Jen

This is what my in-laws and I did. I have half of Jim's ashes in a big urn on my bureau. They divided the rest between two miniature versions of the same urn, and then his mom scattered some at their family farm. I have a plot at our family cemetery, and one of these days I might even get around to getting a headstone for us, but I didn't see the point in putting any of his ashes there. I've told my kids to cremate me and combine my ashes with his-- after that, if they want to put some in the cemetery, fine. Otherwise, they can scatter us wherever they see fit. The only place I really want to be is in Mesa Verde National Park-- I took a little vial of Jim's ashes out there and scattered them back in June. I always wanted to take him there-- I waited too long. :-\ Sorry... just realized this is basically a double post. Oh, well.

(((((HUGS))))) I'm glad you're feeling better. This is such a hard road... it sucks, to be perfectly honest. Don't ever apologize for "babbling"-- this is our safe space to get it all out. Better out than in! Keep breathing. You can do this. You're not alone.

So many hugs and cheers! You're amazing!!

I miss his presence-- he was calm, he was safe, he made me feel secure no matter what was going on. He was so big, and he made me feel small-- in a good way-- and protected. I miss his wicked sense of humor, his terrible puns, his gorgeous blue eyes. I miss writing stories with him, brainstorming through writer's block with him (ask me about the Squerrits sometime!), laughing with him. I miss playing Star Wars: The Old Republic and watching Night Court and Star Trek and Third Rock from the Sun and The Fairly Odd Parents (he was a huge fan, said it was Stockholm Syndrome from when my 4-year-old was obsessed and they watched it every day). I miss having someone to talk to, night and day. Someone to rub my back when I can't sleep. Someone to snuggle and someone to-- well, you know. I miss being touched. I miss being loved. I miss being free from this soul-deep loneliness that will never, never go away. Edited to add: it seems sort of appropriate that this is my 500th post on this board. Thanks for being here. <3

WTF indeed??!?!?! I'm so sorry. I know the hamster in my brain would be running like mad on the wheel to nowhere. Good on you for filing the grievance, because jerks like that need to be brought up short, but that had to be so hard... again, useless as it is, I'm so sorry. ((((((HUGS))))))

Exactly. I do get physiological hunger, but almost nothing sounds good to me, and it's usually too much trouble to bother with. Shopping is a pain because there's nothing I really want. Most of the time, I think I'd be just as happy with a multivitamin and an apetite suppressant. :

I am so sorry. Mine was gone before he got to the ER... they never had time to give him any clotbusters. He had turned 40 just 3 days before. He had some chronic health issues, but his doctor never suggested DVT prophylaxis... he didn't even take a daily aspirin. It just never occurred to me to ask about it.

(((Hugs)))) There's no right or wrong answer. Last year I bought a little amethyst solitaire ring (we never got around to getting an engagement ring) to go with my wedding band, because I felt very strongly that I *needed* it-- no idea why, but I wore them together until New Year's. I was about 8 months out, and on New Year's Eve I suddenly felt just as strongly that it was time to take them off. I put my band with dh's, on a chain that's hung around his urn. I moved the solitaire to my right hand, and it's been there ever since... but I'm starting to question whether it should stay there much longer.

There's me with the like button... I think you're right. It's a nice feature, I can like a post and say "I see/hear/understand you" without saying anything. But, yes, it probably reduces actual posting. I know I respond more in my head than I do online. (((((SVS)))))) I'm sorry you're struggling. I'm right there with you.

(((((Hugs)))))) I'm so sorry you had to look, but glad you found us. Katie, my dh died very suddenly from PE as well-- like lightning out of a clear blue sky. Now I see those stupid commericals with Arnold Palmer and Kevin Nealon for drugs that supposedly treat and prevent things like that, and it's all I can do not to fling something at the TV.

