Amy, you "walked into the hospital a wife and came out a window". My experience was similar. It's such a profound change, so hollow and empty. Getting married didn't feel like that at all, going from single to married or "Miss" to "Mrs.", maybe simply because it happened over time. Yet when our husbands have a terminal illness we think about being without them, but without the widow label.
That moment of walking out alone is so unreal; the twilight zone.
Surreal is a good word for it. I live in Manhattan, so I walked out of the hospital down a few blocks to pick up my son who was with his grandmother. It was around 7 PM, the streets weren't crowded, but not devoid of people either. I kept thinking I must look different after this profound experience, but no one looked at me twice. It's such a disconnect when our inner life doesn't match what we look like on the outside. The Twilight Zone is an excellent analogy.
I feel like I’m coming in late to your story (I will need to go back to the start), but your title jumped up and grabbed me from my alerts list.
On July 16th I’ll be seven years a widower and I wanted to…
Hmm. I’m not sure what I wanted to do. Support you and pass on my condolences, yes. More than that though, I wanted you to know that you’re not alone. I’ve been going through this process (a very different situation than you- other than the loss) since 2017, and it does get easier. Kind of.
Hi Gary, I do appreciate your thoughtful message (Brett was correct) and I'm sorry that you have experienced partner loss too. My husband actually died in August 2021, so it's almost 3 years. This is a chapter from a memoir I'm working on that takes place during the first couple of years after he died. Thank you for being open and honest about the grief process. I didn't let myself feel anything the first year, so year two was a shock. It's taken me awhile to embrace my grief, and accept that it is a part of me now. I'm never going to get over it but that's okay. You're right, it gets easier, until it doesn't. I just bounce back to baseline a lot faster now.
I don’t know Amy personally, but I appreciate that you have reached out to her. That’s very kind of you Gary, and I’m sure she will appreciate it also.
Amy, these last two chapters have made me have a swing of emotions and that’s a credit to you as a writer. As I am writing this, I once again realize that this is not a fictional account of something. You actually experienced it and that makes me want to cry for you and Henry.
Thank you for having the gift to be able to share this with your audience.
Thank you Brett. This happened almost 2 years ago and I'm surprised that the feelings are still so raw. Sometimes I feel like no time has passed since this happened and I'm left wondering what's happened to the last two years of my life. Other times it feels like Steven just died, but it will be 3 years at the end of August. The experience of writing this memoir has been cathartic but also confusing. I always appreciate your comments. 🙏🥰
That feeling of it happened today or it happened years ago still hasn’t gone away for me. The “it happened today” days are not as common as they used to be, but they still come up. Raw is a great description of those feelings.
The “it happened years ago” feeling has increased as the years have passed and now it seems like it’s been 20 years or more. It’s sometimes harder feeling that. That fading sensation. It seems like I’ve lost her twice.
It feels like a different lifetime, and there are moments when I feel my grief is the only thing that still binds us together. I'm pretty open in my writing about feeling the closest to my husband when I'm a crying a river of tears on the bathroom floor. That's just normal for me.
Within a few months, maybe it was only weeks I felt like our marriage and my husband's death was so raw and at the same time "a lifetime ago". I often wonder if I really lived that. At 5 and a half years it is still raw but I carry it differently now.
So beautifully said Robin, "I carry it differently now." I know exactly what you mean, it's not easier or more difficult. I don't think people who haven't experienced partner loss can really understand. I know I couldn't before it happened to me.
