictable. I too have felt the moments of shear horror and my mind in those moments seems completely unable to accept the reality of my life. But, I also have felt profound appreciation, true appreciation for a life that I would not change any decision, even if I could go back and do so. And, profound appreciation for the ability to remain in this beautiful world, a world that my wife did not get to see and appreciate. Community: I have met the kindred spirits in a piecemeal fashion, some online, most in the real world. The five therapists I used gave me a pretty good framework for understanding what cannot be understood, the need to not understand it, to trust it and follow it (whatever it is). This is true for grieving a loved one's death, and it turns out this is also true for living ones own life, a life that pre-grieves our own death. I have read much of this site, and many, if not all of you seem to be in this same active process of trying to deal with the amplified existence that we have been dealt. I cannot do this alone, I recognize that I need you and I need this community as the next step in my personal grieving process. I have already benefitted from the generosity you demonstrate by opening up and sharing your experience. You have given me more than a little encouragement to move along my path. I hope I can show you my appreciation.