Jen

Thank you for this-- you've summed up what I've tried to say, over and over, without success. I admire others' ability to believe in a reason, a plan... I just can't.

(((((((HUMONGOUS HUGS))))))))) I am so, so sorry. I'm incredibly disillusioned with life right now too, so I'm not a great source of inspiration or anything, but I'm here to listen if you need to talk. For your brave friend, peace be the journey. more hugs, Jen

Just for your consideration... http://www.timeout.com/amsterdam/en/attractions/things-to-do-in-amsterdam

I came back here planning to delete my post... I'm slightly mortified to have admitted it, but it really is my greatest fear right now. I know how ridiculous that sounds. Look2thesky, thank you for the vote of confidence... I never got the "Oh, you'll find someone/get married again" comment, which makes me think anyone who knows me has already mentally consigned me to the convent. Jess, I appreciate the validation-- I was afraid I would sound really petty and messed up: "Her husband died, and all she's worried about is whether she'll ever get laid again!" Well, it's true-- it's not all I worry about, but it's a big chunk of it. And it's not just about sex-- it's about everything around the sex. Companionship. Connection. My heart still works too. I feel slightly foolish hoping lightning will strike again, but at the same time I can't not hope for it.

(((Linda))) Same here. Jim threw a clot and died of a PE too-- I should have seen the red flags, I should have known he was at high risk for clots. It never occurred to me. In hindsight it was glaringly obvious, but at the time, I just thought-- you know, big whiny baby, you know? Typical guy. @@ Now I know better, and I will never make such a mistake again-- I hope I won't ever be that complacent with my loved ones, anyway-- but it's too late, the damage is done. And punishment? Oh, yes, I'm being punished. Endlessly.

Yes... I used to practice regularly, but I've lost the knack. I can't make my brain be still, it's like a hamster on crack. I can't even regulate my breathing anymore, and at one time I was pretty good at that. It's not even actual sex I'm wanting right now, it's more that I'm terrified that I'll never have sex again. No one will ever want me. I shouldn't admit that, I guess, but if I can't be candid in this thread, where can I? I'm 40 years old. My husband died; my libido didn't. I mean I am seriously, deeply afraid that I'm never going to be touched again. The idea that I might have to spend another 40 years celibate-- never any sex at all, let alone the kind I want-- is nearly as devastating to me as the fact of Jim's death. That probably makes me a terrible, jacked up person in need of professional help, but-- fuck it, I have to wear the mask everywhere else, I may as well lay it all out here. Hope no one will hold it against me. And if they do, well, I'm sorry. It's just where I am.

Thank you all so much... I wish we weren't in this together, but perversely, I'm glad we are... does that make sense? Ursula, right now Amsterdam is what I'm holding out for. No idea what I'll do when that's done, but I guess there's no point in worrying about it now. I've got plenty to say grace over, as my granny used to say. Maybe there will be some fundamental shift by then, and life will start to see possible again. So many hugs all around.

Guilt: Jim fractured his foot; I got weary of him stumping around in his boot and vegging on the couch too much, and I lost my temper about it more than once. I wasn't particularly sympathetic after the 8 week x-ray said it had healed adequately. Major guilt: He was diagnosed with pneumonia about a month before he died. He had been coughing for weeks by then-- he finally made an appointment when he started running fever. I didn't talk to his doctor; I assumed she would pursue the best course of treatment. She talked about admitting him, but he didn't want to go into hospital, and I didn't want to force him-- but that might have been motivated as much by a dread of the hassle of dealing with a hospitalization (and not at the facility where I work) as it was by wanting the best for him-- not a pleasant thing for me to admit. I made sure he took his antibiotics, and when he didn't spike a high temp and he stopped coughing up blood, I called it a win. I got frustrated with the whole situation-- between his foot and his chest, he'd been laid up for three months. The day he died, I was at work, complaining to my coworkers about what a baby he was and how I suspected he was malingering. So-- yeah, guilt in epic proportions. Guilt I'll never get over. No wonder my life is so dark. I don't deserve any light after that.

(((Ursula))) Thank you for the vote of confidence-- I'm trying to find some hope, but every time I think I find a tiny spark, it fades before I can catch it. I'm so tired, I'm depressed, and this is exhausting, thankless work. I'm sick of it all, I wish I could go to sleep and wake up in three years. I think I've given pretty much all I have to give. There's so little to look forward to; what there is seems ephemeral and hollow. Maybe it's time for me to quietly exit stage right and accept that this show is over, at least for me. Definitely in hell today...

Still not going anywhere. <3

"I'll cry a million oceans before I'm dead." Yeah, that. :*(

I just want to turn it off and not think about it anymore. It hurts too much.

I can't remember when it sank in that I would never open the living room door and nearly trip over his long legs and ridiculously humongous feet, ever again. That his car was never going to move from its spot in the driveway unless I got in and turned the key. That the Crocs under the computer desk weren't going anywhere until I moved them. By the time I moved-- that was at 9 months-- I had those facts firmly lodged in my brain, and I was able to box his things up without losing it completely-- I even managed to donate a fair chunk of his stuff. But for the longest time, I couldn't leave the lights on at home when I knew I'd be coming home after dark-- it made the place looked too lived in, and I was almost certain that if I opened the door he would be in his usual spot on the couch. It ripped my heart out every time, so I left the lights off. Our brains go through unbelievable contortions to try to process this trauma. There's no rushing it, and it was tactless of your friend to tell you to pack up his things, even if she meant well. I'm so sorry. (((((HUGS))))) I really, really wish there was an all-inclusive mobile plan that offered a connection to whatever comes next. Phone, text, email-- something. Just so we could check in once in awhile, you know? I miss the texts the most, I think-- I never did like talking on the phone much, and in all the time I knew him, getting letters, then emails, out of my Jim was like pulling teeth, even though he was a phenomenal writer. But the texts... I carry my phone all the time, and when it buzzes I grab it like it's a lifeline. I don't hope it's him anymore-- at least, I don't think I do-- but I do remember for a split second what it was like to really matter to someone.

I am so sorry. (((hugs)))

Exactly my thoughts. So glad we're here but hating that we need it. Hugs.

Oh, sweetie, you are not any kind of failure! I feel like you do-- this single parent gig SUCKS, there's no getting around it. ((((HUGS)))) I wish I could win the lottery and host a humongous "get away from it ALL" bago for us.

I had to throw my mattress out when I moved in January, and it was a wrench. So much history in a crummy, saggy mattress... I meant to cut a piece out of it, but for some reason I didn't, and I didn't realize it until I was making up my new bed for the first time. So I put the old cover on my new mattress, put the last fitted sheet Jim slept on over that, then put a new mattress cover and sheets on. Sounds extreme, I know, but it gave me some peace of mind. Hugs.

Yes!! This happened to me too. A few months ago I actually felt as though I was doing okay, I was getting through-- I could see daylight. I was foolish enough to think, I can do this, I am doing it, yay me! But then despair reached out and dragged me back into hell, and I'm honestly not sure I'll ever get out. Life seems meaningless now. Every day has a depressing sameness to it-- get up, drag myself up the mountain, collapse at the top, exhausted and demoralized. Lather, rinse, repeat. Every morning I beg, "Please let something good happen today-- something that will make me want to keep going." Mostly I just trudge through while time oozes like cold molasses. I'm still hoping for hope... maybe one day. Probably not today, though.

I'm short on words today, but lots of ((((hugs))))) to you, Amy.

((((((((INJO))))))))) Peace to you, sweetie...

Love the pix-- LOVE the quote!! I'd never been to NYC before, and you know what? I'm seriously considering a move in that direction one day too! (((Hugs)))

Sandy, you did well. (((Hugs))) I confess, I'm a little envious that you have something that smells like your sweet husband. Someone told me the first day or so to find something that smelled like my Jim and put it in a Ziploc bag-- but I didn't have anything. The clothes he wore to the hospital never came home, and he'd been doing laundry when he died. The last thing he said, according to my daughter-- while he was gasping to breathe-- was "Put the clothes in the dryer." I managed not to have a meltdown today. Given how I've been feeling lately, that's pretty good. :-/

Oh, Deedee, soooo many hugs. I know you can do this. I'll light my birth candle for you tomorrow, just know you're not going through this alone. Beautiful birth vibes to you!! (((((((HUGS)))))))

I'm almost never off on weekends (and I've had two in a row, wow!), so I'm rarely up this late on a Saturday night (unless insomnia strikes). I just got home from seeing my sister in another musical, Nine-- not the caliber of the shows I saw last week in NYC but they did a good job. I violated my "no soda" policy and drank a Cherry Coke, so I'll be up for awhile. Guess it's back to stats for me-- cramming for the final. Once that's done, no more statistics, ever!! Woohoo!! Hugs, y'all.

I honestly don't know when that moment hit me. I remember hearing the word "widow" during the first few days-- my father-in-law kept calling me "my son's widow," and every time I heard it I wanted to scream, "I AM NOT HIS WIDOW, I AM HIS WIFE!!!!!!!" For months I couldn't even say it. Eventually I could say "wid"-- that didn't hurt so much. It's only been in the last couple of months that I can actually come out and say-- with a hitch in my throat-- "I am a widow." I hate it. Every single time. But I realise something: a widow isn't all that I am. It may be the main thing, the title that currently trumps all the other roles I play in this life, but there's more to me than this grief. I'm hanging onto that. Maybe one of these days "widow" can be further down the list. Maybe...