Amy, you put your feelings out there. Thank you for sharing. I went through the same experience, but my husband Mark was in palliative care for only one night. He had congestive heart failure add to that pneumonia and then influenza. He was in critical care on a respirator and they could not keep his blood pressure up. Suddenly on Friday he took a turn for the good. They took him off the respirator and he was talking, blood pressure was almost normal. I went home I was tired, I have stage four metastatic breast cancer and I get very fatigued. We talked on the phone and texted constantly. He said come Monday, I’m being transferred to the cardiac step down unit, I might be able to come home in a week. Amy, I was so excited. Mark, my late husband, had been in the hospital since December 8th. We spent the holidays in the hospital. Before his blood pressure began dropping again and he went from a regular room to critical care and now back in regular room. That Monday morning I was there. We were talking both happy he was finally coming home, when he was looking at me and suddenly his eyes glazed and he was just looking at me. Then the heart monitor was going off beeping. The nurse came flying into the room, she said you have to leave he’s having a heart attack. As staff came in I screamed please save Mark. Please.Ten minutes later about four nurses were wheeling him back to the.critical care unit it was the beginning of the end. His ribs were bruised and several broken from where they were doing CPR. He was back on the respirator and hooked up to more machines, the doctor said I had a decision to make. He highly doubted Mark would come back this time. There might brain damage and if he did it would most likely be in a persistent vegetative state. I would not do that to him, either of us wanted that. I asked to give it a few days to see if there might be a chance Mark might pull through. I spoke with his family and the agreed the decision was mine. I then went to see my doctor, he was new and this was my first visit. He said you know what you have to do and prescribed medication to calm my frayed nerves.i went to see my oncologist and he and I both cried. He really liked Mark.
I stayed every day and many nights. Mark’s condition didn’t change. His blood pressure never did go back up and the medication he was on to keep it up was no longer working, his system was shutting down. After a long talk with his cardiologist who assured me they was nothing more they could do.and only the respirator was keeping him alive I shred to palliative care. All the machines were removed and he was just kept on oxygen and the doctors were surprised but I think he wanted his mom there so she could say goodbye. She was 85 and not in good health herself, but she wanted to say goodbye to her son. I spent the last night with him dotting right by the bed holding his hand and talking to him, of course he couldn’t answer being in a coma. They left a tube of oxygen under his nose.
I went home the next morning, when his mom one brother and one sister in law came, that is all I would allow otherwise half of his family and all his friends would be there. His family told me told get sleep. I didn’t. My brother in law called saying the nurse wanted me to come back to the hospital they needed to talk to me. I got back as fast as I could. The nurse called me outside his room. She didn’t tell my brother in law or any other family members why they wanted me to come back. They had been keeping Mark on morphine to control the pain he was in. She asked if i would be willing to let them take off the oxygen tube under his nose. She said he’ll either breathe on his own and remain in a coma or pass away. I sgterc to let them remove the tube from under his nose,
. They gave him one more morphine shot took off the tube. I climbed right in bed, laying next to him and holding his hand. I said Mark, baby, it’s okay to let go. You’ve suffered enough. Go home to Heaven and I’ll see you when I get there. I love you always and forever. We said that to each other all time. I swear Amy I felt him squeeze my hand . I laid my head on his chest and a mi Ute later he took his last breath. I didn’t cry until I got outside and in my car. None of us spoke on the elevator ride after leaving his room. He went in the hospital on December 8th and passed on January 21 2023.
I’m so sorry this is so long. I didn’t mean to intrude on your grief. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger than people you know. I’m so very sorry for your loss. Mark and I didn’t have any children. I’m an only child. You can delete this if you want and my it’s not appropriate to post on your Substack. I’m currently working on a book about this, but I’m debating whether I should write fiction or the truth, non fiction. I’d appreciate your thoughts. Y the way what happened with your book? I read an article you wrote about being scammed regarding your book. I get an email
From a company that talks about writing that’s how I found you,
Hi Judith, I want to thank you for taking the time to tell me about your love, Mark. You went through a prolonged traumatic experience which takes time to process in your mind, but also in your body. Our grief needs to be witnessed and validated, which is not easy to find in our grief and death adverse culture. Naturally, widows gravitate towards other widows.
I was mostly dissociated from my grief year one, so year two was a rough awakening to the reality that my husband was really gone, that he wasn't coming back, and that grief does not resolve itself in a year. Grief never goes away. We acquire more skills to handle the grief waves when they come, but I wouldn't say it's any less painful.
