lcoxwell

Hello, everyone! It has been a very long time, since I have dropped by or checked in. I recently passed the five year anniversary of my Kenneth’s death. February and March are hard, because there are so many special dates and memories, tied to him. I made it through okay. My sister and my mother helped by sending sweet texts from the other side of the United States. My cousin has been in a very serious relationship with a man, who had cancer. From everything I know, they have been very much in love. He passed away, last weekend, and they just had his funeral, yesterday. I sent her a message and told her about you all and how I never would have made it through the first two years, without you. Words will never be enough to tell you how much you have meant to me or how much I have loved you and all you have done for me. I hope she will at least drop in to see what you have to offer. Much love to you all! 🤗🤗🤗

It has been around two years, since my last post, and almost that long, since I logged on to read what others have shared. Without the support I found here, I don’t believe I ever would have moved past active grieving or been able to build the happy life, I now have. Sadly, two years ago, today, my daughter delivered a stillborn son. She had had a healthy pregnancy, with a strong, active baby. There were complications during labor, and she lost her son, most likely due to doctor error. My grandson was named after my dear husband, which is so bittersweet. As I see her grieving, and as I also grieve the loss of my grandson, I find that the horrible widdahood grief monster has reared his ugly head. My husband had a special bond with my Nutmeg (his nickname for her). IWhile I provide comfort to her, as best as I can, I cannot help but think that he would have been able to help her through her grief far better, than I can. So, at this moment in time, I am missing him so much more than I have, in a very long time. Oh, how I wish he could be here for our daughter. I can’t help, but think, he should be here. Because I live across the country from her, I wasn’t able to get to her in time to be with her at the hospital. I never had the chance to hold or even touch my grandson. All I have of him is a lock of his hair, plaster imprints of his hand and foot, and three pictures. Here is one of those three pictures. He was such a handsome little boy. I feel like this is the only place in the world, where I could share this. I feel like you are the only people, who would understand my need to show my grandson’s photo. For today, I need to show that there was a baby, and there was a husband, who shared his name.

I know I haven't checked in, lately. These days, there hasn't been the need to drop in every day, as there one time was; however, tonight, I feel the need to come here for some widda love and support. For those of you who pray, I could use prayers, as well. For those of you, who have been around awhile, you might remember that I have a daughter. My Kenneth used to call her Nutmeg. When he died, she sat by his bedside, planning her wedding, just so she could say he was a part of it. Last December, I excitedly announced that she was pregnant. The ultrasound said she was due on Aug. 10. Her doctor said Aug. 18. She'd been having contractions every 15 minutes, since Aug. 12, but had only dialated 1cm and her cervix wasn't ready to deliver. The baby was in position, though. Her doctor let her continue having contractions all this time, even though her early labor was not progressing, and her doctor did nothing. No breaking her water, no inducing, no c-section. Her doctor had her go in to labor and delivery at least 4-5 times for monitoring, but kept sending her home. He kept sending her home, because the baby was "perfectly healthy" and showed no signs of distress. The doctor had her in for 4 hours of monitoring on Friday, when she was 1 day overdue. She had been having contractions for 8 DAYS at that point. He still sent her home, because the baby was "fine". Nutmeg says the baby was moving on Saturday and up until sometime yesterday, at which point she noticed he seemed to have stopped moving. When she went in to the doctor today, she was informed that the amniotic fluid was gone and that her son had died. This death is a tragedy and was completely preventable. Her doctor could have easily done something sooner to move things along or to deliver her son, who will share my Kenneth's middle name. Sadly, her doctor is FINALLY inducing her labor, so that she can deliver her now stillborn son. Sadly, my daughter now has to live with the guilt that she somehow let us down, because she didn't go see another doctor or go to the ER. Sadly, my daughter and her husband must grieve the loss of a perfectly healthy full term baby, who should be alive today. They are utterly devastated, and my mother's heart is breaking into a million pieces, because I know there is nothing I can do to erase their pain and because all of this has made the grief of losing my Kenneth feel fresh and raw all over again.

I am so sorry that I missed out on this, especially since I initially got the ball rolling. I so badly wanted to meet all of you! Sadly, medical issues have pretty much had me incapacitated for the past month, so I wasn't able to join in, as I had hoped. I truly hope the rest of you had an amazing time, though; and maybe one day in the future, I will get the opportunity to meet you and join the fun.

