I hold you and Ed close to my heart and honor your bond and deep love. Thank you for sharing your humanity and humility. A friend told me the other day that she read a quote about grief. I don't remember who said it but it goes like this........time does not heal the open wound of the heart. It's the scar tissue that grows to numb the pain so we can continue on......
It’s really kinda shocking it’s been a year. Time flies. Maybe not so much for you right now. I don’t know. Does it slow down?
There are 6 years between Bob and I. I’m 70 and he’s 76. He’s taken much better care of himself than I have, he may well out live me.
I think about it often after just shy of 51 years of marriage, which would be easier, him or me going first? I guess I’ve decided we’ll just go together, kinda like in “The Notebook.”
In some ways, I wouldn’t mind having complete control of the remote control, not having to cook or clean house if I don’t want to, traveling wherever I want without having to worry if it’s dangerous. But would it be worth it if it means having half of me gone?
Like yours, our relationship has not always been easy. There were times when it seemed to make more sense to go out separate ways. But I’m so glad we didn’t take the easy way. After all these years we seem to have figured it out for the most part. Not that there aren’t still battle royales from time to time. There are bound to be between two pig-headed people, but they are fewer and farther between and I’ve accepted that he’s messed up, and he’s accepted that I am. It’s hard to imagine not being him here.
I want to thank you for sharing your story, your feelings. Somehow it’s helpful knowing the almost unthinkable is survivable. I treasure your thoughts.
Now if we could just get rid of that word “widow.” I don’t like it. You’re a survivor. A warrior. ❤️
I started thinking about it coming up on a year in February, so I've eased into it, I guess. But I still dread the actual day.
By the way, dear Janet, you and Bob are living my bucket list. Is there anywhere in the world you haven't been? I know what you mean about those day to day irritations--they're many and often! But there you are, the two of you, sharing your experiences and your memories.
I'm not hating the word 'widow'. I don't know why, but it seems to fit. Maybe because I'm older and women outlive men, so many of my friends and acquaintances are widows, but I seem to have slipped into it easily. It's who I am now, among all those other personas I've adapted to over the years!
We’ve been a lot of places, upwards of 60 countries now, and adding another 20 or so by summer of ‘24 if all our booked trips happen. It’s an exciting time for us. But, now we’re to the point of needing to figure out what else we REALLY want to see. At our ages we figure we shouldn’t be out galavanting too far from home for many more years.
How wonderful that you have been able to focus enough to write, and brilliantly from the heart, through your deep deep grief…..that takes strength , determination & dare I say TALENT. Thank you for sharing your life with us. I will be thinking of you tomorrow…..
Thanks for your kind words, Susan. Writing is my everything these days. If I didn't have it I would have to take up knitting or something equally occupying.
Thank you for sharing your love story with us. Your grief is papable (you are an excellent writer) but still there is so much beauty and tenderness in the story. I find such solace in it.
A good friend sat me down early on and told me in no uncertain terms (as only she can and get away with it) that I was NOT to feel guilty for enjoying life's pleasures now that Ed is gone. I was actually planning on wallowing and burrowing, not going anywhere, not doing anything if he couldn't be here with me, but her words had power, and I thought about what Ed would have wanted me to do. So I eased out of the guilt and into looking forward to living a new life.
It didn't mean I wouldn't miss my old life as a part of a couple, but I couldn't get that one back no matter how hard I wished for it.
I think if I were to advise anyone who has lost someone so dear, that would be my advice, too: Don't feel guilty about living. Nobody you've loved would ever want that.
You and your friend offer words of wisdom. The guilt I need to let go of is about not having done more - known more, kept Dan home longer, or fixed it somehow. When in reality, we did everything we could at the time to care for him at home - until it wasn't safe. Interestingly, I read the article "7 Signs it's Time for Memory Care" this morning. He exhibited 6 of the signs when we made that decision.
Janice, I think that kind of guilt is so normal. My regrets are many, as if I could have anticipated deadly lung cancer. I feel as if I pushed him to do things when he was tired, I insisted we make the road trip south, where he died a thousand miles from home, I didn't think to tell his doctors to get him a chest Xray before it was too late. (And why would they? They didn't know, either. All his other tests showed nothing.)
I could beat myself up all day thinking of things I might have done, but the bottom line is, I didn't know how sick he was until it was too late. Nothing will ever change that.
Yep, those are the what-if's that run through my mind. As you said - we didn't know how sick he was or recognize any signs that were there. Take care of ourselves - that can be our gift to them.
Both this comment and the part in the post about watching Andy Griffith reminded me of my grandfather. He taught me this lesson when I was in my early 30s, after my grandmother died. They had been married 61 years. I couldn't imagine him without her and assumed, with the naivety of a person who hasn't experienced much loss, that he would decline quickly. He had seven OK years. He binged on The History Channel, back when that was a worthwhile way to spend your time. He went bowling. He told me stories about going to Tigers games in the 1920s. He laughed sometimes.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this journey, Ramona. Also, the photo is wonderful.
Thanks for sharing yourself with us, Ramona. That picture is truly adorable: two cute kids against a lovely backdrop. I hope the day goes quickly and smoothly.
O, Pioneer! Don and I have been happily married for an unusually high percentage of the years since 1970 and we are very aware that nothing lasts forever. You are planting sign posts for our future. Thank you.
Thinking of you, Ramona. I always somehow thank Ed for introducing me to your wise and succinct words via Substack - so thank you, Ed. She's a special woman.
“Grieving for me is not a constant. I’m grateful for that. But loving my Ed is.” Thank you for grieving out loud with us. Writing is how I’ve been able to grieve and go on loving, too.
