Bunny who?

Why? Who? What's this blog about? It's about MEEEE!

Being a Widow

My experience of dealing with grief as a widow

Astrocytoma

About Jane's brain tumour journey: Astrocytoma.co.uk
 

Sunday emptiness

11 September 2011

Liefie,

I miss you so much. I just can not get my head around the fact that I will never see you again. Never hold your hand as we go outside. Never cuddle you in the morning. Never bring you croissants in bed.
I need your guidance so much in my life. The grief counsellor said that I need to learn to find the person I am again, having been part of a couple for so long. But I know who I was before we met and I prefer the Me I was when I was with you. You never gave me feeling that I should know better than to say impulsive things or spend money on silly stuff. You helped me to believe I am not stupid and incapable but just not always to stop myself from doing things. You understood that what I needed was not someone that stopped me doing things but rather someone who helped me channel my weird quirks in the right direction.

You never judged and you stopped me from judging myself.

Look at me know. I am back to where I was when you found me. Can't handle money. Can't motivate myself. Feeling inadequate about it. Unwilling to accept responsibility. Too proud to admit I need my meds.

With you, I was an adult. Now I feel like a silly, incompetent child again.

I have so many plans for the future but I am so incredibly scared that it turns out I can't do it without your support and encouragement.

The person I turn to when I feel lost. The person who gives me hope when I am confused. The person who gives me all the advice I could ever ask for. The person I need when I feel utterly desperate. That's the person I need right now.

That person is you.

And you are dead.

The Me I was before we met had wild plans and hopes but gave or lost interest at the first hurdle.

The Me I was with you only needed some encouraging words from you. A look that told me you believed in me, that I was able to do it.

I tried to remain that person after you died but I feel I am slowly regressing back to the person I was before. I don't want to be that person. I need someone around me to keep me motivated to even get out of bed. Or to apply for that job. Or get the info about the student loan.

It is bizarre that your death has created a situation where I need you more than ever.

I miss you. I need you.

Why are you dead...

5 comments:

Marcus Porcius said...

Please don't let who you are go away. You said you became who you are because of her; that's the person she knew and loved, isn't it? Why would you let that go? She's still there in your heart, and you don't want to disappoint her do you? It would be a shame to lose everything you were to her and you know she wouldn't want that. I know it's so hard and so empty right now but it won't always be that way. When that day comes, the wonderful person you became when you met her needs to be ready to be wonderful for the rest of your life. Hang on if you have to talk it out with everyone or anyone who will listen. You're worth it, and you know that's true because if it wasn't you wouldn't have had her at all, right?

Dutchcloggie said...

Thanks for the kind comment. I am trying to hold on and mostly, I am ok in remembering the lessons she taught me. I am struggling mainly with the impulsiveness. I can't really control being impulsive (that'as the whole point I guess) but Jane was always there to help and stop me from doing silly things. So I felt better about myself bcause I did fewer things I regretted afterwards. And that is the bit I miss now. I do more stupid thing, buy more useless things I can't afford and feel more stupid about t afterwards. So I am struggling a bit with self esteem.

Oh well. I'll learn.

Anonymous said...

I am so sorry for the loss of your vibrant, wonderful wife. Words are inadequate to express the depth of my sympathy.

I have been wanting to write to you to convey my sympathy and support, but it feels presumptuous to intrude upon the grief of someone I don't know. However, in some ways, I feel like I DO know you and, through your writing, know Jane.

I discovered your blogs by Googling "lesbian widow" and immediately spent many hours reading both of them, stopping only to weep at the injustice of Jane's cancer, to admire your steadfastness, and to marvel at your ability to document and share your journey through Jane's illness and death. The love you and Jane shared was a gift to both of you; your blogs are a gift to the rest of us.

In 2007, my partner of 23 years died of breast cancer that had metastasized to her brain. As I read your blogs, I was floored by how often your experiences mirrored my own, especially the part about her "going away" long before she died. I kept thinking, "I remember that. Yes, that's exactly how it happened/how it felt/what I did." I was pierced to the heart by your story of caring for your wife and the recounting of events both momentous and mundane. One of the stupidest things anyone said to me in my mourning was, "I know how you feel," and I have vowed never to say that to anyone. However, your writing makes me feel as though I have walked a path similar to yours and I want you to know that someone hears you and understands.

Thank you for sharing the story your life with Jane and now the raw emotion of your grief. There is only one thing I know for certain: there is no timetable for grief and no right or wrong way to do it. Grief is not a straight line and there will be days when you feel like you're sliding back two steps for every one forward step. Although the sadness, despair, and confusion of a world without Jane in it may overwhelm you at times, please know that you are epitomizing true grace.

Your story has touched me deeply. And, because of you, Jane will never be forgotten.

Be well.
Tamela (Reno, Nevada, USA)

Anonymous said...

Beautiful reply, Tamela.

Dutchcloggie said...

Tamela, I don't know what to say other thank thank you. Your beautiful words have made me feel very humble.

I am sorry for your loss. Nobody should have to go through what our partners and other brain tumour patients went through. All cancer is devastating but to have to lose your loved one twice, once when they are still alive and then to death, is just the cruellest of things.
You are allowed to say "I know how you feel" when you DO know how I feel. You have been there, you have lived a similar thing.

Your comment took my breath away. I can not express how much it means to me to know my blogs mean something to someone who never knew Jane. To know she still touches people and that I am, in a way, able to channel that through my writing is so very wonderful and humbling.

Your have a beautiful way of expressing yourself. Maybe you should start a blog too!

Xx

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