Jen

((((((Ursula))))))) Two weeks!!

Mizpah and Mikeeh, thank you for your kindness and confidence. I haven't done much but cry in the last few days, but you gave me a tiny bit of hope-- or something like it, anyway-- and I'm grateful. (((((Hugs)))))

This is something I ask myself all the time. I'm miserable, my life is lonely and empty and largely meaningless-- but does that mean I'm still grieving? I miss my Jim, I miss my life with him, but I don't fixate on his death anymore-- I think I've pretty well accepted that particular fact. I'm no longer surprised when I wake up alone-- I don't find myself asking where he went. Instead, I'm increasingly self-absorbed (which I hate, but I can't shake it). I don't want to say I obsess about it, but I guess I do: I'm alone, I'll always be alone, no one wants me or ever will, how can I possibly endure another year of this, let alone decades? I don't want to do this anymore. I've gone as far as I want to. No more, please. I don't have a stepping-off option. I keep going because I'm required to. It's like running an endless marathon-- and it's not like people don't care. The route is lined with well-wishers and supporters, people who cheer me on and hand me cups of water. But they won't let me stop, and they can't run it for me. No one can take this away from me. There's no fixing it. I don't know if I can survive it much longer; thriving isn't even on my radar. I'm sorry to be so negative. I wish I could be a Pollyanna type, but I've never been good at that. I've tried everything I can think of to reorient my brain and improve my attitude. I journal, I write affirmations, I recite mantras while I walk. I try to distract myself. I always end up in the same place, no matter what I do or what I tell myself. I am an introvert, and I do think that's a factor. I've wanted to be around people more and more since Jim died, but I still don't feel comfortable with them. My solution is to hang out at Starbucks, where there are usually plenty of people and I can pretend I'm a member of society. The baristas and a few regular patrons chat with me now and again. Mostly I'm left to myself, but I can at least say I've been out among the living. I will always mourn my Jim's death-- he was too young, it's really not fair. We should have had years and years together. But I don't think I'm actively grieving his loss anymore. I think, rather, that I'm grieving the loss of my own life-- which feels selfish and even wrong, but... well, it is what it is. I'm here, and that's all. I'm trying to accept it and not judge, but I'm afraid I'll be stuck in this hell for the rest of my life.

I want to say that identify with this completely, even though I took my ring off several months ago. I no longer felt married-- it felt like a lie. Now I'm acutely aware of the empty place on my finger (the indentation is still there, though barely). I wonder if anyone ever notices it-- I doubt it. I'm just another invisible approaching-middle-aged woman, too unremarkable to merit anyone's notice. I notice, though. Everywhere I go, I look for rings. Not because I'm on the hunt-- I don't delude myself that anyone will ever want me-- but because I have this strange compulsion to assess other people's lives in some way. "You're bigger than me, not that attractive in my opinion, but you have a ring, so someone loves you." Male and female-- it's almost the first thing I look for. Ring? Check. Lucky bastard. It's kind of sick, really, but I can't seem to stop. Rationally, I know that having a wedding ring is no indication of happiness-- I wore one for over thirteen years of a toxic, abusive marriage. And I understand that not wearing one can indicate all sorts of things, from divorce to widowhood to "I just don't like wearing a ring." There's no way to tell without learning each individual's story, and of course that's not possible. But still... I see a ring, and it triggers an immediate sense of... sadness, envy, longing. I'm trying to learn to be okay with loneliness, but I want a ring. I want that talisman. I want to feel safe and anchored again. That's asking an awful lot from a little circle of metal. It's all in my crazy little head, anyway. But it's always there-- I can't get rid of it. I'm working on it, but it's so hard. I agree, I feel as though I've lost my essential humanity as well... I don't know how to get it back, or if that's even possible. (((Hugs))) Take the ring off when it feels right. As much as I miss mine, I don't feel the need to put it back on-- that would be disingenuous. There's no right or wrong answer.

You summed up how I feel just about perfectly... and I am so, so sorry that anyone else feels like this. I wish I knew the solution. I wish there was a fix. I don't think there is, at least for me. It's not even so much about missing my husband (though I do, of course-- every minute!), it's more that I miss *our life*. Even if it wasn't much different than this one, it was anchored and underpinned by the basic fact that somebody loved me-- not because he had to, not because blood and obligation made him, but just for me, and that made all the difference in the world. Because of that incontrovertible truth, I felt safe, secure, and confident in who I was, what my role in life was. Now I'm adrift, lost and confused, and I have no hope that it will ever really get better. In the past week I've heard each of my kids express some variation on the phrase "I don't have a dad now." It rips my heart out every single time. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to take their dad away. I would bring him back in a heartbeat, if I could. I don't know what to do for them, and I don't know what to do for myself. This all just sucks. ((((Hugs))))

I adore you for starting this. Thank you. Seriously. Thank you. :*) Hopefully I'll be able to add something soon. (((((((HUGS)))))))))

