A Note From the Writer
I actually started writing this over a week ago, during a particularly difficult stretch of grief. I was feeling pretty down, and a lot of what I had been holding back finally started coming out.
I’m still going through much of what I wrote here. Some days are better than others, and grief continues to come in waves. But I decided to finish this and share it because this is where I was—and, in many ways, where I still am.
This isn’t a case of feeling sorry for myself. I’m grieving. There is no timeline for grief, and I don’t need to medicate it away. I need to feel it, work through it, and allow myself to heal.
I think that’s what I’m doing now—grieving and healing at the same time.
This isn’t a polished account of grief. It’s simply an honest look at what it has felt like for me lately.
The Wall Finally Came Down
Gosh, where do I start? The wall finally came tumbling down. Grief after losing my husband has finally hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I’d been doing so well the weeks and months after my Dave’s passing. Everything I’d suppressed came flowing out like a broken dam. Now I realize the mourning hadn’t even truly started until now.
My brain has been protecting me.
There were so many decisions. I couldn’t break down completely. I went through the motions of a grieving widow. Posting photos on Facebook. Sharing on his page. Wanting to keep him alive in everyone’s minds.
But his soul is gone elsewhere. His earthly body is dead. Buried in a beautiful coffin, lying in a cold hole.
I feel so alone.
I go by the cemetery almost weekly to change his flowers and hope he sees what I am doing. It is my way of saying, “I love you. I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten you.”
We do our nightly prayers together when I’m there.
I’ve lived with Alzheimer’s for over 11 years. It was terrifying and confusing, frustrating, and all that time I grieved for the man he once was, but not to this extent.
My subconscious protected me. It kept me functioning because of all the decisions I had to make.
I’ve been in survival mode for a long, long time. Grief after losing my husband is different from the grief I experienced during those 11 years of Alzheimer’s.
Now my body and brain are saying:
“Now that we are safe enough, here is everything we could not process before. I loved someone. I lost someone. This hurts terribly. I don’t know how to carry this alone.”
I can’t.
So I talk to God.
I know He is there. Only He will carry me through this. That much I know.
Right Now, I Just Don’t Care
At the moment, I either want to sleep or I can’t sleep.
Right now, I don’t want to cook anything. I’ve been eating handfuls of protein cereal, slices of turkey and chicken, protein shakes, fruit. My favorite is hazelnut spread on a carb-free tortilla rolled up—well, almost my favorite. I’ve been gobbing handfuls of dark chocolate almonds, and my butt is showing it too, lol, even with the exercise. Quick and easy.
My Brain Finally Told Me Why
I’ve quit checking my email, and it takes me days to check my snail mail. I don’t care. All my bills are on autopay, and that’s what matters the most, right?
Upon reflection, while writing this paragraph, I realize why I quit checking my snail mail. Dave had received three jury notices even though he had been permanently excused because of his multiple medical conditions. I sent each one back, writing “deceased” on the envelope.
Those jury notices were the triggers that stopped me from checking my mailbox.
I just feel like writing in my blog and watching British series.
I’m So Sick of Death
I really need to mow, but right now I don’t care.
My dogs are slowly dying. Their bodies are disintegrating along with their brains. Both are the same age. Both will probably die close to the same time.
What a downer.
Top it off, these new veterinarians want you to do everything to keep them alive, regardless of the pain and suffering the dog has to go through. I won’t have them go through that. Death is a release.
But the vets are really good at guilt-tripping.
One more thing to look forward to.
Oh joy.
Their guilt-tripping and my dogs dying. Their dying is in my face daily.
I’m so sick of death.
Can I please stop losing everyone I love?
I dress up for Mass, and that makes me feel good. Being in His presence makes me feel good. I know He’s with me all the time, but being in His physical presence is like a dopamine hit.
I also still work out. I don’t want to become crippled and dependent on anyone. I’m fiercely independent. I learned a long time ago I couldn’t rely on anyone completely.
My kids have their own lives and life complications. They do what they can, and I love and appreciate them so much. But bottom line, I have to be able to function independently until the day I die myself or end up warehoused.
Finding Little Things That Feel Good
I’ve tried to lose myself in hobbies: photography and writing. Both are helpful. I’m not good at either, but I enjoy them, and that is what counts.
I also love to go hiking and look at wildflowers, rocks, and taking pictures of the phenomenal landscapes Alaska provides.
I forgot my houseplants. I love to putter with them and enjoy their beautiful flowers.
I recently bought two rose bushes in pink and lavender. They were $7.95 each at Fred Meyer. If I had known how cheap they were, I would have bought the entire color selection.
Flowering plants are another dopamine hit for me.
My brain is desperately searching for moments of comfort and aliveness after years of stress and loss.
I’ve spent too much money already this fiscal cycle.
So be it.
Not like I’m going to be traveling as planned.
I also replaced my makeup, threw out the old, and started painting my nails. I love color, and it always makes me smile.
Dave loved it when I painted my nails.
I bought myself a cheap smart TV for my back bedroom, where I primarily live now. I bought some devices to improve my Wi-Fi. They cost more than the TV!
Then a wave of guilt hits.
Joy after death feels like betrayal
Here I am trying to enjoy life and Dave’s body is cold in the ground.
I don’t want Dave forgotten
And I don’t want my Dave forgotten by anyone.
What an amazing man.
Such brilliance, even though he didn’t see it. He was humble, but could outwit anyone. He was so talented, and he could do anything. I mean absolutely anything.
If it was broken, he could fix it.
He was an artist, a carpenter, a builder, a charmer, a mechanic, a jokester, a bow hunter, and full of love and empathy for others.
He loved animals and didn’t hunt except for food.
He had quite the sense of humor and was so full of love for me.
He accepted my ADHD. We meshed just fine. He didn’t care. All he wanted was what I wanted: someone to simply exist beside me, accept me, and hold me.
Safe and trustworthy.
That’s not a lot to ask for, is it?
Yet I realize I’m lucky to have experienced it once in my lifetime.
When I look back, even before meeting Dave, that is all I ever wanted.
Most of my life has been alone, even with people around me, except for my children. They are amazing people. God sure blessed me abundantly through them.
I Still Want to Feel Like a Woman
Through all of this, I also discovered I still long for companionship, touch, laughter, and closeness.
I miss feeling like a woman instead of only a caregiver.
I’ve been so touch-deprived for over 11 years.
But it wasn’t and isn’t meant to be, I suspect.
That’s okay.
I will survive this. I’m not going to go looking for it. Even in sadness, I will keep marching forward.
I just have to get through this glitch in my life that has suddenly appeared.
Grief comes in waves as it is.
This time it is a tsunami.
Ultimately, over time, I want to be able to laugh, feel attractive, feel desired, and feel alive without the guilt.
Right now, I can’t imagine that happening.
It feels like time has run out for me.
I can’t even really recall my 50s other than my job and keeping up with Dave. I realize I’ve never existed for myself. It’s always been someone else.
My Children Were the Greatest Gift
I loved existing for my children, though. They were the greatest gift ever. I miss the time I had with them as children. I loved being their mom. I would never trade that time for anything else in the world.
And then my hubby, Dave.
You can read more about our Alzheimer journery here: