MrsT85

Now just wanted to share this little gem, from this article that was actually written for bereaved parents (I've changed the word "child" to "spouse" in a few places). While I know the pain is not the same, I thought the way it explained why having a community like this one is so very important. And then thank you all once again for being here and being my "village" when it all just gets too overwhelming. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/angela-miller/6-ways-to-survive-the-holidays-without-your-child_b_8856804.html 6. Ask for help/Find your village. Whether online, or in person, compassionate, empathetic support saves lives. Period. Having a village of support can often make the difference between surviving or not. Everyone needs someone to lean on. Remember, you are not alone. Do yourself a favor and ask for help, for whatever you need. Be proactive by having your core support "team" at the ready. Whether you need someone to listen, cry with you, or lie in the ditch of grief with you, have these dear souls ready. As your safety net, your safe place to land, your whispers of hope. It might be the one sure thing that eases your mind and heart this holiday season, in a way nothing else will. Remember, this is not an exhaustive list of ways to survive. These are just some ideas you might find helpful. Take what is helpful, leave what is not. Just like grief, there are no rules for surviving holiday grief. Do what you need to do to survive. Honor your spouse how you need to, and do what feels best for your fragile, aching heart. You are missing a huge piece of you, so do whatever you need to find a sliver of peace. Remember, no one has the exact relationship you do with your precious spouse. No one will feel the exact same piercing agony, pain and longing you do for your love. Therefore, no one has a right to give you unsolicited advice about how to tend to your soul-deep wounds- this holiday season- or any day of the year. Remember, no one loves and misses your spouse the way you do. The love you two share is a love unlike any other.

I was clicking around HuffPo on my break today and noticed a section for the first time - it's called "Common Grief" and can be found here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/news/common-grief/ I know I and others have linked to grief stories from HuffPo in the past, so I just wanted to share. It may not be new, but today was the first time I'd seen it after clicking through to this story, about one woman's struggle with the holidays since losing her brother (I keep an eye out for those types of articles to share with by DH's younger brother). http://www.huffingtonpost.com/allison-hudson/a-christmas-gift-of-grief_b_8840674.html

MM, I could have written this word for word. It'll be three years at the beginning of April. In that time, I've been promoted, moved into a new apartment, and gotten engaged. I'm supposed to be getting married at the end of June. To all outside indications I've also moved so far forward with my life. I still cry every day. I still think of him constantly. I would still give up everything I've worked to rebuild to have him back. This is a good life that I'm working on making for myself, but the life I'll always always pine for is the one that ended the day he died. I move forward because I have to. But I'm never "moving on" to a place where it's not soul crushingly painful that he's not here to build a life with me anymore.

Same. I've had a lot of conflicted and often negative feelings regarding my new relationship (I met him 3 months after Tim died and we had our first date about a month later) but guilt really hasn't been one of them. Probably because there is not a single doubt in my mind that if Tim were still around I'd have never looked at another man and if there was anything or anyone I could trade for him I would. But that's not how time and life works, so I'm doing the best I can with what I have left. I'm glad things are going well with you and your new lady

I lost my husband in a car accident in April of 2013. I don't know if my "freak out" happened at around 5 months (I don't remember all many specifics of that first year) but I do remember that for the first several months I felt like if I just kept my head down and persevered, that somehow I could get through the pain. Almost like I'd be rewarded with getting him back or something similarly crazy. I obviously didn't actually think he could come back, but somehow it just felt like if I made it through those first awful months things could somehow get back to normal. I'll add my voice to the chorus. You're not alone.

I resized mine and switched it to my right hand at a few months out. And that's where I've worn it daily for over two years now. I actually wasn't intending to do it so soon, but after reading a post on the old board about someone else switching it to their right hand I wanted to try it myself (since I have no intention of ever ceasing to wear it completely) and got it stuck because my right hand is slightly larger than my left. I had to go (panicking and in tears) to an immediate care center and get it cut off. I felt stupid and pitiful for doing such a moronic thing and I was terrified that I had ruined my ring. I was able to have it repaired and resized and today you can't even tell that it took two nurses and a bone saw to pry it off my finger back in mid 2013. So while I clearly can't speak to whether or not it will feel right to you to switch it to your right hand, I can tell you that resizing it shouldn't damage it or ruin it.

Holy fuck. Yes yes a thousand times yes. I'm also in a chapter two relationship and appear to be whole again, but the truth is compared to who I used to be...I feel empty. I'm often content, but never happy. Not really. I feel mediocre and often intensely dislike myself - I've become a dull reflection of the person I was when I was with HIM. Although sometimes I feel like it's my eternal gift TO him. To always carry around this intense emptiness. To be fully cognizant of the fact that I was the best version of myself when I was his. It's a way to privately honor him within in the dark space inside my own head. I haven't been around much lately. I've been busy with new work duties and just general life exhaustion. But then I come here and (like has happened time and time again) feel understood. Not alone. Not crazy. thank you

It'll be three years for me in April. And I'm not only suffering from professional disinterest, I'm suffering from just a general and overwhelming disinterest that blankets pretty much my whole life. I've never given many shits about my job (I do finance stuff at an insurance company) but I felt like my life was still significant because of him. He was going to be a teacher - such an important job. Something that really matters. The thing that I was going to do with my life that mattered was help support him and make a life with him and help him be the best teacher possible. There was a future to work towards so I was happy to go to work each day and do something that I didn't care about because it was contributing to a shared and significant future. Now. I don't know. I'm largely dead inside. Professionally things are going better than they ever did when Tim was alive. I was just promoted and as part of it was sent to India for two weeks at the beginning of November to train the new team I'm supposed to be "supervising." I should be excited and optimistic. But I'm not. Even my passion for my old hobbies and interests - music in particular, which really makes me hate myself sometimes - has by and large evaporated. I spend most of my time tired and convinced that things will never really be good for me again. I'm only 30, but I spend a lot of time feeling like I'm just trying to run out the clock too. Maybe that's another long-term effect of widowhood? Chronic and intense pessimism? I was always a pretty strong pessimist to begin with, but being widowed at 27 really carved it into my soul...

I always got Tim's onions and he always got my mushrooms. It started with the fajitas we ordered on our first date. On November 12, 2004. Thank you donswife, for such a beautiful post.

I agree, Mizpah - I really enjoyed the article but that line - with its simplicty and its power - just stopped me in my tracks. "Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried" I'm another one who will never be at peace with him dying and will always want the life I had with him back. And sometimes I feel like I'm not handling my grief correctly because I'd still give up everything I've worked for and everything I've rebuilt my life into if only I could have that chance. I see others who approach it with more grace - who've grown to a point where they say they wouldn't want their old life back because of all that they've learned - and feel like I'm doing something wrong. That what I feel is wrong. And then one of you lovely people post this article and it makes me feel normal again. That loss and grief and pain sometimes are things you have to carry around with you for the rest of your life and that's okay too. So thank you for the link, Maureen.

I've been a diabetic for 13 years (diagnosed at age 17) and when you reported his BG as 900 I almost fell off my chair. That really is insanely high and he's incredibly lucky that you got him to the hospital in time. You very likely saved his life yesterday. When I was hospitalized for my diagnosis my BG was only up in 300s . The good news about diabetes is - as much of a bitch it is to control sometimes - in most cases IT CAN be controlled. I know a lot of type 2's try to start on oral meds first - I'd recommend you suggest to your friend that he might want to ask his endocrinologist (when he gets one) to try insulin right away and if he's tech savvy and has good insurance to maybe even check out an insulin pump. From what you've told us, he's got a young family and a challenging wife to take care of. Insulin - especially when used with an insulin pump - really is a godsend when it comes to giving you flexibility to act and eat like a normal person sometimes, once you get used to changing out the connector tubing and reservoirs every few days. And when my doctor was first telling me what my best treatment options for maximum longevity after diagnosis (an oddly clinical way to tell a teenager "this is the best way to not die soonest") she told me getting right on insulin was my very best bet. If you don't have local resources or diabetics to talk to, I'd be happy to answer any questions you or your friend may have - just PM me. It's a really scary disease and I know a lot of people are really unnerved at the prospect of daily finger sticks, injections, etc. I'd love to help makethings less mysterious and therefore maybe a little less scary if I can :-\

Tim's mother and I split his ashes. When I told my boss this, she jokingly said - "I hope you got the good half." My gaze shot to the floor and tears welled up in my eyes. I said softly - "I don't really joke about that." So yeah - even women in their late 50s - WHO REALLY SHOULD KNOW BETTER BY THEN - say stupid shit like that.

Tim and I were going to start tying to have kids right after I turned 28 and he had hopefully landed his first teaching job - in September 2013. His accident was April 2013. ...His best friend and his new wife just had a baby this past March. Like you, we were planning on having little ones at the same time so we could be the cute new parents together and maybe even raise them as surrogate cousins. I know there were multiple conversations where we would refer to each other as future Aunties and Uncles to our hypothetical children. It kills me that Tim and my child will always be hypothetical, especially when I attend social gatherings and see couples our age with toddlers running around playing together. That should have been us. In a perfect world, our little Morgan or Ian would be about a year and a half old now. Now I'm 30. I'm diabetic and the ticking of my biological clock is deafening. I spend most of my time doubting that the stars will ever align in such a way that makes parenthood possible. I understand. FML too...

Oh yeah. And I think for me personally, my emotional confusion was heightened by starting to date (not purposely, not really) very early out. All of my emotions seemed to be ramped into overdrive, my affections for NG as much as my grief and depression. I was with Tim 8.5 years. We had our fights like all couples do, but the emotional and intellectual fit we had was so amazing. I loved him so much, and I never had a moment of doubt in my mind that we'd be together forever. Here's my "inside my head argument": Love feels different now with NG. We've been together a little more than 2 years now, and that perfect fit just isn't there. It's not as easy as it was with Tim. And I'm wondering - is this how "normal" relationships are? Is this how less-than-soulmate love feels? Or am I just not remembering what a 2 year old love and relationship feels like because the last time I did this I was still a college kid? I guess I'm not used to early love either. Or any other love other than Tim's, really....

I actually started doing this right away after Tim died, for exactly the reasons you described. Music was our biggest shared passion, and even now - over 2.5 years later - I really can't put my headphones and listen to Spotify on the train without at least tearing up. It doesn't even matter if it's a song I've never heard before or if it's one that's come out since he's been gone - something about it will remind me of him. On one hand, I'm grateful for it. If there's anything that Tim would want to keep eliciting a strong emotional reaction and thoughts of him, it would be music. On the other hand, I hate it. I feel like what used to be my favorite thing in the whole world to think and talk about isn't "safe" anymore. I love podcasts - especially the comedy ones. Early on, my two favorites were "WTF" from Marc Maron and "You Made it Weird" from Pete Holmes. Both hosts are comedians but the interviews they conduct with their guests often cover very serious, personal and emotional topics. And being able to hear people talk about death and other sorts of personal struggles in intelligent and humorous ways was incredibly satisfying and cathartic and valuable for me. I know a lot of us have developed kind of cynical and morbid senses of humor - I started out with one and it's only gotten darker since becoming widowed. I don't have an iPhone so I can't get them from iTunes, but I downloaded an app called Stitcher a few months ago and have been using it daily since then.

