lcoxwell

I am so very sorry that this happened to you, too. I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been for you, since, thankfully, I was rescued and brought aboard our "new home". Again, I am so thankful that I did not lose the connection this wonderful and amazing group of people.

Such wonderful news! I am doing my "Happy, happy, joy, joy!" dance for you.

I have to say, the whole smite conversation had me smiling, which is something I desperate needed today, so thank you all for the bit of humor. I also have to say, I now have the mental image of a very proper 50ish year old man, dressed in a black tux, and carrying a set of black leather gloves, walking up to strangers, slapping them on both cheeks with the gloves, and saying, "I smite you with my gloves!" I have no idea why I have that image in my head, but I do. ;D

((((Jen)))) As always, you have just the right words to make me feel better.

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.

I posted this elsewhere, but I will post it again here, in case anyone has not read it. My husband, Kenneth, died on March 10, 2014 from complications of diabetes, congestive heart failure, end stage renal failure, and a ton of other medical conditions, too many of which to list here. Thirteen years before he died, doctors were saying he likely would not live through another year, but he kept beating the odds and managed to hold on long enough to give me a good life and to raise our combined household of kids, six in all (though his oldest was actually grown and out on his own, before I came along, so really it was five kids that we raised). The youngest one turned 18 two days before Kenneth died. When I married him, I knew full well I would end up being widowed at a young age, but I did not care. I loved him enough to marry him anyway, wanting to have every possible minute I could with him. For thirteen years, I took care of him. I sat by his side through one hospitalization, after another, and I watched him suffer more than anyone should ever have to suffer. On March 3, 2014, he came home from the hospital for the last time. Two days later, we met with home hospice and made arrangements to end all life-saving treatment. A week later, he was gone. Even after thirteen years of extreme caregiving, I would do it all again. At just a few days shy of the one year anniversary of his death, I still think of him each and every day, I still miss him so very much, and I still love him very deeply.

I cannot speak for others, but I don't know that I necessarily believe in grieving in advance. Of course, I married my Kenneth knowing full well that he was dying and that the prognosis was that he likely wouldn't live through another year (that was 13 years before he actually died). I guess I didn't walk into my marriage with the expectation that we would be able to grow old together, so there are things I cannot speak to. I think there are things that we grieve along the way. We watched our spouses slowly fading away in front of our eyes, and we lost our spouses, piece by piece. So for some of us, we may have grieved the loss of the man/woman we married long before their physical death. No matter how much we may think we are prepared, though, and no matter how much we may have grieved the life we thought we would have had, there is nothing that can truly prepare us for the finality of the actual loss. There are no short cuts to the grieving process. I also agree with bear. As long as our spouse was alive, "there was still hope." It might not have been much hope, but it was there, nonetheless. My Kenneth had beaten the odds so many times, I think a part of me started to actually believe he might continue to hold on for a long time to come, until he reached the point where he decided, "no more". Once he made that decision, things happened fast, and there was no time for anticipatory grieving, because we were too busy trying to make the most of our last few days together.

After being an extreme caregiver for so long, I think that the role became a primary part of my identity and who I thought I was. Being an extreme caregiver was everything to me. My whole world revolved around my husband, for better or worse, both literally and figuratively. Because all of my time and energy was on caring for my Kenneth, I missed out on many things over the years. Many of my friendships fell by the wayside, because I wasn't able to go out for dinner or have people over or plan get-togethers. Every time I did, he would invariably have to be taken to the ER or would be hospitalized, and plans would have to be cancelled. I missed out on many of my children's school events, because I was taking care of him, and I feel like I missed out on a part of their growing up, that I regret not being there for. I was okay with missing all of those things, though, because he was the most important person in my life, and I could make sacrifices, for him. I think being an extreme caregiver was both a blessing and a curse. Once he was gone, I had a difficult time adjusting to no longer being a caregiver, and I had a hard time finding a place where I felt like I fit in. Since my family lived across the country, as well as most of my friends, I truly felt isolated and alone, until I started making myself leave the house at least once a week to do something, anything, where I might have to interact with another person. In some ways, I think the isolation and loss of identity made it harder to deal with the very early stages of grief. On the other hand, because we knew he was dying, we had opportunities that others do not have. There is a certain intimacy that comes from caregiving that is not present in typical relationships. I am incredibly thankful that we had those moments of intimacy and feel it made our marriage stronger. (That doesn't mean the bonding that occurs in other marriages is anything less than what we shared, it simply means other relationships are different). Knowing he was dying, we had opportunities to discuss his final wishes, to talk about his belongings and who should get certain things, to share our wants and wishes for my life after he was gone, and to say our goodbyes. I will always cherish those intimate moments and deep discussions, and I think knowing that he wanted me to go on to live a happy life, to find love again, and to not just survive, but thrive, has helped me to pick up the pieces a bit, as I build a new life without him. Once I made it through those very early days, I think I have moved forward a bit easier than others that might have lost their spouse suddenly and without warning, and much of that can be attributed to having closure.

I am so sorry that having the autopsy report hasn't given you the relief that you had hoped it would. I wish I had better words than that, however, I just have no words that seem adequate. I cannot even begin to imagine what you are going through, right now, but I will be thinking of you and sending warm thoughts your way.

I, too, have been feeling very unsettled. Had it been any other time, besides the final week leading up to the one year anniversary of Kenneth's death, I think I would have been able to adjust a little easier. With the anniversary of his death looming, though, I truly needed you all. I had created a post on Friday, during lunch. When I returned to read updates after work, I saw the message that the forums were closed. I thought I might have lost some of you forever, because I hadn't exchanged personal emails or phone numbers with others, and I live too far away to attend bagos. It felt like my whole world was crumbling all over again, and I was reduced to some serious tears. I cannot even put into words how incredibly grateful I am that our admins and moderators got to work so fast to set up a new place for us. I am also beyond thankful for all the efforts to make certain I wasn't left behind. Change can be hard, though, and it will take me a little time to adjust, I think. I just hate leaving behind the history of my first year of widowhood, right on the verge of crossing the threshold of being one year out.

I have always loved this. Thanks for sharing!

I would absolutely LOVE to attend a bago, but so far, all the ones I have seen have been far, far away from where I live. I am thinking about trying to set one up sometime this Summer for Southern CA, if there is enough interest. There is a strong likelihood that I will also be moving this Summer (heading closer to my New Guy), so I have to get that worked out, before I plan anything.

I am with you, @MrsDan. I wasn't home this weekend, so I did not have access to my computer, only the iPad. While a part of me would like to preserve the history and to go back and read some of my earlier posts, just to see how far I have come in almost a year, if nothing else, another part of me is completely overwhelmed with the prospect of having to go through 933 posts to decide what to keep and what to discard. To make matters worse, I am hitting the one year anniversary and am in the middle of my busiest time of the school year for holding IEP meetings; and, quite honestly, I simply do not have time to devote to having to copy or cut and paste. Plus, I have been sick for three days and just don't have the energy. *sigh

As many of you are trying to save posts, or threads, from the old YWBB site, in order to keep from losing some of your personal histories, I was wondering, are there particular threads or posts that truly meant something to you, that you wish were either started or shared here on the new site? I know a few topics have migrated over. I was just wondering if there is something else you would really like to see here.

Reading this makes me smile. It is easy to see the love that is there. I am sorry that YWBB has shut down and that there is the possibility that you will lose some of the history that you and your love shared.

((((Just Jen)))). You are such a doll! Thank you for thinking about me and for your concern. Love ya, lady! ;D

When I was in my early weeks and months, I found that looking ahead in the social section and reading about others, who had found love again, gave me hope for a brighter future. So, for those who have been fortunate enough to find a new love, whether you are married, engaged, or dating, share your happiness and post a pic here. I will start with a picture of me and my new guy.

This is my favorite picture of my Kenneth.

I just want to extend a very heartfelt thank you to those of you who reached out to me today, when I posted that I was having difficulty getting registered and that I was having a very bad day. I especially want to thank Jess for helping me to fix the problem. I cannot tell you what it means to me, to know that there are people in this world who care about me and are willing to extend words of encouragement and lend an ear, when I need it the most. I went from crying tears of sadness and frustration to crying tears of joy, and I thank you so much for being a part of my life.

This is awesome! I needed this laugh today. ;D

One year 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 that 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. 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 my son, Matthew, who was the only one of our kids still living with us, and wished him a happy birthday. Shortly after the home hospice worker left, my daughter and her fianc? 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 sometime after that.

I have had migraines, since I was 10 years old and was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia a little over 11 years ago. I also have a history of insomnia. Since Kenneth's death, all of these conditions have been exacerbated to the nth degree, likely due to the fact that stress can make all of these problems worse. Currently, I am having a number of other health issues, as well, that the doctors are trying to investigate that cause of. Keeping my fingers crossed that they will find what is wrong soon.

I am so incredibly thankful right now, and crying tears of joy! I made it! Thank you so much Jess, for your help in getting me registered. Hello. My husband, Kenneth, died on March 10, 2014 from complications of diabetes, congestive heart failure, end stage renal failure, and a ton of other medical conditions, too many of which to list here. Thirteen years before he died, doctors were saying he likely would not live through another year, but he kept beating the odds and managed to hold on long enough to give me a good life and to raise our combined household of kids, six in all (though his oldest was actually grown and out on his own, before I came along, so really it was five kids that we raised). The youngest one turned 18 two days before Kenneth died. When I married him, I knew full well I would end up being widowed at a young age, but I did not care. I loved him enough to marry him anyway, wanting to have every possible minute I could with him. For thirteen years, I took care of him. I sat by his side through one hospitalization, after another, and I watched him suffer more than anyone should ever have to suffer. On March 3, 2014, he came home from the hospital for the last time. Two days later, we met with home hospice and made arrangements to end all life-saving treatment. A week later, he was gone. Even after thirteen years of extreme caregiving, I would do it all again. At just a few days shy of the one year anniversary of his death, I still think of him each and every day, I still miss him so very much, and I still love him very deeply.