Writing is a way to help me process how my life has changed since Steven died. I decided that I wanted to write a memoir because my early grief didn't look or feel like anything I expected. I hope that my book illustrates that there's no right way to grieve, everyone's process looks different and has its own timeline. Keep writing and sharing your story Judith. I really felt the love between you and Mark shine through. 🥰
Hello Amy, thank you so much for your comments. The one thing that has always caused me pain about this entire situation is what if I would have just let Mark go after he had the heart attack? Because I wasn’t ready to loose him yet and I know his mom would have been heartbroken not to say goodbye to him. I also felt certain he would pull through again. It happened once why not again? Not to bring religion into it, but I’m a devout Catholic and I had been giving this to Hod as well as giving him my cancer diagnosis. I’m currently in remission, but because it’s metastatic I’ll be on chemo the rest of my life. I’ll never ring the bell that I’m cured and no more treatments. I’d love to do that. But I digress.
So I fought on hoping and praying Mark would pull through a second time , it wasn’t meant to be. I need to get over the what if’s? What happened, happened and my friends said that Mark would understand. As I posted earlier he wanted to have his mom there when it was time to go home to Heaven.
I’m sorry for what you’re went through, Amy. One of the hardest I found after he passed was calling credit card companies, his funeral insurance policy. Thankfully one of his brothers went with me and helped the funeral home person compose his obituary. Mark was cremated and we didn’t post it in the paper. Word of mouth took care of that. I was grateful but I was in a fog when so many people were showing up. At least 50 people, mostly relatives, came and went. All I could think is why is everything still normal, I just lost Mark why is everything and everyone carrying on as though noting happened? Everyone who came talked in groups and it was as though this was some family gathering not a wake. I just sat in the back of the funeral home with a few of my friends. I greeted everyone when they first came in I’m not going to entertain them to! It was the same with the burial, but just immediate family. Same thing, everyone talking in groups about Tennessee football I live here, I’m originally from Ohio. I’ve lived here since 1993. I came for vacation and loved it so I moved here. If I hadn’t I would have met my soulmate, Mark.
No one mentioned Mark, but boy could they eat.
My sister in law had a great meal. BBQ pulled pork sandwiches, baked beans and cake. She can cook. But it’s as though people came to eat not talk about or celebrate Mark’s life. Did you have that experience I hope not.
Anyway that’s the last of this story. I’m so thankful I have Lola Bean my Tuxedo cat. She was very attached to Mark, although after I was diagnosed she would lay with me, and still does after my chemotherapy. It took her almost two months to get as close with me as she was with Mark, but she is and she has separation anxiety issues, which I’m treating. If I’m on the couch and she knows I’m going out, I’m showered and dressed, she will bring her toys on the couch and hit them one at a time at me with her paws. I always bring her a treat back, silly cat, but I love her and would be absolutely lost without her.
Wishing you a fantastic weekend. I hope you had a good holiday. I stayed home since chemo really fatigued me.
Judith, you have had more than your share of trauma and heartbreak, yet you reach out to help other people and share your story. I'm happy you have Lola Bean, and that she gives you comfort. I have a 12 year old son, also with separation anxiety. We stayed home yesterday since he's sensitive to crowds and loud noises. I also find being with other people is exhausting. I'm not interested in small talk, but most people don't want to even mention my husband's name, let alone talk about him. I just can't fake it with people the way I used to.
Oh, Amy. “Walked in a wife, walked out a widow.” It’s such a difficult thing to say. I think I was too numb. The word felt abstract for the first year, and is only now sinking in. It’s strange and surreal. I was talking to a friend today, using the word “we” in reference to myself when I realized that, No, it’s just me now. Really hit hard. Anyway, thank you for another great installment. Looking forward to the next.💕
It is surreal. Some days I wonder where the last 2 years went. I remember the year after Steven died pretty well, as evidenced in my memoir 😂. But the last couple years I feel like I haven’t done anything. I know that’s not true, but that’s how it feels. Thank you for always reading and commenting. Sometimes I feel really secure about my writing, but other times I feel insecure. I’m lucky to have you in my corner. 🥰🙏
Oh Amy…this gives me tears as you say “walked in a wife, out a widow. “ I couldn’t wake my husband from his nap, I did CPR till the medics took over. They whisked him to the ER and all the machines… I rode in the ambulance worried but feeling the doctors meant he’d be okay. So yes, as I sat waiting, a doc came and kneeled down, saying he had died. “Your husband is dead and I need you to repeat it for me”. I learned later I was in shock and saying it out loud was how they get through to you. My son, a former fireman…said yes, he’d had to do that a few times. My kids drove me home a widow.