On this last night, before my wedding, I decided I needed to spend just a little time acknowledging Kenneth. So, I wrote this on his Facebook wall. I thought I would share it here, too: Tomorrow, I will fulfill the promise I made to you, when you asked me to go out and find love again, and you made me promise I would not spend my life alone. I know how important it was to you, for those around you to honor the promises they made; so I know, you would be happy for me. Thank you for that gift to me, for giving me permission to grieve, but not to spend my life wallowing in it. Thank you for giving me permission to move forward in life, after you were gone. Other than loving me, that has been the greatest gift you have ever given to me. If not for your stubborn insistence that I find myself another man, or your refusal to accept anything less than my promise to you, that I would not spend the rest of my life alone; I don't know if I would have had the strength or courage to open my heart to anyone else. If not for you, I would not have found love again. And I would not be starting a new life with a new husband tomorrow. He's everything you told me you wanted me to find in a new man. I think you would be happy about that, too. Please know, that there will always be a place in my heart that belongs to you. You gave me a good life, Kenneth, and you loved me until your dying breath. In return my heart is big enough to always love you, without taking anything away from the man I will be marrying tomorrow. Rest easy and know that you and God have left me in good hands. I love you!

Well, after two years of dating, and 5-1/2 months of being engaged, New Guy and I are getting married in two days. I feel so blessed to have his love; and I am so thankful that I was able to open my heart and to allow myself to love once more, after losing my Kenneth. It was through all the sacrifices of extreme caregiving and the many lessons that Kenneth taught me that allowed me to love New Guy so completely and so fully. As I prepare to step into a new marriage, I know I will be a far better wife than I ever was before, and I cannot wait to share my life with my New Guy. The closer my wedding day becomes, I am also finding small ways to say goodbye to being Kenneth's wife. After he died, I continued to be called "Mrs." by my students. I continued to identify myself as Kenneth's wife. In two days, that changes. It has been an honor to be his, and it will be an honor to be the wife to New Guy. It just seems sad that I have to stop being one to be the other, and I know that this is the only place I can say that, where people will understand.

I know I haven't been around the last few months. There's been quite a bit going on, and I just haven't been able to check in the way I would like. I just want all of you to know that I have missed you so very much and hope to get back to popping in again on a more often, once I get through the next few weeks. Anyway, I love you all and hope everyone is doing well, or at least as well as can be expected.

My New Guy is not a Disneyland kind of guy, but Huntington beach is where he kissed me for the very first time. I MIGHT be able to convince him to come down one of those days to hang out on the beach or to go for a bike ride.

I am so very excited for the three of you! I absolutely love seeing happy news like this. Congratulations, and I hope that everything about the move goes smoothly. I know it is so hard, waiting for the days to pass. Hopefully, those 76 days will just fly by and Justin and his DD will be there before you know it. (((Hugs)))

Note to self: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT go to the gym with New Guy, unless or until the workout together is going to be followed up with actual sex! Watching your man pump iron with his muscles bulging all manly like when he doesn't know you are watching, catching his eye in the mirror at the gym and seeing him smile at you across the room, and crossing paths for a quick kiss and having him grab your butt right there in the middle of the gym "in front of God and everybody" (as your mamma would say) is far too tempting. I have to admit, after 10 years of no sex, these final 88 days are beginning to feel like an eternity. I swear, at this moment, I would be up for sex of any kind. Okay, maybe I should rephrase that. I am with Portside. I think "Nutella, a lasso, ass-less chaps, and peacock feathers" are a bit much. On the other hand, I have not ever tried it, so who am I to judge? Seriously, I am up for just about anything that wouldn't land me in the hospital or jail, at this point. As long as it involves sex and an orgasm, I think I would be all in.

Jen, I have come back to this several times, since you originally posted, thinking that I might have the words to say in order to make things better or to encourage you in some way. Sadly, I just have not been able to put into words what I want to be able to express. Just know that I am here and that I love you; and I see you making progress along the way, even if you aren't able to see it. It's true, none of this is fair, and none of this is easy. I truly wish things could be easier for you, and in time, I believe you will have a better perspective. In the meantime, I am sending you much love and virtual hugs, and I hope that you can find at least a little peace, soon.

I found I was in very much the same position last Summer. I could have very easily stayed in the home I had lived in with Kenneth and left everything just where he had always had it. The problem was, I wasn't really living. Staying there would have kept me stuck in my grief, and I would not have been able to move forward. I made the decision to move, and it was the right decision, for me. Yes, it forced me to go through things and to give up things, that I hadn't wanted to even touch. It was a painful process, for certain. In the end, though, there was a certain amount of healing that came with letting go and moving forward, and it allowed me to do some of the hard work of grieving that I would not have done, otherwise. I hope your move will be just as positive for you, as mine has been for me. Many hugs, and much love to you, dear one.

F*** the doctors, who ignored my medical problems for two years, claiming everything was caused by "anxiety"; because, everyone knows widows/widowers are too fragile to handle life, right? I even had a mild stroke, which some doctors claimed was just an anxiety attack, even though it left me with left side weakness, asymmetry in my facial muscles, and cognitive problems that I struggle with almost 10 months later. Thankfully, I now have a really good neurologist and primarily care physician, who actually listen and both say that my problem is not anxiety. They also both verify that, yes, I did indeed have a stroke. It feels good to have the validation that I am not crazy; but it makes me so frustrated to know that, if doctors had listened to me in the first place, and not assumed my migraines and sleep issues were just anxiety, I might have received medical treatment sooner and not had the stroke in the first place.

Mr C....You have just summed up my life perfectly. It is amazing how much I can relate to this one statement.

Today marks the two year anniversary of my Kenneth's death. Once again, I looked back at what I wrote a year ago on the one year anniversary, and I have read my words over and over. I really don't think I could say what I want to say any better than I said it then. So, once again, I am going to share what I wrote one year ago today: "As I have said so many times before, thank you all for the support and for helping me to make it through these last few days. I have wanted to make this post about my Kenneth's final day, all day long, but have been struggling to find the right words. I am not sure that I will be able to express this as clearly as I would like, but here goes.... One year ago today, after being up nearly all night long, due to the need to watch him and to take care of him up to the very last minute, as well as the fear of closing my eyes and not being "present" at the moment he took his very last breath, I finally drifted off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. I think I really just collapsed from shear exhaustion, in all honesty. About an hour or so later, I woke up once more. It was around 5:30 or 6:00 am, when I opened my eyes. Thankfully, he was still breathing those slow, shallow breaths, that only those in a deep sleep or comatose state breathe. I remember feeling such relief that he was still there, but there was also a part of me that knew, KNEW, that it was only a matter of time, and he would be gone. I knew he would not make it through the day, and suspected he only had a few hours, or maybe minutes, left. Much of my struggle from the night before, of when and how to give him permission to move on, was still there. I don't know if it was the prayers of my dear friend the night before, if it was the many hours of prayer I had personally prayed throughout the night, or if it was the realization that he had suffered long enough, but there was a bit of resolve that I needed to somehow find the courage and the strength to tell him he could let go. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't just tell him it was alright to die. I couldn't tell him he it was time. For about an hour, I tried to will the words to come out of my mouth, but I just couldn't say them. What I could do, though, was to lie down next to him on the bed, to put my head on his shoulder, to place my hand on his heart, and to tell him through my tears that I would be okay. It hurt like hell, and I am not sure I really believed it, but I knew he needed to hear it. After spending a few minutes lying next to him, just feeling his warmth next to mine and watching him, I went to tell our two youngest, "The Boy" and "Nutmeg" (as my Kenneth called them), as well Nutmeg's fiance, all three of whom had stayed up throughout the night and helped me keep "The Death Watch", that it wouldn't be much longer. Then, I returned to sit by his side and pulled out the laptop, so I could write lesson plans for the sub, and so I could contact my son's school to let them know he wouldn't be in school that day. As I was constructing the email for my son's school, I was listening to Kenneth's every breath, acutely aware of every single one that entered his lungs. At some point, I noticed the breaths were coming just a bit slower. I listened to one breath, then the next, then I heard a little "catch" in his breath - a small, minute sound, but that sound spoke volumes - and then, there was nothing, just complete silence. I looked over at him, holding my own breath, willing him to take the next breath, but there was nothing, just utter silence, and I knew that he was gone. I looked up at the clock. It was 7:41 am. My first thought was to lie down beside him once more, and to tell him, yet again, that I would be alright and to tell him I loved him. I also thanked him for loving me and my kids and for giving us a good life. My second thought was that I wasn't ready. I had known for years that that moment was going to come, and I thought I had made peace with it. I had spent a week, waiting for that moment, saying my goodbyes, telling him I loved him. I thought I was ready to let him go, but at that moment, my thought was, "I am not ready. I still need you." I guess, no matter how prepared we think we are, we are never truly ready for that moment, when we lose the most important person in our lives, whom we have loved so completely. I remember noticing, somewhere in the back of my mind, that it had been less than an hour, since I had told him I would be okay. It was the words he had been waiting for, the words he needed to hear, and once those words were spoken and he had permission to move on, he finally stopped fighting to stay alive. I also remember going into the other room to tell the kids that Kenneth was gone and calling home hospice to tell them he had died. They came in, took care of Kenneth's body, and made arrangements for the funeral home to come pick him up. We were given a few hours to sit with him, before they had to take his body away. My son, who is our quiet, stoic, sensitive one, stayed in his room with the door closed. He couldn't bring himself to come in and sit with his dad or us. He couldn't share his pain, so we left him alone and gave him the time he needed. My daughter, on the other hand, who had wanted so badly to have her dad at her wedding, to give her away, and to be a part of the ceremony, decided that he had to be a part of her special day, somehow. So, while we sat there, waiting for them to come take him away, we planned the wedding. She and I sat on the bed beside him, talking about all those little details that go into the planning of a wedding and sharing memories of him. We laughed, we cried, we mourned. Those few short hours passed so quickly, but I shall always cherish the time spent with my daughter, planning her wedding and talking about him, as we kept our vigil by his side."

