Because we are the children of older parents and went through dealing with widowed parents and then parental estates at a relatively young age (compared to our peers), we've spent a bit of time thinking about "what happens?"
However, we're both now approaching the ages where our parents died (early-to-mid 70s). Living past that age...well...
Perhaps that's the thing that can give us the strength we need - the fact that we loved and still love and everything we do is for that lover's soul that rides shotgun by our sides.
I read somewhere that death turns love into grief, and with so many years of love, the grief is bound to be overwhelming at times. I never thought about the solo decision-making aspect of being widowed. We're talking openly about What Comes Next. It'll be 53 years for us soon, and nothing lasts forever. I've told Don that if he goes first, I'll sell this wonderful house and the garden we've worked on together. He's already ratified that decision in advance. What's doable for two will be too much for one. He told me, "Make new memories- assuming you don't get dementia!"
Congratulations on your long marriage. After so many years it becomes a habit nobody wants to break. You're right that it's too much for one and I'm trying to come to terms with that.
Mona, please don't fret. Every time you write about your grief I think how incredibly generous you are being - to let me (and others) share in your pain while glimpsing our own future. You give us an amazing gift of profound foresight. I have also been incredibly fortunate to have a long, loving partnership. I can see my life in your words. And although sad (tremendously sad), and I have to fight the urge to get in the car and find you so I can give you a strong hug (and probably ask if I can use your bathroom - it's a long drive! ;)...what I do instead is let your words inform my own future. If Clay goes first, this (your writing) is how I will feel. I can ponder and prepare. But mostly I hope I do grief even half as well as you - with dignity and thoughtfulness, and I a courageous willingness to share.
I don't feel generous, I feel wimpy. If any of this helps someone else, I'm glad to do it, but it feels whiney whenever I do it. So many have been through this and, sadly, many more have it to look forward to. My grief is not unique, as much as it feels like it at times.
I wish none of us ever had to go through it, but it's a part of loving. I wouldn't ever have wanted to miss that chance.
Thanks so much for your thoughts here, my friend. Good to see you here.
Hi Ramona, If it's any comfort, I know that sheer terror - very well. It is overwhelming sometimes. At first I was afraid to go to the grocery store and making big decisions - well - that's a whole other level of fear. Like you and Ed, Dan and I made those decisions together and now it's all up to me. I've been on my own for three years now - and I do better - somewhat. I tell myself that because we always did things together, I am like a child having to learn all the new, trust myself and my sense of things, and that with practice I'll feel more comfortable, but I'm also not so sure about that either. I have adopted your thinking "we grieve so much because we loved so much. Maybe that is my gift to Dan. Take care!
I honestly didn't expect terror in this whole grieving process. I hate being afraid, and when Ed was alive I almost never was. I thought I had a handle on everything and there was nothing we couldn't figure out and make better.
I find myself putting off going anywhere and I'm eating whatever is in the house rather than getting in the car to go to the store. That's not like me.
But I know it'll get better. I also know it'll probably get worse. I know how hard it is for you, too. Thanks for being here. I value everything you add. I just wish you never had to.
I didn't either - not at all. We were a team and solved the problems together. I even worked for a police department in high crime areas - I wasn't afraid. Today, I put off going places, fix what's in the house to eat rather than go out, and look for every excuse to stay home. That's not who I was. That would be my wish as well - that I didn't have the experience of saying it and you didn't have the experience of having me say it to you.
Wow, your happy place is beautiful, like your words. Thank you for writing about this. Though I don’t know personally the grief of losing a partner who’s been your life and heart for so long, I do know my own version of the fearful grip of knowing it all comes down to you. I can only imagine what that wishing for someone to decide with--when the someone is specific--must be like.
And here you are, raw, real, beautifully you, flaws, fears, and all. May ease find you as the process of learning to adapt unfolds. I'm so sorry, Ramona. This is pain like no other. If it helps at all, I can say with confidence that you are doing everything exactly right.