Sorry I’ve rambled… this chapter makes me happy for you; a real relationship blooming! Love your way with words, dear friend… love you! ❤️🥰💕
I don’t think you could ramble if you tried Joan. As far as I’m concerned, you always have something meaningful to contribute. I’m so sorry you were blindsided that way — thinking he was going to be okay and then being told “your husband is dead” is shocking. It’s surreal and yet the most “real” thing in the world. Sending you a big virtual hug my friend. We have been through a life altering loss, but we are still here. We’ve chosen to keep living and seeing the beauty in life and that’s pretty amazing. Grief comes in waves, and you handle them beautifully. Thank you for being my friend. XO
Heart-touching piece as always. I have felt that onstage feeling you referenced, whenever I’ve been in some new, liminal state. It felt false because the elements that had made up life before were gone and what had made me “me” was no longer. It felt like being in a strange land with no map and little idea where I was. Liminal times like that can feel so strange and tough to get through. 🫶
Thank you Susan for this thoughtful reflection. I wasn’t even sure what I was writing about exactly. I felt like I wanted reality to be one thing, so I orchestrated a situation where it would appear to that we were a family, but that didn’t make it true. I’m still trying to figure it all out, but your comment helps clarify my intention. I love how writing can be interactive on Substack. I feel as though I am co-creating with my readers and it’s wonderful. XO🥰
Thank you for always me feel. I love the way you set scenes and direct, but most of all I love that I can feel everything. Thank you as always for sharing your life with us ❤️ Xoxo
Amy, your tender and visceral Polaroid memoir pieces are filled with the mosaic of grief from the realness and surrealism of illness to parenthood and navigating life with sensitive beloveds to your own emotional needs and longings. I hope you realize how powerful and deep the connections are between your writing and the experiences of other readers and artists. Each humans path is uniquely theirs of course yet the shared interdependence of loss and the longings for love are so poignant and true. We carry one another in so many ways. Honored to call you friend and fellow writer and human! Let’s keep going. Keep writing!
Your comment deserves a post of its own — oh my goodness you are a beautiful writer! Honestly, I am humbled and grateful all at the same time. Most of the time I don’t know if I’ve truly ever touched someone’s heart the way other writers (including you) have touched mine. Heck, I don’t even know if I’m making sense half the time. Thank you for so generously sharing this reflection with me. I hope you know what an extraordinary human and writer you are. Yes, we will keep going, and writing!! XO
Thank you, Amy. 🙏🏽 😭💛it’s funny. Even though teachers told me to write early on I did not pursue writing as I have these last years. So busy surviving. Caring for myself and others. To be here now is such a gift! Truly. I’m so glad my writing resonates with you.
Great piece, as always. I'm especially intrigued by the concept of feeling like you're onstage and blurring of reality between fact and fiction. I've had times in my life where I've felt this as well. Looking forward to seeing how it all blows up... ❤️
Thank you Bonnie! I was thinking that I needed to expand on my feeling of being onstage. I wasn’t sure what was going on between Marco and I. Our communication wasn’t great (except in bed) so I was confused about what was happening between us. In my mind, introducing my child to a new “friend” was a significant step at the start of a relationship, but I didn’t know what it meant to him. I guess I’m still trying to figure it out for myself. I love your comments, and this was especially helpful. XO 😍😍
Amy, you "walked into the hospital a wife and came out a window". My experience was similar. It's such a profound change, so hollow and empty. Getting married didn't feel like that at all, going from single to married or "Miss" to "Mrs.", maybe simply because it happened over time. Yet when our husbands have a terminal illness we think about being without them, but without the widow label.
That moment of walking out alone is so unreal; the twilight zone.
Surreal is a good word for it. I live in Manhattan, so I walked out of the hospital down a few blocks to pick up my son who was with his grandmother. It was around 7 PM, the streets weren't crowded, but not devoid of people either. I kept thinking I must look different after this profound experience, but no one looked at me twice. It's such a disconnect when our inner life doesn't match what we look like on the outside. The Twilight Zone is an excellent analogy.
Yes, absolutely surreal!
I feel like I’m coming in late to your story (I will need to go back to the start), but your title jumped up and grabbed me from my alerts list.
On July 16th I’ll be seven years a widower and I wanted to…
Hmm. I’m not sure what I wanted to do. Support you and pass on my condolences, yes. More than that though, I wanted you to know that you’re not alone. I’ve been going through this process (a very different situation than you- other than the loss) since 2017, and it does get easier. Kind of.
Hi Gary, I do appreciate your thoughtful message (Brett was correct) and I'm sorry that you have experienced partner loss too. My husband actually died in August 2021, so it's almost 3 years. This is a chapter from a memoir I'm working on that takes place during the first couple of years after he died. Thank you for being open and honest about the grief process. I didn't let myself feel anything the first year, so year two was a shock. It's taken me awhile to embrace my grief, and accept that it is a part of me now. I'm never going to get over it but that's okay. You're right, it gets easier, until it doesn't. I just bounce back to baseline a lot faster now.
I don’t know Amy personally, but I appreciate that you have reached out to her. That’s very kind of you Gary, and I’m sure she will appreciate it also.
Amy, these last two chapters have made me have a swing of emotions and that’s a credit to you as a writer. As I am writing this, I once again realize that this is not a fictional account of something. You actually experienced it and that makes me want to cry for you and Henry.
Thank you for having the gift to be able to share this with your audience.
Thank you Brett. This happened almost 2 years ago and I'm surprised that the feelings are still so raw. Sometimes I feel like no time has passed since this happened and I'm left wondering what's happened to the last two years of my life. Other times it feels like Steven just died, but it will be 3 years at the end of August. The experience of writing this memoir has been cathartic but also confusing. I always appreciate your comments. 🙏🥰
That feeling of it happened today or it happened years ago still hasn’t gone away for me. The “it happened today” days are not as common as they used to be, but they still come up. Raw is a great description of those feelings.
The “it happened years ago” feeling has increased as the years have passed and now it seems like it’s been 20 years or more. It’s sometimes harder feeling that. That fading sensation. It seems like I’ve lost her twice.
It feels like a different lifetime, and there are moments when I feel my grief is the only thing that still binds us together. I'm pretty open in my writing about feeling the closest to my husband when I'm a crying a river of tears on the bathroom floor. That's just normal for me.
Within a few months, maybe it was only weeks I felt like our marriage and my husband's death was so raw and at the same time "a lifetime ago". I often wonder if I really lived that. At 5 and a half years it is still raw but I carry it differently now.
So beautifully said Robin, "I carry it differently now." I know exactly what you mean, it's not easier or more difficult. I don't think people who haven't experienced partner loss can really understand. I know I couldn't before it happened to me.
Amy, I understand. Sometimes the grief hits me and I’m crying so hard it feels as though my heart is going to explode in my chest.
Amy, you put your feelings out there. Thank you for sharing. I went through the same experience, but my husband Mark was in palliative care for only one night. He had congestive heart failure add to that pneumonia and then influenza. He was in critical care on a respirator and they could not keep his blood pressure up. Suddenly on Friday he took a turn for the good. They took him off the respirator and he was talking, blood pressure was almost normal. I went home I was tired, I have stage four metastatic breast cancer and I get very fatigued. We talked on the phone and texted constantly. He said come Monday, I’m being transferred to the cardiac step down unit, I might be able to come home in a week. Amy, I was so excited. Mark, my late husband, had been in the hospital since December 8th. We spent the holidays in the hospital. Before his blood pressure began dropping again and he went from a regular room to critical care and now back in regular room. That Monday morning I was there. We were talking both happy he was finally coming home, when he was looking at me and suddenly his eyes glazed and he was just looking at me. Then the heart monitor was going off beeping. The nurse came flying into the room, she said you have to leave he’s having a heart attack. As staff came in I screamed please save Mark. Please.Ten minutes later about four nurses were wheeling him back to the.critical care unit it was the beginning of the end. His ribs were bruised and several broken from where they were doing CPR. He was back on the respirator and hooked up to more machines, the doctor said I had a decision to make. He highly doubted Mark would come back this time. There might brain damage and if he did it would most likely be in a persistent vegetative state. I would not do that to him, either of us wanted that. I asked to give it a few days to see if there might be a chance Mark might pull through. I spoke with his family and the agreed the decision was mine. I then went to see my doctor, he was new and this was my first visit. He said you know what you have to do and prescribed medication to calm my frayed nerves.i went to see my oncologist and he and I both cried. He really liked Mark.
I stayed every day and many nights. Mark’s condition didn’t change. His blood pressure never did go back up and the medication he was on to keep it up was no longer working, his system was shutting down. After a long talk with his cardiologist who assured me they was nothing more they could do.and only the respirator was keeping him alive I shred to palliative care. All the machines were removed and he was just kept on oxygen and the doctors were surprised but I think he wanted his mom there so she could say goodbye. She was 85 and not in good health herself, but she wanted to say goodbye to her son. I spent the last night with him dotting right by the bed holding his hand and talking to him, of course he couldn’t answer being in a coma. They left a tube of oxygen under his nose.
I went home the next morning, when his mom one brother and one sister in law came, that is all I would allow otherwise half of his family and all his friends would be there. His family told me told get sleep. I didn’t. My brother in law called saying the nurse wanted me to come back to the hospital they needed to talk to me. I got back as fast as I could. The nurse called me outside his room. She didn’t tell my brother in law or any other family members why they wanted me to come back. They had been keeping Mark on morphine to control the pain he was in. She asked if i would be willing to let them take off the oxygen tube under his nose. She said he’ll either breathe on his own and remain in a coma or pass away. I sgterc to let them remove the tube from under his nose,
. They gave him one more morphine shot took off the tube. I climbed right in bed, laying next to him and holding his hand. I said Mark, baby, it’s okay to let go. You’ve suffered enough. Go home to Heaven and I’ll see you when I get there. I love you always and forever. We said that to each other all time. I swear Amy I felt him squeeze my hand . I laid my head on his chest and a mi Ute later he took his last breath. I didn’t cry until I got outside and in my car. None of us spoke on the elevator ride after leaving his room. He went in the hospital on December 8th and passed on January 21 2023.
I’m so sorry this is so long. I didn’t mean to intrude on your grief. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger than people you know. I’m so very sorry for your loss. Mark and I didn’t have any children. I’m an only child. You can delete this if you want and my it’s not appropriate to post on your Substack. I’m currently working on a book about this, but I’m debating whether I should write fiction or the truth, non fiction. I’d appreciate your thoughts. Y the way what happened with your book? I read an article you wrote about being scammed regarding your book. I get an email
From a company that talks about writing that’s how I found you,
Judith Taylor.
Hi Judith, I want to thank you for taking the time to tell me about your love, Mark. You went through a prolonged traumatic experience which takes time to process in your mind, but also in your body. Our grief needs to be witnessed and validated, which is not easy to find in our grief and death adverse culture. Naturally, widows gravitate towards other widows.
I was mostly dissociated from my grief year one, so year two was a rough awakening to the reality that my husband was really gone, that he wasn't coming back, and that grief does not resolve itself in a year. Grief never goes away. We acquire more skills to handle the grief waves when they come, but I wouldn't say it's any less painful.
Writing is a way to help me process how my life has changed since Steven died. I decided that I wanted to write a memoir because my early grief didn't look or feel like anything I expected. I hope that my book illustrates that there's no right way to grieve, everyone's process looks different and has its own timeline. Keep writing and sharing your story Judith. I really felt the love between you and Mark shine through. 🥰
Hello Amy, thank you so much for your comments. The one thing that has always caused me pain about this entire situation is what if I would have just let Mark go after he had the heart attack? Because I wasn’t ready to loose him yet and I know his mom would have been heartbroken not to say goodbye to him. I also felt certain he would pull through again. It happened once why not again? Not to bring religion into it, but I’m a devout Catholic and I had been giving this to Hod as well as giving him my cancer diagnosis. I’m currently in remission, but because it’s metastatic I’ll be on chemo the rest of my life. I’ll never ring the bell that I’m cured and no more treatments. I’d love to do that. But I digress.
So I fought on hoping and praying Mark would pull through a second time , it wasn’t meant to be. I need to get over the what if’s? What happened, happened and my friends said that Mark would understand. As I posted earlier he wanted to have his mom there when it was time to go home to Heaven.
I’m sorry for what you’re went through, Amy. One of the hardest I found after he passed was calling credit card companies, his funeral insurance policy. Thankfully one of his brothers went with me and helped the funeral home person compose his obituary. Mark was cremated and we didn’t post it in the paper. Word of mouth took care of that. I was grateful but I was in a fog when so many people were showing up. At least 50 people, mostly relatives, came and went. All I could think is why is everything still normal, I just lost Mark why is everything and everyone carrying on as though noting happened? Everyone who came talked in groups and it was as though this was some family gathering not a wake. I just sat in the back of the funeral home with a few of my friends. I greeted everyone when they first came in I’m not going to entertain them to! It was the same with the burial, but just immediate family. Same thing, everyone talking in groups about Tennessee football I live here, I’m originally from Ohio. I’ve lived here since 1993. I came for vacation and loved it so I moved here. If I hadn’t I would have met my soulmate, Mark.
No one mentioned Mark, but boy could they eat.
My sister in law had a great meal. BBQ pulled pork sandwiches, baked beans and cake. She can cook. But it’s as though people came to eat not talk about or celebrate Mark’s life. Did you have that experience I hope not.
Anyway that’s the last of this story. I’m so thankful I have Lola Bean my Tuxedo cat. She was very attached to Mark, although after I was diagnosed she would lay with me, and still does after my chemotherapy. It took her almost two months to get as close with me as she was with Mark, but she is and she has separation anxiety issues, which I’m treating. If I’m on the couch and she knows I’m going out, I’m showered and dressed, she will bring her toys on the couch and hit them one at a time at me with her paws. I always bring her a treat back, silly cat, but I love her and would be absolutely lost without her.
Wishing you a fantastic weekend. I hope you had a good holiday. I stayed home since chemo really fatigued me.
Judith, you have had more than your share of trauma and heartbreak, yet you reach out to help other people and share your story. I'm happy you have Lola Bean, and that she gives you comfort. I have a 12 year old son, also with separation anxiety. We stayed home yesterday since he's sensitive to crowds and loud noises. I also find being with other people is exhausting. I'm not interested in small talk, but most people don't want to even mention my husband's name, let alone talk about him. I just can't fake it with people the way I used to.
Oh, Amy. “Walked in a wife, walked out a widow.” It’s such a difficult thing to say. I think I was too numb. The word felt abstract for the first year, and is only now sinking in. It’s strange and surreal. I was talking to a friend today, using the word “we” in reference to myself when I realized that, No, it’s just me now. Really hit hard. Anyway, thank you for another great installment. Looking forward to the next.💕
It is surreal. Some days I wonder where the last 2 years went. I remember the year after Steven died pretty well, as evidenced in my memoir 😂. But the last couple years I feel like I haven’t done anything. I know that’s not true, but that’s how it feels. Thank you for always reading and commenting. Sometimes I feel really secure about my writing, but other times I feel insecure. I’m lucky to have you in my corner. 🥰🙏
I’m so lucky to have you in mine!🥰
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Oh Amy…this gives me tears as you say “walked in a wife, out a widow. “ I couldn’t wake my husband from his nap, I did CPR till the medics took over. They whisked him to the ER and all the machines… I rode in the ambulance worried but feeling the doctors meant he’d be okay. So yes, as I sat waiting, a doc came and kneeled down, saying he had died. “Your husband is dead and I need you to repeat it for me”. I learned later I was in shock and saying it out loud was how they get through to you. My son, a former fireman…said yes, he’d had to do that a few times. My kids drove me home a widow.
