I went through something similar for several years, but especially last year. I came home after three months in hospital after a complicated fracture. My husband could be alone during those months, thanks to the few hours of daily help of an assistant and the regular visits of home nurses. I could not care for him, but we were home together for four months before the home nurse realized he needed more help. Two months later, the end came as a relief after severe complications of several diagnoses. During those four months when we were both at home, I checked if he was breathing nearly every night. I think he, too, was aware of the end coming closer. Still, it has taken me over a year to grasp my new status - a widow. I miss him more now than during the first year after his death. I am still able to live alone at home (with assistance) despite my debilitating arthritis and continue revising my memoir. I finished the rough draft the week after he died,
Lisa, you echo my own words. After Ron's funeral was over, I knelt on the floor and said, "Thank God it is over." I have never been sure if I was referring to the funeral or the years that preceded it. Ron has been gone for four years, but holidays are still tough. The word "Widow" is something I have grown into. Thank you for reading and connectin.
Anticipatory grief is a gift, I believe. When my late husband was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, I knew I would soon be a widow. So, when that day came one late December morning, I was ready. A year earlier, when his son, my stepson, died in an automobile accident we were not prepared. I watched how days turned into weeks and into months as Pat tried to assimilate a new reality. In a way, I believe it made his cancer prognosis easier for him, knowing he would soon be with his son.
We had not expected Ron's death when it happened; the cardiologist had said just the day before that his heart was doing okay. His death came as a shock, but in retrospect I could see how God was preparing me for it as I lost a piece of Ron almost every day. I think it was, for me, a cushion of sorts. I am sorry for both your losses. Writing about hard things it, well, hard. But these are universal feelings and needs and I am grateful God has allowed me to write them.
I went through something similar for several years, but especially last year. I came home after three months in hospital after a complicated fracture. My husband could be alone during those months, thanks to the few hours of daily help of an assistant and the regular visits of home nurses. I could not care for him, but we were home together for four months before the home nurse realized he needed more help. Two months later, the end came as a relief after severe complications of several diagnoses. During those four months when we were both at home, I checked if he was breathing nearly every night. I think he, too, was aware of the end coming closer. Still, it has taken me over a year to grasp my new status - a widow. I miss him more now than during the first year after his death. I am still able to live alone at home (with assistance) despite my debilitating arthritis and continue revising my memoir. I finished the rough draft the week after he died,
Lisa, you echo my own words. After Ron's funeral was over, I knelt on the floor and said, "Thank God it is over." I have never been sure if I was referring to the funeral or the years that preceded it. Ron has been gone for four years, but holidays are still tough. The word "Widow" is something I have grown into. Thank you for reading and connectin.
Anticipatory grief is a gift, I believe. When my late husband was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, I knew I would soon be a widow. So, when that day came one late December morning, I was ready. A year earlier, when his son, my stepson, died in an automobile accident we were not prepared. I watched how days turned into weeks and into months as Pat tried to assimilate a new reality. In a way, I believe it made his cancer prognosis easier for him, knowing he would soon be with his son.
Thank you for writing about hard things.
We had not expected Ron's death when it happened; the cardiologist had said just the day before that his heart was doing okay. His death came as a shock, but in retrospect I could see how God was preparing me for it as I lost a piece of Ron almost every day. I think it was, for me, a cushion of sorts. I am sorry for both your losses. Writing about hard things it, well, hard. But these are universal feelings and needs and I am grateful God has allowed me to write them.