... and again. Or still. No matter what I do, where I go, I'm still lonely. I talk to people-- the baristas at three different Starbucks all know me by name, ask about my kids, etc.; I tried out for a new play; I've been out to dinner with coworkers twice in the last couple weeks. I'm working on better self-care as well-- I walk and journal and try to be mindful of and grateful for what I have. I've made some longer-term plans so I have something to look forward to. Doesn't matter-- I can't resist the pull of the void inside me. I'm always aware of it, and even though I know I can't fill it, I still can't quite bring myself to embrace it. "Knock it off," I tell myself. "You're fine. You have everything you need: family, friends, a job you don't actively despise, a home, things to do. So there's a gaping hole-- so what? You have enough. Learn to be lonely." I just wish I knew how...

I used to like to cook, but somewhere along the way I lost the motivation. When we got married, Jim could barely boil water, but since he was the stay-at-home parent, he ended up doing most of the cooking, and he got pretty good at it. Now I'm back to having to cook, and I hate it. Most nights I'd rather eat a bowl of cereal and go to bed, but the kids want dinner every single night! (What's up with that??!?!)

Me too. There are plenty of times that I start to post and then delete because, honestly, who needs more of my crap cluttering up the place? I've said all there is to say about it, I think. Other times I can't help myself, and I go ahead and post, hoping that y'all will forgive me for needing to get it out of my head and onto the screen. Thank you for this. Feeling alone is still the biggest challenge I face, and that's why I'm here. My head knows I'm not alone; my heart insists I am. Sometimes the cognitive dissonance is so loud I can't hear myself think, so that's when I post-- just like everyone else, I'm trying to sort all this out. I read more than I write, and I promise, there have been lots of times that someone said what I needed to hear-- I just wasn't in a place to comment. I am deeply grateful for this community. That's all. (((((HUGS)))))

With enough repetition, maybe I'll even believe it... :-\ (((((HUGS)))))

Low here as well, though I sort of suspect this is the best I can hope for, so I may as well get used to it. I'm okay, I'm fine, but I have zero hope for good, or even somewhat better. Where will I be in five years? If I'm lucky, dead. Okay, no, I can't say that-- have to stick around for the long haul. And believe it or not, I really am trying to be more positive. So-- let's see. Five years. Maybe in another state? A new environment might help a lot... I don't know. Wherever I go, there I am, so would it make a difference? I'm fine. I'm enough. If I keep telling myself that, surely I'll start to believe it... ? Oh, this is me. This is so me. I can't stand the thought of losing anyone or anything else. By the same token, I don't want anyone or anything new to care about. No more feels, please. Just... no more.

I'm trying. I really, really am trying. Today I'm grateful for this forum, and the companions I've found on this dark road. Hugs.

OMG... I think that one article contains virtually everything I've been trying to say for months. Thank you for posting it. So much truth, at least for me... Lately I've been worried that there was something very wrong with me. Someone told me that I was "over it"-- my dh's death, I mean. That hit me like a ton of bricks. Is that the impression I give, even to those with whom I open up completely? That I've gotten over it, past it, beyond it? How would that even be possible? I was crushed by those words, because they felt like a judgment: You're over it. Your love for your husband has ended, your grief has been put aside-- the implication being that said love and grief are finite, that they can run out. But surely we all know that's not true? I'm not over it. I will never be over it. I may be over the screaming, clothes-rending, flesh-cutting phase, but the love and the grief never end. And please, please, may I never be the person who suggests or implies to someone else that they should be over it, because I know better.

It occurs to me that the title of this post makes no sense-- I'm sorry about that. I was at work when I wrote it, distracted by call lights and the phone and a chatty coworker, and I never got around to explaining that part. I can't stand to leave things unfinished, so-- here goes. Feel free to ignore, I just have to get it all out. When Jim died, when he left so suddenly and without warning, I was devastated, as we all were. I was completely lost, without the first idea of how I was going to survive as a wid. I couldn't even stand the sound of the word: widow. WIDOW. Ugly, horrible idea that conjures up images of a hump-backed old lady in a black dress going grimly about her daily tasks, alone, unloved, unwanted, barely tolerated by society. I was so full of love that had nowhere to go-- my circuit was broken, and all that energy, all that need, was just spewing out like water from a ruptured dam. So I tried to plug that vast, gaping hole-- I tried to fill it and to direct the outpour in a way that would help me and others who needed it too. I gave all I had to give- I gave all of me, in the hope that I would find some healing. And I did find some-- I found love and support and friendship. I'm eternally grateful for that, and I won't ever take it for granted. What I didn't find was what I thought I had to have: a complement, someone to be my other half. I'm an amputee, but the bleeding has finally stopped. I don't guess the phantom pain will ever go away, but I've finally reached the point where I understand that nobody will ever fill that space again. And I don't want them to. I don't want anything or anybody. I want me. I've found me, and I like me. I'm a good person with a good heart, even if it's broken and scarred beyond recognition. I just want peace, and I have that. I have everything I need. I am enough. Once again, thank you all for listening to me, and for being on the road with me. ((((HUGS))))

Oh, Jess, I'm so glad you got to go. I want to take the kids to Disneyland next year, if possible-- Jim and I never got to go together, we were planning to go to WDW with his parents last summer, but of course he didn't get to make that trip. We went, and it was a good trip-- especially the day we spent in Hollywood Studios, because of all the Star Wars stuff. Jim was a huge Star Wars fan, and I really felt as though he was with us that day. If things had been different... if he hadn't been disabled, if there hadn't always been money concerns... we would've gotten married at WDW. We talked about having a "real wedding" there someday (we eloped), with all our family and the big white dress and carriage and everything. Silly princess-y dream that I knew perfectly well would never come true, but it was fun to think about... Whenever we bought a lottery ticket, the first thing on our to-do list if we won was, of course, GO TO DISNEY!! Sorry, I'm just rambling now. I'm really happy that you had a good day there. So many hugs.

Yeah... I don't *really* want a hook up. I'm determined not to want anything anymore. It Is What It Is.

I said I wasn't going to count anymore, but I happened to notice the date and realized without meaning to that tomorrow makes 16 months. I got to thinking about it... I've come a long way in that time. I've gone from being completely shattered to semi-put-together. I've gone from screaming in agony to sighing when I open my sock drawer and glance at the urn on the bureau. (I'm also up to 14 15 16 cups of crushed ice today-- I have a problem, and may need intervention. But at least it's water and not alcohol or crack or something.) I'm okay. I'm not particularly happy and I'm not miserable. I've had some good things happen, and I've more or less let go of the rest. I like myself, and I think I have a lot to offer, but I doubt anyone will ever want it, or me. I've made up my mind to stop caring about it. I don't really even know why I'm posting this... it just dawned on me that maybe I'm not in hell anymore, at least not the deepest pit of it. Maybe this is purgatory? Limbo? I don't know. Maybe there will be something unequivocally good one of these days. Meanwhile, I've slightly impressed that I've made it as far as I have. I couldn't have done it alone, and I want to tell you all how grateful I am for the company I've had on the way. Hugs.

Atta girl!!! Hugs!!

I ate two cookies. I didn't need one cookie, let alone two, but they're soft chocolate cookies-- almost brownies, and I'm a sucker for a brownie. I found an inexpensive substitute for the Starbucks iced cinnamon chai latte I've become addicted to, and it's been a quiet day at work-- so quiet that I've gotten all my homework done for today (round one of three for the week). So-- cookies. Yay me.

You're in my thoughts often, even though I haven't been up to posting a lot lately. I wish I had some fabulous words that would magically fix it for you... all I have is a whole lot of (((hugs))))...

Been there, done that, got the Iron Maiden t-shirt. I've considered finding a hook up on Tinder or Craig's List, but even though I think I'm kinda cute these days, I don't delude myself that anyone else would ever think so. And who in their right mind would want to deal with even my carry-on baggage, let alone the freight that comes with me? (Widowhood, kids, increasingly dependent mother...) So, yeah, sometimes I feel sorry for myself. (Why the hell not? No one else does.) I've pretty well made up my mind to just be done with the whole sordid mess. Lock my heart and my libido in a box and toss in into the nearest body of water, metaphorically speaking. No more feeling, thank you. I'm all done. (((((((HUGS))))))) I hope something shifts for you soon, and for the better. Hang in there.