Sorry I’ve rambled… this chapter makes me happy for you; a real relationship blooming! Love your way with words, dear friend… love you! ❤️🥰💕
I don’t think you could ramble if you tried Joan. As far as I’m concerned, you always have something meaningful to contribute. I’m so sorry you were blindsided that way — thinking he was going to be okay and then being told “your husband is dead” is shocking. It’s surreal and yet the most “real” thing in the world. Sending you a big virtual hug my friend. We have been through a life altering loss, but we are still here. We’ve chosen to keep living and seeing the beauty in life and that’s pretty amazing. Grief comes in waves, and you handle them beautifully. Thank you for being my friend. XO
Heart-touching piece as always. I have felt that onstage feeling you referenced, whenever I’ve been in some new, liminal state. It felt false because the elements that had made up life before were gone and what had made me “me” was no longer. It felt like being in a strange land with no map and little idea where I was. Liminal times like that can feel so strange and tough to get through. 🫶
Thank you Susan for this thoughtful reflection. I wasn’t even sure what I was writing about exactly. I felt like I wanted reality to be one thing, so I orchestrated a situation where it would appear to that we were a family, but that didn’t make it true. I’m still trying to figure it all out, but your comment helps clarify my intention. I love how writing can be interactive on Substack. I feel as though I am co-creating with my readers and it’s wonderful. XO🥰
Thank you for always me feel. I love the way you set scenes and direct, but most of all I love that I can feel everything. Thank you as always for sharing your life with us ❤️ Xoxo
Sending you a giant virtual hug of gratitude my sweet friend. Thank you for believing in me ❤️❤️❤️
Always my friend. Love you ❤️
Amy, your tender and visceral Polaroid memoir pieces are filled with the mosaic of grief from the realness and surrealism of illness to parenthood and navigating life with sensitive beloveds to your own emotional needs and longings. I hope you realize how powerful and deep the connections are between your writing and the experiences of other readers and artists. Each humans path is uniquely theirs of course yet the shared interdependence of loss and the longings for love are so poignant and true. We carry one another in so many ways. Honored to call you friend and fellow writer and human! Let’s keep going. Keep writing!
Your comment deserves a post of its own — oh my goodness you are a beautiful writer! Honestly, I am humbled and grateful all at the same time. Most of the time I don’t know if I’ve truly ever touched someone’s heart the way other writers (including you) have touched mine. Heck, I don’t even know if I’m making sense half the time. Thank you for so generously sharing this reflection with me. I hope you know what an extraordinary human and writer you are. Yes, we will keep going, and writing!! XO
Thank you, Amy. 🙏🏽 😭💛it’s funny. Even though teachers told me to write early on I did not pursue writing as I have these last years. So busy surviving. Caring for myself and others. To be here now is such a gift! Truly. I’m so glad my writing resonates with you.
Amy, lifting you up with all my heart ❤️🔥🙏
Thank you Niki. I'm doing the same for you, I know it's a tough anniversary today. Sending hugs your way. 🥰🙏🥰🙏
Great piece, as always. I'm especially intrigued by the concept of feeling like you're onstage and blurring of reality between fact and fiction. I've had times in my life where I've felt this as well. Looking forward to seeing how it all blows up... ❤️
Thank you Bonnie! I was thinking that I needed to expand on my feeling of being onstage. I wasn’t sure what was going on between Marco and I. Our communication wasn’t great (except in bed) so I was confused about what was happening between us. In my mind, introducing my child to a new “friend” was a significant step at the start of a relationship, but I didn’t know what it meant to him. I guess I’m still trying to figure it out for myself. I love your comments, and this was especially helpful. XO 😍😍