Such as it is. We just got back from a nine-day road trip through the American Southwest: 3,165 miles driven (exclusively by me!) through six states (maybe seven, depending on whether we actually crossed the Utah state line and didn't realize it, as Google Maps claims) with three kids (two of who were fighting/snarling/squawking/complaining/shrieking at any given time) and my 71-year-old mother (who refuses to wear her hearing aids). To say there were ups and downs would be an understatement, both literally and figuratively. It was... hard. The first few days especially, I think because we went to Denver and Boulder, where I lived as a grad student back in the 90s. This was the first time I'd been back in 15 years, and I had a hard time getting my brain around all that's happened since then. The last time I drove down 28th St in Boulder, I was a young wife with a new baby. Now I'm old, bereaved, empty, and broken. Just too many memories there, I guess-- good and bad. It got better after we left the Front Range and drove down into the Four Corners area. I lived there too, but when I was a kid, so it wasn't so fresh. (On the other hand, I did have my honeymoon there with xh-- gulp-- 19 years ago. Ugh.) I always wanted to take Jim out there, but we never got the chance. Instead I found myself scattering ashes. I hope he approves; it's a gorgeous spot. I did manage to have fun, though. I enjoyed showing my kids all the places I lived and went to school, and tramping them through every archaeological site I could find. It must have been fairly successful; they've asked to go back. So that's something, I guess. I don't know where to go now. I was hoping to find some sense of connection out there-- to the land, if not to other people, since that seems to elude me now. There was some fleeting feeling... but I couldn't hold onto it. I'm just numb. Dead. Except for the searing pain in what's left of my heart... Anyway. Just another day to get through. I keep hoping enough of them will stack up to make it feel as though I've made some progress, but I seem to wake up back at the starting line every morning. I don't want to do this anymore, and I'm tired of pretending I do. I'm just... tired, full stop.

Jen, I've been thinking about this ever since you posted it. I'm trying to do the same-- or at least I'm trying to try to do it, if that makes sense. Bits of me aren't cooperating. Misery has become a habit, and I'm working on breaking it, but it's so slow. This whole putting yourself back together thing hurts like hell, and a lot of the time I just don't want to do it. It's hard and it's painful and I resent the fact that I'm in this position. But none of that changes the fundamental fact that it has to be done. So-- I'm trying. Not necessarily succeeding, but-- trying.

(((((Leslie)))) Hope you're hanging in there today.

I totally agree, BH2. I fucking hate my life too. It's not even all that bad-- I was thinking last night that, except for the vast gaping HOLE inside me, things have been going okay lately. But there's that vast sucking emptiness that I just can't get past. I hate this. I was a good, caring, loving person. Now I'm just a husk. I don't know how long I can keep this up. I'm doing my best, but it's not good. Hugs, and thanks for the chance to rant a little. Sorry that I needed to.

Hugs and more hugs. "It sucks" is my new catch phrase, so pardon the repetition, but-- yeah. It sucks.

Awesome pix, it looks like it was an incredible trip! I'm so glad you went-- you're an inspiration. Thank you for sharing with us. (((Hugs)))

I like how you said this. I think it sums me up pretty well too. I hate feeling so out of control emotionally, and so fragile-- it's like being made of glass, one little bump and I shatter all over again. I never thought of myself as a colossally jacked-up person, but I must be. I want to know how long this stupid tunnel is, and when I can get out of it, because I've never hated anything as much as i hate being here.

Fuck that every time I think I'm seeing a little sunlight, it turns out to be a mirage. Fuck that this useless, stupid heart of mine won't take the hint and just die already. Fuck that it hurts and hurts and will. Not. Stop.

((((((HUGS))))))) Happy Birthday, if that's possible. I think I know pretty much how you feel-- Jim died 3 days after his 40th birthday, and 6 months later I turned 40 without him. It sucked (my word for the day: suck, sucks, suckage). I'm so, so sorry for all of this. It's not fair-- it's so not. Jess is right, it's not about fairness but reality, but-- damn. It SUCKS.

Yes. Yes, it totally, completely, and in all other ways SUCKS ROCKS. I hate that this is my life now. I want my husband back. I want my old life. Sorry, just had to get that out. (((((JESS))))))

((((Jodi)))) I am so, so sorry for the devastating loss of your precious husband. I can't add to the excellent advice already given-- just know you're not alone. My dh died very suddenly in April 2014, and I barely remember those first few months. The shock is overwhelming. Just breathe, sweetie, and talk to us. Every single one of us wishes otherwise, but... we get it. more hugs, Jen

So many hugs, hon. You're incredible.

(((((HUGS)))))) to you. I am so, so sorry.

This is where I am-- isolating myself, drawing inward, letting apathy take over. I wonder if I will ever feel like I'm part of humanity ever again. Hunter, hugs to you as you remember your Jenny, and peace and joy as you move forward.

(((((((HUGS)))))))) Since I passed that one-year mark, I've mostly quit thinking about this time last year-- I guess that makes sense, sort of? Now I just think of life (with Jim) and not-life (ever since he died). It's all a big blur of "back when we were alive," and it hurts to think about, so I try not to. That's no help-- I'm so sorry. Thinking about you today... more hugs, Jen

I agreed with everything you said, hon. Just so you know. ((((Hugs))))) Edited to add: I don't think there was any whining, and I whine enough to recognise it when I see it!

Wish I could go... I hope you all post pix for us wanna-be-cool kids. :-\

If it's not the right time to take off your ring, leave it where it is. There's nothing at all wrong with that. ((((hugs))))

(((((((AMY)))))))) I can feel the panic from here! That would've had me reeling all day. It's so weird what our brains will conjure up... (((((more hugs)))))