You are being way too hard on yourself! YOUR STORY is your writing, and we are in it with you! We feel your sadness, your confusion, your fear of the unknown, your loneliness, and all the other emotions that accompany grief…. We lift you up and appreciate your honesty and fully understand.❤️
I appreciate that. Truly. I often hesitate to write about my feelings, but when they overwhelm me all I can do is write them out. Thank you all for understanding.
Ramona, I am wishing you ease and serenity and strength on this anniversary day (how wonderful you had so many years together). I have not (yet) personally experienced the level of grief you are going through, but I know my fears and loss without my husband would be the same. I want to say, too, as someone who also writes about life, and has had to – many times – pause when this life I’m hoping to share is hard or scary or muddled and I can’t find the words… readers who follow me understand when I have to disappear for a time. I imagine your readers need no apologies. We’ll be here, and we are all just wishing you well. Take good care.
I feel your pain to my core. I'm so sorry. I know that place all too well. This helps me, maybe it will help you- when in doubt, do nothing. Just carry on and put the rest aside- for now. The answer will come to you. For today, Happy Anniversary! Celebrate what you did have for so long and wrap yourself in that love with gratitude. You can get back to big decision making when you're ready. It's OK to be wimpy and whiney too. Let it be.......
You continue to be my hero! You so honestly and unabashedly, share your personal story of coming to terms with, and rising above your grief. We have been married for almost 53 years. (together for almost 57 years) and I truly, just cannot imagine my life without Nello. While I suspect that I would be a basket case for the remainder of my life, I will be here to offer you continuing love and support, as you forge your new path forward…and I’ll be taking notes! 😉
Take care of yourself, whatever that looks like.
💕
Many sympathies.
Because we are the children of older parents and went through dealing with widowed parents and then parental estates at a relatively young age (compared to our peers), we've spent a bit of time thinking about "what happens?"
However, we're both now approaching the ages where our parents died (early-to-mid 70s). Living past that age...well...
Hugs. Hugs.
Thank you so much. Death is inevitable, but if we're grieving because we've loved, there is some solace in that.
Perhaps that's the thing that can give us the strength we need - the fact that we loved and still love and everything we do is for that lover's soul that rides shotgun by our sides.
🤗 ❤️
I read somewhere that death turns love into grief, and with so many years of love, the grief is bound to be overwhelming at times. I never thought about the solo decision-making aspect of being widowed. We're talking openly about What Comes Next. It'll be 53 years for us soon, and nothing lasts forever. I've told Don that if he goes first, I'll sell this wonderful house and the garden we've worked on together. He's already ratified that decision in advance. What's doable for two will be too much for one. He told me, "Make new memories- assuming you don't get dementia!"
Congratulations on your long marriage. After so many years it becomes a habit nobody wants to break. You're right that it's too much for one and I'm trying to come to terms with that.
Don sounds like a keeper. Love that last line!
A keeper? You betcha.
Wishing you well Ramona... tomorrow will be tough. HUGS
Mona, please don't fret. Every time you write about your grief I think how incredibly generous you are being - to let me (and others) share in your pain while glimpsing our own future. You give us an amazing gift of profound foresight. I have also been incredibly fortunate to have a long, loving partnership. I can see my life in your words. And although sad (tremendously sad), and I have to fight the urge to get in the car and find you so I can give you a strong hug (and probably ask if I can use your bathroom - it's a long drive! ;)...what I do instead is let your words inform my own future. If Clay goes first, this (your writing) is how I will feel. I can ponder and prepare. But mostly I hope I do grief even half as well as you - with dignity and thoughtfulness, and I a courageous willingness to share.
I don't feel generous, I feel wimpy. If any of this helps someone else, I'm glad to do it, but it feels whiney whenever I do it. So many have been through this and, sadly, many more have it to look forward to. My grief is not unique, as much as it feels like it at times.
I wish none of us ever had to go through it, but it's a part of loving. I wouldn't ever have wanted to miss that chance.
Thanks so much for your thoughts here, my friend. Good to see you here.
Hi Ramona, If it's any comfort, I know that sheer terror - very well. It is overwhelming sometimes. At first I was afraid to go to the grocery store and making big decisions - well - that's a whole other level of fear. Like you and Ed, Dan and I made those decisions together and now it's all up to me. I've been on my own for three years now - and I do better - somewhat. I tell myself that because we always did things together, I am like a child having to learn all the new, trust myself and my sense of things, and that with practice I'll feel more comfortable, but I'm also not so sure about that either. I have adopted your thinking "we grieve so much because we loved so much. Maybe that is my gift to Dan. Take care!
I honestly didn't expect terror in this whole grieving process. I hate being afraid, and when Ed was alive I almost never was. I thought I had a handle on everything and there was nothing we couldn't figure out and make better.
I find myself putting off going anywhere and I'm eating whatever is in the house rather than getting in the car to go to the store. That's not like me.
But I know it'll get better. I also know it'll probably get worse. I know how hard it is for you, too. Thanks for being here. I value everything you add. I just wish you never had to.
I didn't either - not at all. We were a team and solved the problems together. I even worked for a police department in high crime areas - I wasn't afraid. Today, I put off going places, fix what's in the house to eat rather than go out, and look for every excuse to stay home. That's not who I was. That would be my wish as well - that I didn't have the experience of saying it and you didn't have the experience of having me say it to you.
We’ll, here we are, two peas in a pod again! Small consolation. 💔
The gift for me, though, is to hear that someone else has the same feelings I do - the fear that is involved .
Me too. ❤️
A virtual hug coming through the ether, Ramona...
💕
Wow, your happy place is beautiful, like your words. Thank you for writing about this. Though I don’t know personally the grief of losing a partner who’s been your life and heart for so long, I do know my own version of the fearful grip of knowing it all comes down to you. I can only imagine what that wishing for someone to decide with--when the someone is specific--must be like.
Thank you, Holly. It's never easy, is it?
🫶
sending ☀️
And here you are, raw, real, beautifully you, flaws, fears, and all. May ease find you as the process of learning to adapt unfolds. I'm so sorry, Ramona. This is pain like no other. If it helps at all, I can say with confidence that you are doing everything exactly right.
I wish I had your confidence! But thank you. As always. ❤️
I don't know if I should say that 'I truly care'.
Thank you. Good to know.
You are being way too hard on yourself! YOUR STORY is your writing, and we are in it with you! We feel your sadness, your confusion, your fear of the unknown, your loneliness, and all the other emotions that accompany grief…. We lift you up and appreciate your honesty and fully understand.❤️
I appreciate that. Truly. I often hesitate to write about my feelings, but when they overwhelm me all I can do is write them out. Thank you all for understanding.
Ramona, I am wishing you ease and serenity and strength on this anniversary day (how wonderful you had so many years together). I have not (yet) personally experienced the level of grief you are going through, but I know my fears and loss without my husband would be the same. I want to say, too, as someone who also writes about life, and has had to – many times – pause when this life I’m hoping to share is hard or scary or muddled and I can’t find the words… readers who follow me understand when I have to disappear for a time. I imagine your readers need no apologies. We’ll be here, and we are all just wishing you well. Take good care.
I feel your pain to my core. I'm so sorry. I know that place all too well. This helps me, maybe it will help you- when in doubt, do nothing. Just carry on and put the rest aside- for now. The answer will come to you. For today, Happy Anniversary! Celebrate what you did have for so long and wrap yourself in that love with gratitude. You can get back to big decision making when you're ready. It's OK to be wimpy and whiney too. Let it be.......
Mona,
You continue to be my hero! You so honestly and unabashedly, share your personal story of coming to terms with, and rising above your grief. We have been married for almost 53 years. (together for almost 57 years) and I truly, just cannot imagine my life without Nello. While I suspect that I would be a basket case for the remainder of my life, I will be here to offer you continuing love and support, as you forge your new path forward…and I’ll be taking notes! 😉
🤗❤️