I'm so sorry you've had reason to join us here. I lost my Tim in a car accident. Although my memories of the hours immediately following his crash are a bit hazy, I know I made the calls to his mother and my parents. I know afterwards my mother handled a lot of the phone calls on my side, and his mother reached out to a niece (one of Tim's cousins) to make the calls to the family on his side. I don't honestly know who called his best friend, but someone did and then he handled the calls to all of our friends. If possible, don't try to do it yourself. I think (I hope) that his friends will understand that there are just some things too painful to say outloud even once at this point - having to do so over and over again can be just unbearable. Lean on the people in your life who love you and let them help however possible. And keep coming here and leaning on us. This is an awful path you were just shoved onto without warning or permission. Most people in this world are lucky enough to not have to understand, but we do. ((HUGS))

I'm a car accident widow too. I had a friend with me who was sleeping on the couch in our apartment, waiting for Tim to come home from his DJ job so all three of us could hang out. He was the first one who heard my panic. Tim was a few hours late coming home, and I was waiting up and getting more and more frantic, especially after I couldn't get a hold of him through text and his phone kept going straight to voicemail. When the doorbell rang and I saw an unfamiliar car parked in front of the house, I just yelled to John "TIM NEVER CAME HOME AND THERE'S A STRANGE CAR OUTSIDE" as I bolted down the stairs. After they responded to my hurried and terrified question "Is this about my husband?!" with a "....we're sorry, he passed away this morning" I got numb and confused. I called his mom (a call I mercifully don't really remember making) and then my parents. And then just kept pacing my apartment - with the police still there - saying things like "I don't even know what life is anymore....I don't know what to do....." The screaming only really happened (happens?) when I'm quite drunk. That's when the brutal, animalistic pain still manages to creep through the cracks.

Good lord, yes. It took me about a year to figure out that's what was going on (I had just gotten off the pill a month or two before he died - we were planning on trying to start a family) but holy hell do things ramp up and do I get weepy.

My first wedding was for one of Tim's cousins this past April, just 4 days past the two year anniversary of his accident. I went as my MIL's "date" and thought it was very gracious and thoughtful of his cousin to include me. I cried through the ceremony, and then got drunk. Too drunk. Way too drunk. Enough so that I was actually quite embarrassed by it the next day and owed several people - my MIL chief amongst them - an apology. Luckily there was no "married people only" dance, or I'm sure I would have had to run out of there sobbing. Overall, my MIL reported to me the next day (as I was not in any condition to remember) that the family members who knew I was Tim's widow had a sort of pitying understanding of why I got myself into the state I was in, and wrote it off as an "Oh, she just needs to do what she needs to do to have a good time" situation. But it still left me feeling incredibly ashamed. The only other wedding I've attended was a month or so after that - this past May. Thankfully, I had learned my lesson by then and didn't try to deaden the hurt I felt throughout the ceremony with copious amounts of whiskey.

Let me chime in and extend the same offer from a little farther out. I just turned 30, but was 27 when I lost him in a car accident. It's hard to believe that he's been gone over 2 1/2 years now.... I'll echo what others have said - I'm so sorry you've had reason to join us, but glad you've found us. I've visited this board (and it's predecessor) pretty much daily since I found it 3 days after his crash. I don't know what I would have done without it.

Honestly, sex isn't all that important to me - something that caused issues in my marriage to Tim and is now causing similar issues in my relationship with NG. I'm not sure if it's because of anxiety, depression, stress and exhaustion from work or maybe as a side effect of my Type 1 Diabetes (all of which were present when I was with Tim but have ratcheted up to new levels since losing him) but most of the time my libido is pretty much nonexistent. I was like that all through my 20s, and although I have a slight hope that it might get better now that I'm entering my 30s I'm not really holding my breath. I'll start to feel like I'm going through withdraw if I don't get snuggled or held every day, but I can go weeks without sex before it starts to bother me. What's most important to me are the other types of physical and emotional intimacy - snuggling, being held and holding him while I sleep, asking him about his day and feeling like he wants to know about mine. I also really value (and miss) having an incredibly close friendship built upon shared interests and beliefs. I knew without a doubt that if I was a guy, Tim I would have been best friends because we loved the same music, movies and books, were on the exact same page politically, and had a shared religious outlook (or total lack thereof). We would talk all the time about how wonderful it was that we knew we'd never get bored of each other. How we'd never fall into that classic "empty Nester" trap of not knowing what to do with ourselves once the little one we wanted left home. How we'd always be happy to just have each others company. I think back on our relationship and I don't miss the sex. I miss cuddling with him as we watched Rachel Maddow each night. I miss going to concerts and festivals with him every summer and our intense and passionate talks about music. I miss talking about how incredibly cool it was to see the old clip of Arthur C Clarke and Robert Heinlein watching and commenting on the Apollo 11 moon landing that was played at the very first sci-fi convention we ever went to together. I would - in a second - give up my life with an able bodied person to have him back as a brain in a jar as long as his wonderful intellect as intact and he was content.

I'm so sorry you're feeling so worn thin. Just getting up and facing the day each morning can sometimes be exhausting enough. I don't know how you all with little ones manage. Just ((hugs))

What I miss most is how well he understood me. How wonderful he was to be with because when it came to our likes and dislikes and core values, we were practically the same person. I'd tell him all the time "I know it doesn't sound sexy, but I love how easy it is to be with you." This new relationship I'm in is a lot of things, but it's almost never easy. There's not just that effortless understanding with him like Tim would have for me. He's a good man who does his best to love a broken person like me, but there's just not that reassuring and comforting blanket over the relationship that comes from knowing that he and I will always be on the same page and will never get tired of or bored with each other. I can be happy again sometimes. But I've not reached the heights I could climb to with him by my side in the 2.5+ since he'd died and I honestly don't expect to ever again.

On Sunday I will have officially been in my 30s one one month. I was born in smack dab in the middle of the 80s, in late August of 1985. I find myself nodding along whenever I read through one of those "You know you are a child of the 90s if...." lists. Yep - I remember playing with Skip-Its. Polly Pockets. Watching the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle cartoon in my footie pajamas with all of my stuffed animals. But I also find myself nodding along just as enthusiastically when I read articles aimed at people 20+ years my senior. Articles like "Demoted To Lunch: The Underbelly Of Grief" and "The 5 Negative Thoughts You Need To Banish Forever" ("I am not good enough" and "I am not strong enough" and "I am not brave enough" in particular) - both of which are in the "Post 50" section of Huffington Post. I almost never realize that these articles are in that section when I click through from the headline on the main page - they just happen to be topics that interest or speak to me. It puts such a small and cynical smile on my face when I think of the phrase that I still feels best describes me most of the time - "exhausted sad diabetic widow" - and imagine other people picturing some sickly and frail hunched over old lady. Nope. It's me. And at just 30 years old - 27 when I lost him. I'm just so worn out and tired of this being my reality. Thanks (as always) for listening to me whine. I can't really do it anywhere else.

Oh Jen... I feel bad and ungrateful for saying so, but I've been feeling this way lately too. I have a new guy, but holy hell have I been missing my Tim and my old life lately. This probably sounds insane, but I miss the way we'd fight. We'd yell and scream like everyone else, but neither of us would ever purposely hurt each others' feelings. We'd get frustrated with each other, to be sure. But there was never any meanness involved and he'd never just clam up and give me the silent treatment under the guise of "giving me my space." NG can have a real mean streak sometimes. And never wants to talk about a damn thing afterwards. In my opinion, he doesn't fight fair....but maybe that's because I got so used to the intellectual and ultimately loving way I'd fight with Tim. I know I shouldn't be comparing. I know I'm hard to be with and I'm sure NG is doing the best he can. He's probably more and better than this messed up person I've become deserves. But holy hell, do I miss being loved the way Tim loved me. I miss being his person so much.