Some days are better or worse than others. This is one of the not so good days.
Why? I think the stress is just taking it’s toll on me. I miss having my companion and I really miss having someone to mull things over with. Feeling alone is pretty awful, too.
I think of all the women who run their households alone. Some with children, some without. Some with husbands who travel, or go to war, or some who have never married. They manage so well. What’s wrong with me?
Complacent. That was me. I couldn’t imagine a life without Doug so I didn’t. Now that it’s here, I’m still having trouble wrapping my mind around it. One of the women in the grief group said that she was just waiting for the nightmare to be over and she’d wake up. I knew exactly how she felt.
I’ve been thinking about attachment and the Buddhist concept of it. I certainly was attached to Doug, our marriage, our life together. And it’s gone. Or is it? As I write I realize that the life we had still exists. It exists in my memories and it exists in the memories of people who knew us. Can I gather some happiness out of that? Possibly. Something to think about as I wonder around trying to maneuver my way alone.
sudden detour 
Your writing is so very thoughtful and thought-provoking. I didn’t meet you until a friend Tweeted about your blog and now I find myself thinking of you often. I started writing again after the death of my first husband. When life was full, I never seemed to have time for that or for reading. It filled the hole a little. And I discovered that when you write things down and send them out in the world, readers make their own meaning, filtering that story through the lens of their own experience. It is amazing that blogs let us open up a conversation. Today on my bike ride I took a wrong turn on a new route and once I knew that road I was looking for wasn’t in the direction I was heading, I almost turned back. But then I thought of you, and of me that long time ago, and decided to just keep going.
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Yes sometimes grief does feel like a nightmare doesn’t it? I agree with you though that the life we had still exists especially with friends and family who knew our lost love. For me, I have been avoiding those shared memories with others. I think it was part of my denial. I just started reconnecting with people who knew my mother well before she died. Now that I have had time to sit with my grief, I finally feel ready. It is amazing how quickly reminiscing turns into laughter over the good memories. I love reading your posts
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Deborah, Doug is still with you. You can still talk to him, and mull things over with him. Talk to him, then listen with your heart for his answer. It will be there. It’s coming up on the anniversary of my father’s death (30 years ago). I miss him with every fiber of my being, yet I can still talk to him. And he does answer me; in my head and in my heart.
Hugs to you sweet lady
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Somehow your blog posts stopped coming to me via emails. I kept meaning to text & see how you were doing. However, I’ve been in a very difficult, meltdown mode myself just lately & am throwing in a towel & heading off to dr. this week. Counseling, antidepressants. OK. I afmit. It’s time. Just too much crying (said from one who has gone years at a time w/o shedding a tear!), too much exhaustion & too too much pain.
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Understand. I’m now looking at nearly 16 months of Ed being gone. I wonder, how long will I say “Good night, Eddie?” I think about things I COULD have done for him, and things I should have said. I’m trying to realize that “coulda-shoulda-woulda” thinking is negative and not going to get me anywhere! He had such a good life; I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for what I WAS able to do for him, and I’m grateful that he doesn’t have to live in the stroke-riddled condition that was ours to not defeat. I’m grateful for his faith in God, and for mine…knowing that his Eternity is secure.
Hang in there.
Becky DeWees
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