Thank you, Tweety! (((Hugs)))

((((Jen)))) You are such an angel! Thank you so very much. I have been thinking of you all day, too, and wish that I had had time to come here earlier in the day to see this. Last night, I barely slept, at all, somewhat like I did that final night Kenneth was alive, as I waited for him to take his final breath. This morning, I remember watching the clock and thinking that two years ago at this time, was when he died. Though there were a few sad moments in the day, and I had a bit of a migraine for much of the day, I managed to make it through most of the day without completely falling apart. Thankfully, New Guy thought it might be easier, if I did not have to spend the entire evening alone; so, he and I had dinner together and spent some low key, quiet time at my place. He didn't stay too late, though, so that I would also have some time to come here or to have some time alone with my memories, as well.

Thank you, everyone, for bearing with me, as I have come here to count down those memories from Kenneth's final week. This was something I did last year, as well, but I was such a mess and so frantic, at the time, that I did not get a chance to truly reflect on all that I was sharing. I guess, with the chaos of the transition from YWBB to the temporary site to here (during this time last year), I truly did not get the chance to process the emotions. I was just so traumatized by everything that was happening, at the time. I cannot tell you how much it has meant, being able to come here and share the memories, once more. This year, I have found a certain sense of healing, that I didn't have before. Without this board, and those of you who have allowed me to share, I would never have been able to to feel this sense of peace that I now have.

Hahahahahahahaha! This made my whole day! I so needed this laugh today. (I hope you had a really good time. Someone should at least be enjoying themselves!) By the way, I am now down to 93 days, until I will be having sex. I have already warned New Guy that I have really good cardio fitness, that I am incredibly flexible and bendy for a woman my age, that I have all kinds of sexy lingerie ready and waiting, and that he should be fully prepared to have a very busy honeymoon.

I read this a few days ago, and I have been contemplating my response ever since. I am going to be honest and share a few things I rarely ever share, here. To be perfectly honest, some of what I am going to share is going to be quite painful for me to say; but I hope it can help someone, along the way. Most people know that I am an eternal optimist; that I generally appear to have my act together; and that I seemed to move forward, to make peace with Kenneth's death, to find joy and happiness, and to move into the BAG group somewhat faster than others that lost their spouses along my same timeline. With that being said, what I am about to share next may surprise some people. What most people do not know, however, is that I have also had serious struggles with severe anxiety, that I have been diagnosed with PTSD, that previously diagnosed health problems have been exacerbated by stress related to the aftermath of Kenneth's death, that I experienced a mini stroke (likely triggered by that stress), and that I came very, VERY close to having a nervous breakdown and needing to be hospitalized for a psychiatric evaluation, all since Kenneth died, with most of these occurring within the last year. I don't often let people know about those struggles, because I am good at putting on the mask and pretending that everything is perfectly fine, for a variety of reasons. One, I live so far away from most of my friends and family, that I don't want them to worry. Two, I am a respected teacher, and don't want my reputation to be damaged or compromised. And three, I have a fierce determination that I will not be a victim of my circumstances and that I will not allow Kenneth's death to destroy me; so, I fight with every single bit of strength I have within me to not let the anxiety, the PTSD, the stress, the health problems, the grief, and the desire to crawl into bed and never get up again beat me down. I refuse to give up or give in. When I realized that I had some serious problems that needed to be dealt with, I took action. I started seeing a grief counselor and I sought medical help for my worsening medical conditions. As I had been doing, since Kenneth's death, I came here for support, when I needed it. I also leaned on family and friends in real life. One of my coworkers used to send an email out once a week with updates on activities going on in the community. I forced myself to attend at least one activity a week, just to make myself get out of the house and to interact with at least one other person. I found one person at work to help me keep track of deadlines and responsibilities, in case widda brain kicked in and I forgot things (reduced stressed = more peace). I exercised, listened to music, read the Bible, prayed, attended church, started seeing New Guy and began building a healthy relationship with him. In the words of my grief counselor, I started doing all the "right things" to deal with and manage the grief. Did that mean I found joy and a reason to get up every day? On some days, it did. But not every day. Over time, I decided to move to a different city, to start a new teaching position, to build a new life. It was the very best choice I could have ever made. I now have the joy I was missing. I have a reason to go on and a reason to get up, and I rarely have anxiety attacks or flashbacks or issues with the PTSD, anymore. I am slowly getting my health problems under control. It has been a long, hard road, though; and I still have days, when it takes ever ounce of strength I have within me to fight to put on foot in front of the other and to make it through yet another day.

