SoVerySad

I have had signs from my husband as well - mostly with white butterflies. The first happened about 9 days after he died at the end of March. It was still pretty cold here. I had walked down to get the mail. This white butterfly kept flying all around my head, to the point I was swatting it away. That evening I mentioned to a friend how strange it had been to see a butterfly so early here. She asked me what color it was and proceeded to tell me that white butterflies were considered in several cultures to be a communication vessel from those who had died. I looked it up and the internet and read about it. My T wasn't much of a believer in an afterlife and I swear that incessant little butterfly was him trying to let me know there is in fact an afterlife. Since that time, I have had white butterflies appear at amazing times, when I was talking to T or feeling stressed. The first time I mowed the lawn on my own, a white butterfly literally fluttered beside me the whole time. Another time I was driving myself to the ER and had to drop the kids at my in-laws. I stopped at a drive-thru to get them a quick dinner and while waiting in line there, a white butterfly landed directly in front of me on the windshield and stayed there until I pulled out. Once the weather got warmer and more of them started to appear, I told the kids it would be hard to figure out what might be a sign. That evening, we saw one flying in the rain, which I had never seen before. I looked it up online and found that they do not come out and fly in the rain. They are so fragile that the force of a raindrop would knock them down and also affect the powder on their wings. I have several other times too many to list here. I also have experienced signs through music and squirrels. If you ever knew my husband, you would understand the squirrels. I appreciate every effort he's made to let me know he's still with me in the only way he can be right now. Sometimes it feels so inadequate, but I am really grateful for each sign I get.

Tight, tight hugs to you, injo. I'm so very sorry you have to say goodbye to your cat today, especially after already enduring so much loss. Of course, he is more than just a cat to you. I wish I could fly myself there to be with you to hold your hand and give you my shoulder to cry on. More hugs...

Sending each of you a tight hug. I'm sorry you've each had to experience that moment. For me it really hit home the first time I had to fill out a form with marital status on it. I remember thinking it was impossible for me to really be a widow, even though it was weeks after T died unexpectedly. Such a tiny square box that hit me like a load of bricks. I remember feeling like I might throw up. Checking that box felt like it was forever changing my status - ending my marriage in a way. I still hate checking that awful box.

I am sending you the tightest of hugs. I can't begin to imagine the conflicting emotions you are feeling. I am so very sorry your husband can't be there with you tomorrow. It does suck and it is so wrong. Of course your baby will be a blessing, yet is completely understandable to be experiencing all that you are feeling now. More hugs, honey. I'll be thinking about you tomorrow.

Sending you tight hugs, LMC. Your post so eloquently captures the anguish of even thinking about life without your spouse. If I can offer you a little bit of hope from my experience, eventually my memories of my husband came back fully, in glorious color. Like you, I could not understand why I couldn't remember him more fully than bits and pieces - this man with whom I had almost 30 years of shared experiences. Could I truly forget him so quickly? It felt horrible. In time, the memories came back bit by bit. I do think our brains do protect us. Yes, we're aware early on that our loves are gone, but I think it takes a while to fully grasp the impact their being gone will have on not only our present, but our future. The memories, while precious and cherished, were pretty painful at first for me. I'm not sure I could have handled them in greater than small doses. I once saw a speech by VP Joe Biden where he discussed his own personal journey through grief after the loss of his wife and daughter in an auto accident. I remember him saying that there will come a day where the memory of your lost loved one will bring a smile to your lips before it brings a tear to your eye. For a long time, I didn't think that was possible. Yet I have reached that place where I can really savor those memories, even though at times they stir up tears as well. I know hearing that things will get a little easier in some ways over time is hard to believe in the early months of such a devastating loss. But I do believe you will get to a place where the memories of your husband come back more fully and eventually they'll be more of a comfort than a heartache. More hugs...

Thank you for sharing, BH2. The music and harmonies are beautiful. I liked the songs you listed. I also liked "Fly Away" and was touched at the inclusion of some lines from the hymn at the end. That was one of my grandmother's (raised me so really my mom) favorite hymns.

At just shy of 25 months, it does still feel unreal at times. Perhaps not the actual fact that he died, but more the fact that he'll never be back here with our children and I again. All the "things we'll never do together again" seem completely unreal at times. I rarely am able to let myself think about them for more than a second. It is hard enough to miss him so deeply in the present day.

Aw, sending you tight hugs, Baylee. I just got back from picking up my daughter from the musical she is playing in (Sweeney Todd). Both kids went straight to bed, so I did, too. But sleep is alluding me once again. Comfy nightshirt and purring kitty snuggled against me. Waiting for SNL to start. Sweet dream wishes for all of you...

Thank you, Calimom and Jen. Calimom, you are right about the fine line on using my wrist/hand. It seems like I'm only aware that I've overused it after I've done it and it swells and becomes painful. Jen, it is funny you mention about the breathing. My OT therapists are working on applying pressure to stretch my hand and wrist. The other day, one of them was doing it and asked me if it hurt. I quickly responded that it was fine. She stopped and told me that she knows it was hurting, because I had stopped breathing and was holding my breath. I think that is just my default response to pain now since losing T - just hold my breath, tolerate it, and tell others I'm okay. I really wasn't trying to mislead her. So, yes, I need to work on breathing.

