lcoxwell

I am only at 14 months out, but I can tell you, there are days, when I miss my Kenneth so much, I can barely function. I agree with Marian. I think missing them speaks to just how very much we love them and the lives we shared.

I don't find this stupid, at all. My Kenneth was mostly bed bound for the last few years of his life, so we had a number of shows and series we watched together, in the evenings, on the weekends, or sitting in the hospital. I have recently found the strength to go back and watch the final episodes of a number of series we once watched together, and I have cried many tears over the further loss of having the show end and feeling as though another part of him is gone. There are a few shows, I have yet to find the courage to watch, and some I may never see again. Anyway, I just wanted you to know, this is not stupid, not even a little bit, at least from my perspective.

I completely agree with what jlp said, and could have said these very words, myself. It was around three months, that I felt some of my deepest despair, and around four months, that I felt the first glimmers of hope that some of the pain would ease up. I won't lie, there will be many dark days ahead, but there will also be joy, and laughter, and peace. It just takes time, and for each of us, the length of time varies. In the meantime, do what you can to take care of yourself, and take it one day, one moment, one breath at a time, if you need to.

This is so very sad, when there are so many people in the world suffering and in need of treatments and cures, that that money could have contributed to. When people like this are out there, stealing money, deceiving innocent people, and getting caught for fraud, it makes good people hesitant to donate to any of the charities, including the worthy ones that do make a difference. I agree with you, Mac. "What a shame."

What a wonderful legacy for your wife, reaching out and trying to help others. I hope this podcast touches many lives, in you wife's honor.

I was fortunate enough to have several opportunities to speak with Leslie in the chat room over the last year. I enjoyed her kindness and thoughtfulness, and will miss her presence. Rest peacefully, Leslie. You were there during some of my darkest widowhood days, and for that, I shall always be greatful.

I have come back and read this a couple of times, because every time I want to respond, I find myself at a loss for words. I just want you to know that I read and "heard" every word you wrote, and I continue to be awed by all that you have done, under such horrific circumstances. You are truly an amazing woman. Congratulations on finding the courage to get your degree, to walk in the ceremony, and to continue moving forward.

Once again, I am in bed with a migraine. Medications have me feeling a bit dopey, but it is far better than the alternative of sitting here, hurting. I am in my most comfortable pajamas, cuddled up next to my furry, four-legged critters (Boo & Vinnie), and am finding the courage to go back and finish watching a few of the shows Kenneth and I had started together, before he died. Lots of memories are floating to the surface, and I am feeling very bittersweet and maudlin, as I know my time here, in this house, with his things, and all these memories, will be coming to and end in just a couple of months. Everything is beginning to feel so unreal, and I am feeling a bit lost in my own skin, these days.

Before my Kenneth died, I was the eternal optimist. He beat the odds for thirteen years, so I learned that even when things appeared to be the worst they could possibly be, he would miraculously improve. Once he finally died, I am now realizing that everything in life does not always get better. Horrible things really do happen. My eternally optimistic, always hopeful, sunshiny psyche has taken a horrible blow. I cannot even begin to tell you how many fears and worries I have, now. I hear a news story about a wreck near my hometown in NC, and I am instantly worried that my daughter was the one involved. New Guy isn't feeling well, and I am instantly praying that he won't die on me, too. I SO get this, right now.

I do not know how I missed this earlier. I honestly have no words, right now, but wanted you to know I am thinking of you.

I have not had a chance to read this, up until now, and I am so sorry that things are hard for you, at the moment. I wish with all my heart that there was something I could do to make it better, and it saddens me that I cannot. I honestly do not know why things have to be harder for some, than others, and it just isn't fair. You have had more than enough to deal with. I am sending you warm thoughts, and hopes that things improve soon. (((Hugs))) Honestly, right now, I am not okay, either, and I would dearly love to sit right down with both of you.

Not knowing the situation fully, I can easily see this situation from two different sides, so I am not offering advice in any way. I am only sharing a couple of perspectives, to allow you to consider things from various points of view. On the one hand, I agree with the previous posters, on pretty much everything they have said. There are parts of the story you have shared, that might throw up red flags and suggest that you proceed with caution. I am not going to take the time to point out those particular areas of concern, as others have already listed them. On the other hand, I can put a more positive spin on things. Sometimes, you just KNOW when things are right. The fact that he has talked about marriage from the start could simply mean he knows he found a good woman in you, and that he wants you to know his intentions are to spend his life with you. As far as the ex goes, my mother always said that you do not need to worry about cheating, when the other person is being upfront and honest; it is when they start to hide things, that you need to worry. Maybe, just maybe, he is telling you about his ex wife's attempts at manipulation, because he wants to be honest and wants you to know there is nothing to worry about. The fact that he refuses to meet with her and that he keeps communication restricted to daughter and house might be telling you that he is doing his best to keep things on the up and up and not give you any reason to feel insecure. Again, not knowing the full situation, I can see where each of these perspectives could be valid points of view, so I am not making any judgements or offering any advice, whatsoever. Just food for thought.

I have struggled with feelings of guilt, too. I met my New Guy VERY early on. He and I started seeing each other just a few short months after Kenneth died, and my relationship with New Guy has been far better than I ever could have imagined or expected. Quite honestly, due to the medications, build up of toxins on the brain, and all the medical needs, the last several years of Kenneth's life was really hard on me, physically and emotionally. Kenneth's needs were so great, that there was never anything left for me. I didn't have the energy for self care, and he didn't have the ability to think about my needs or wants. Everything had to be about him. To have a man in my life now, who is everything I ever could have asked for, and who loves me so completely, is like spending years wandering in a desert, and finding an oasis that offers shade and rest and water. New Guy brings me happiness; but sometimes, I feel guilty to have found happiness, when others along my timeline are struggling with grief and are not anywhere close to dating or finding a new relationship to enjoy.

I wish that I had some wonderful words of wisdom or encouragement, but sadly, I do not. I just wanted you to know that I read every word, and I "hear" you. So many times, I think of you, and wish that things would get just a little easier for you. Hugs, my friend.

Well said and beautifully written. So much of what you said rings true for me, as well. I, too, have been mulling over the question of when I feel I shall be ready to make that leap and move to this section. When you commented on still crying, but being okay with that, and on how life keeps moving forward, it was like you had reached into my head and pulled out my very thoughts. Thank you for expressing so much of what I been feeling so eloquently.

I am another person, who thought that I would always, ALWAYS remember the 10th as THE DAY I lost my Kenneth. For thirteen months, that was true. For thirteen months, I counted down his final week, thinking about those last few days, and mourning his loss all over again. Then, something changed. This month marked the fourteenth month, since he died. For the very first time, I did not spend each and every day, counting down and obsessing over his final week. Yesterday came and went, and I don't remember consciously thinking about it at all. In fact, it wasn't until I read your post, that I realized yesterday came and went, without me really noticing and without my life coming to a halt. Honestly, I think that leaves me with some conflicting emotions of my own. A part of me is glad, that I am reaching a point, where his death is not so prevalent in my thoughts. Another part of me is sad, that I am moving forward and leaving him behind.

Six months was very difficult for me, as well. Somewhere along about 4 months, that haze and misery of the first few months started to lift, and life seemed ever so slightly better - not good, but better. Things were still okay at about 5 months. Again, life wasn't good, but the auto pilot made it manageable. I actually felt like I was making progress, then BAM!, 6 months hit, and I was a miserable, tortured mess, feeling much as you described. I don't know why, but certain milestones along the way seem to be harder than others. The six month milestone seems to be one of those more difficult ones to cross over, even when you are doing everything "right", even when you have a good support system, and even when you are doing everything you possibly can to take care of yourself and to work through the grief. Hang in there. You have made it this far, and you will get through this month, even if you don't think you can.

I spent the evening in my jeans and favorite sweater, curled up by the fire, eating popcorn, and watching "The Gods Must be Crazy" with New Guy.

I know you have struggled with this for some time, and I am so proud of you for taking such a monumental step! Reading this just gave my goosebumps. Good for you!

I agree with look2thesky. While I know how nice it would be to have the support of everyone, including the inlaws, the reality is that you are the one, who must live your life. They don't walk in your shoes, and they don't get to make decisions for you. If they choose to judge, you can choose to ignore. Easier said, than done, I know.

I just got home from a very long day at work, and do not have time to log on tonight. I will make a point of reading the article and commenting tomorrow, the very first chance I get.

We had Open House night at school, which meant a late night for me. I was trying to get things done in my classroom and didn't head home, until after 8:00, so my dinner consisted of 2/3 of a pack of peanut butter crackers, half a Hershey's pie, and a root beer soda. Thankfully, my son had enough sense not to wait on me to get home to feed him. At least one of us ate a decent meal.

I love the marker! You did an amazing job on it. Just beautiful!

I, too, have struggled with insomnia for years, and have discovered that the issues have increased, since the death of my Kenneth. Doctors in my small town are known for being hopelessly inadequate and for not properly diagnosing people. I am hoping to find a decent doctor, once I move, in order to have a thorough checkup and a sleep study, so they can hopefully find something that works. I can feel your pain, as I have also had several mostly sleepless nights, as of late, and as I have attempted nearly every suggestion I know, to no avail. I sincerely hope you can find a solution to your insomnia soon.

This truly resonated with me. Mine and Kenneth's children were all grown, when he died last year, the youngest turning 18 two days before Kenneth took his last breath. In this past year, I have often thought that he should have been here for one thing, or another; and I have often felt so inadequate, because I can't be the person he was. There are times, when I truly hurt for my children, because I can see their pain, and because I know he could have made things better. I do my best, but he is missing, and he shouldn't be.