I had planned to come here and put into words what I remembered of the day before Kenneth died, two years ago. Quite honestly, I found myself sitting here, looking at a blank screen, but the words just simply would not come. Then, I looked back at the what I wrote a year ago, and I realized why I couldn't find the words. The words I wrote a year ago are the words I truly wanted to share. These are the memories from the day before his death, the ones I shall always carry with me: "I am now down to today and tomorrow, and then I shall stop posting all the "One year ago today..." updates, as I will have passed the one year anniversary. It is so hard to believe I have made it to this point. I never could have survived without all of you, at least not survived with any part of my dignity or sanity intact. With that being said.... One year ago today, I had entered what I call, "The Death Watch". When I woke up that morning and could not get him to open his eyes or respond to my voice, I knew that the time had come. I called home hospice, and they confirmed that he had slipped into a coma sometime between when he laid down to take a nap the night before and that morning. They offered to come and take care of him, but I told them I would do it, that I would call, if I needed them. So many times, he had joked that it was just the two of us, against the world. It just seemed appropriate that it should just be us, at that time. I felt like I had taken care of him for so many years up to that point, that I wanted to be the one taking care of him in the end, too. I can't really explain it, other than to say it felt like something I had to do. A few hours later, his mother, sister, nieces, and nephew arrived to see him, one last time. I have to be honest, I was horribly resentful at their intrusion. For years, they hadn't visited him, even when he was in the ICU in the hospital. They didn't come to the house or invite us over. They didn't call to check on him. They gave us no support, whatsoever. I was angry that they had turned their backs on him, just when he needed his family the most. I was even angrier that I had called them 5 days before and told them they needed to call him and to visit, because home hospice had been called in and I had been told he would go quickly. I felt like they should have come sooner, and by waiting, he did not have the chance to see them or know they had visited. I also have to admit being resentful for the intrusion on my time with him. Instead of spending the last few hours I had with him, I was having to sit in the other room entertaining them and talking to them, when all I wanted to do was sit by his side, to hold his hand, to kiss his cheeks, and to tell him over and over just how much I loved him. A part of me felt that they shouldn't be there, that it had just been the two of us and our kids for so long, that it should just be the two of us and the kids in the end, as well. I wanted to lie down on the bed beside him, with my head on his chest, just listening to him breathe, without having to hear their voices in the other room. As selfish as this may sound, I was happy when they decided to leave, so I could just focus on him. Some time late that evening, after everyone had gone, I had a call from a dear friend across the country. He had called to check on Kenneth and on me. During that conversation, I mentioned that I felt like Kenneth was holding on for some reason, like he was waiting on me to give him permission to let go. I remember just sobbing into the phone and telling my friend that I just couldn't bring myself to say the words, though I knew I needed to. I knew Kenneth was waiting on me, that he wouldn't leave, until he knew I was ready to let him go. My friend told me it was alright, if I couldn't say the words yet, and offered prayers for strength. I am so thankful to my friend for lifting me up in prayer at that moment. Throughout the night, I barely slept, afraid that if I closed my eyes, he might slip away from me, and I wouldn't know it. I wanted, needed, to be there for his final breath. To this day, just one day shy of that one year anniversary, I still feel like the only reason he made it through that night, was because I hadn't found the courage to tell him it was okay to die."

As the countdown to Kenneth's death two years ago continues, I cannot believe that I am now down to two days before he died. Since I am medicated from yet another migraine, at the moment, and having difficulties with putting my thoughts together, I will share what I wrote last year at this time (with a minor change or two). Thank you, Jess and Justin, for making it possible for me to access at least a few of the memories, that I thought were forever lost. Two years ago today was the last time I ever got to see my Kenneth's eyes open. After falling out of bed numerous times the night before, he finally slept for a few hours in the morning. I had to get him up for the visit from home hospice, but it was obvious the confusion had completely set in. After the visit, I stepped outside to speak with the home hospice worker. I told him I suspected it wouldn't be long, before Kenneth was gone; and he was honest with me, saying that Kenneth was in bad shape and that he would be surprised if Kenneth made it through another 24 hours. As hard as it was to hear, I have to admit I truly appreciated his honesty, as it helped me to mentally prepare myself for what was to come, at least as much as one can prepare for these kinds of things. That day was my youngest son's 18th birthday, though, and in my heart of hearts, I inwardly prayed that he would at least make it through the day. For several years in a row, my son's birthday celebration had been nonexistent, due to Kenneth being hospitalized for one reason or another. He simply could not die on that day, of all days. He just couldn't. Earlier in the day, while waiting on the home hospice worker to arrive, and during the time he was there, two of Kenneth's sons and his daughter (all in other states and several hours away) called to speak with him one last time. Those were short conversations, because he was so weak and tired and far too confused to carry on a conversation. He kept repeating himself and saying things that made no sense whatsoever. He also spoke with our youngest son, who was the only one still living with us, and wished him a happy birthday. Shortly after the home hospice worker left, my daughter and her fiance arrived from Arizona. My daughter got to speak with him for a few minutes, while he smoked one last cigarette. Then, he hugged her and said he was tired. He said he wanted to take a nap and would talk with her more later. She hugged him, and he said he loved her. As she and I left the room, I called back and said, "Love you, Babe!" Those were the very last words we ever exchanged. He laid down to take a nap, and quietly slipped into a coma some time after that. To this day, I still have that last cigarette that ever touched his lips. I keep it in a plastic baggie, tucked inside his favorite jacket, stored inside a larger plastic bag in the back of the closet. Smoking was so much a part of who he was, and it was the final thing he did before he died. I just could not bring myself to throw that cigarette away, no matter how hard I tried. And so, I keep it. As much as I hated his smoking, that last cigarette is now one of my most prized possessions.

Rub it in, why don't you?

I watched my husband slowly die for 13 painfully long years. Over time, I have found that my mind is a mix of memories, both of the good times and the bad. In time, I have found that I mostly remember the good. Even the bad ones are "good" memories, if that makes sense. For example, I remember him being semi-comatose and almost completely unaware of his surroundings. He was thrashing around in his hospital bed, so much so that they had to tie him down to keep him from pulling out his many tubes or from hurting himself by accident. In the midst of all of that, I reached over, touched his hand, and called his name softly. Immediately, he settled down. Watching him die was ugly and horrible, but there were some beautiful moments in there, as well. I am sure there were some beautiful moments with your wife, as well. With time, those memories will be the ones you remember the most.

One of my Kenneth's favorite quote's used to be "Our backgrounds and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but only we can choose who we become." Of course, we all know that life is not so easy as just making a decision to be happier or to move forward. There are some things we have control over and some things that we can do to make life somewhat better, but we all know that we don't magically get over the loss of our spouses. Many of you know that I am the forever optimist of the bunch. I promised Kenneth I would do my very best to not spend my life in mourning, but would try, to the best of my ability to build a good life for myself, after he was gone. Once he died, I refused to let him down by not following through on my promise. I made very active choices to get out of my house, to connect with people, to try and find small things that brought even minimal amounts of pleasure. Then I started making bigger choices, followed by major life changes. It didn't happen over night, and there was a lot of pain, stress, and feeling as though I was standing still and stuck in limbo along the way. I am now at a point, where I am definitely beyond active grieving, but I still feel days, in which I am sucked back in and miss him deeply. There are still days in which the pain is gut wrenching and I cannot believe I could still possibly hurt this much. But, I have learned that those days will pass. I have learned that I can still pick myself up and find joy in the midst of the storm. I have learned that the pain isn't as intense as it was at one time. I have also learned that I there are reasons to get out of bed in the morning and to smile again. And so, I carry on.