My hair fell out a lot in the first year after T passed away. I had always had thick hair that was thinned every time I got it cut. My hair stylist estimated I lost 50% of my hair. It did grow back though, to the point she was thinning it again at the start of this year. My daughter also lost a lot of her hair as well. She has beautiful long black hair and I was finding strands of it everywhere. Since the car crash I was in, it is falling out a bunch again. I hate the time I spend untangling it from around my fingers after I shower and wash it. Like you, it collects on the floor as well. I feel it is definitely related to stress. I hope yours will grow back for you as well. Hugs to you...

Tight hugs to you, Jen. I so appreciate the raw honesty you share in your posts. I completely understand the exhaustion from the struggling that makes even hoping feel like too much of a burden to add. I see that Wifeless already responded to your post. I literally have used words he posted early on after I joined ywbb - "You won't always feel this way" as my mantra to keep going and reaching for happier days ahead. I confess that I still honestly can't envision those days, but I am holding onto that hope. Looking back, I can see that his words have already proven themselves true. I no longer feel like I cannot possibly survive this loss. I know now that I can, even though it is truly predominantly only surviving at this point. Given that my current state is still so lacking real joy, that doesn't feel like much of an accomplishment. Yet it is, because my feelings have changed. So, I'm trying to hold onto hope I'll feel better with more time, despite being still mired in trudging day to day (which I detest). I'm hoping that each day I manage to trudge through leads me one day closer to more happiness (and if not, I am at least one day closer to being reunited with T someday). This is an unbelievably tiring journey. It is hard to believe we'll reach a better place, but hoping is important, I think. I feel like from what I've learned about you from reading your posts and witnessing your journey thus far, hope just is a part of you. As such, I believe you'll get where you hope to be eventually. You deserve it, Jen. More hugs...

I'm back after a brief hiatus from posting. I have been going through a very rough few weeks. The car crash was a catalyst that not only set me back in dealing with my grief, but has heightened my anxiety to a pretty unbearable level - not a good mix. But I'm determined to get a better handle on things and hoping to feel more like I can offer something by participating here again. My arm/wrist is healing, although I'm in a small setback right now as I've been overusing it. Patience has never been a virtue of mine, so this long, drawn-out healing process has been a challenge for me. After 6 long and maddening weeks of not driving, I was finally allowed to drive, only to find I am now extremely anxious about driving. I am so hyper-vigilant that I don't even want to drive. Of course, I have to, so I'm doing it, but only for trips to places we have to go. It isn't just the driving. The anxiety is just overwhelming in general. My PCP says PTSD - trauma piled on top of already existing issues from losing T so unexpectedly. So, my job for the coming week is to find a counselor who I hope will be able to help me. The drunk driver who hit us has managed to avoid any charges related to hitting us. Looking at his charges, one would never even know he hit another vehicle. Inexplicably, the police officer who filed the report for the DA's office made no mention of the fact that he hit us, demolished my van, that my daughter had to be cut free from the van, my injury requiring surgery and recovery, etc.. I got up my nerve and attended his preliminary hearing so I at least got to let the ADA know that we were impacted by his choice. I plan to attend his sentencing to at least make the judge aware. Just maybe if the driver hears the impact on my family of his choice to get drunk (over twice our state's legal limit) and drive, he'll think before he does it again. That is my hope. Sending anyone who can use one today a tight hug...

Brandi Carlile is one of my favorite musical artists. I was listening to some of her music this morning. It hit me that some of you might relate to the lyrics to this song as I have (if not, the music itself is really lovely). In honor of all of you who are trying so hard to keep going... A Promise To Keep

Fuck that after 731 nights of going to bed without him, it still sucks so much.

I was on Pinterest the other day looking for easy one-hand recipes when I came across this: [imghttp://][/img] I had this. It was so incredible. Honestly, I know I was so fortunate as many will never know the joy and sense of fulfillment a relationship like this brings. I especially love the last line. Life threw us a lot of difficult circumstances, but our love never diluted. And it still hasn't. And I think that's why I am struggling so much. I still feel married, but he can't be here. It is painful and there is an intense dissonance in something I have loved so much and for so long ( just shy of 30 years) now causing such pain as well. I have been going through a very difficult few weeks. The resulting restrictions from my accident (still unable to drive and such limited movement in my wrist/hand) have given me way too much idle time to think. The police report confirms the guy who hit us was drunk. It hurts to realize there is no one else who shares my level of angst that one or both of my children could have been killed by the actions of that bastard. Or they could have been left without either parent. My husband would understand the fear this all has left me with. He'd hold me and not try to make it seem insignificant. He would recognize my pain and share it. In two days it will be 2 years since T died suddenly. I know it really is just another day of the same. And yet, these anniversaries seem so big. I think, for me, it is because it is ushering me into yet another year without T here and physically present in my life. I miss him. This is my first post on this new board. My thanks to all those working hard to re-establish this lifeline. I'm hoping that I'll feel a little better once this anniversary passes and gets out of my head. Sending you all tight hugs...