I hold you and Ed close to my heart and honor your bond and deep love. Thank you for sharing your humanity and humility. A friend told me the other day that she read a quote about grief. I don't remember who said it but it goes like this........time does not heal the open wound of the heart. It's the scar tissue that grows to numb the pain so we can continue on......
That quote is wonderful, Lisa. Thanks for sharing it. I'm going to tuck it away...
I have it tucked away too.
It makes sense.
Thank you for sharing these tender days. You are showing us if not The Way, a way through. Big hug.
It’s really kinda shocking it’s been a year. Time flies. Maybe not so much for you right now. I don’t know. Does it slow down?
There are 6 years between Bob and I. I’m 70 and he’s 76. He’s taken much better care of himself than I have, he may well out live me.
I think about it often after just shy of 51 years of marriage, which would be easier, him or me going first? I guess I’ve decided we’ll just go together, kinda like in “The Notebook.”
In some ways, I wouldn’t mind having complete control of the remote control, not having to cook or clean house if I don’t want to, traveling wherever I want without having to worry if it’s dangerous. But would it be worth it if it means having half of me gone?
Like yours, our relationship has not always been easy. There were times when it seemed to make more sense to go out separate ways. But I’m so glad we didn’t take the easy way. After all these years we seem to have figured it out for the most part. Not that there aren’t still battle royales from time to time. There are bound to be between two pig-headed people, but they are fewer and farther between and I’ve accepted that he’s messed up, and he’s accepted that I am. It’s hard to imagine not being him here.
I want to thank you for sharing your story, your feelings. Somehow it’s helpful knowing the almost unthinkable is survivable. I treasure your thoughts.
Now if we could just get rid of that word “widow.” I don’t like it. You’re a survivor. A warrior. ❤️
I should have edited before hitting send. Please forgive the typos and weird words that popped up! 😂
I don't see any! But you know you can edit at Substack? It's a blessing!
I started thinking about it coming up on a year in February, so I've eased into it, I guess. But I still dread the actual day.
By the way, dear Janet, you and Bob are living my bucket list. Is there anywhere in the world you haven't been? I know what you mean about those day to day irritations--they're many and often! But there you are, the two of you, sharing your experiences and your memories.
I'm not hating the word 'widow'. I don't know why, but it seems to fit. Maybe because I'm older and women outlive men, so many of my friends and acquaintances are widows, but I seem to have slipped into it easily. It's who I am now, among all those other personas I've adapted to over the years!
We’ve been a lot of places, upwards of 60 countries now, and adding another 20 or so by summer of ‘24 if all our booked trips happen. It’s an exciting time for us. But, now we’re to the point of needing to figure out what else we REALLY want to see. At our ages we figure we shouldn’t be out galavanting too far from home for many more years.
Your energy exhausts me! But keep it coming. I love living vicariously through you!
Sending a big virtual hug. I love that pic of you and Ed, my absolute favorite. You look like the coolest kids ever ❤️❤️
Thank you, love. ❤️
How wonderful that you have been able to focus enough to write, and brilliantly from the heart, through your deep deep grief…..that takes strength , determination & dare I say TALENT. Thank you for sharing your life with us. I will be thinking of you tomorrow…..
Thanks for your kind words, Susan. Writing is my everything these days. If I didn't have it I would have to take up knitting or something equally occupying.
But I'd rather be writing!
Thank you for sharing your love story with us. Your grief is papable (you are an excellent writer) but still there is so much beauty and tenderness in the story. I find such solace in it.
I appreciate this, Alice. I do find comfort in writing, and if others feel it, too, all the better. We're all in this life together. ❤️
That is what I have found as well - life goes on, grief is not constant, and my love for Dan remains forever.
A good friend sat me down early on and told me in no uncertain terms (as only she can and get away with it) that I was NOT to feel guilty for enjoying life's pleasures now that Ed is gone. I was actually planning on wallowing and burrowing, not going anywhere, not doing anything if he couldn't be here with me, but her words had power, and I thought about what Ed would have wanted me to do. So I eased out of the guilt and into looking forward to living a new life.
It didn't mean I wouldn't miss my old life as a part of a couple, but I couldn't get that one back no matter how hard I wished for it.
I think if I were to advise anyone who has lost someone so dear, that would be my advice, too: Don't feel guilty about living. Nobody you've loved would ever want that.
You and your friend offer words of wisdom. The guilt I need to let go of is about not having done more - known more, kept Dan home longer, or fixed it somehow. When in reality, we did everything we could at the time to care for him at home - until it wasn't safe. Interestingly, I read the article "7 Signs it's Time for Memory Care" this morning. He exhibited 6 of the signs when we made that decision.
Janice, I think that kind of guilt is so normal. My regrets are many, as if I could have anticipated deadly lung cancer. I feel as if I pushed him to do things when he was tired, I insisted we make the road trip south, where he died a thousand miles from home, I didn't think to tell his doctors to get him a chest Xray before it was too late. (And why would they? They didn't know, either. All his other tests showed nothing.)
I could beat myself up all day thinking of things I might have done, but the bottom line is, I didn't know how sick he was until it was too late. Nothing will ever change that.
Yep, those are the what-if's that run through my mind. As you said - we didn't know how sick he was or recognize any signs that were there. Take care of ourselves - that can be our gift to them.
Both this comment and the part in the post about watching Andy Griffith reminded me of my grandfather. He taught me this lesson when I was in my early 30s, after my grandmother died. They had been married 61 years. I couldn't imagine him without her and assumed, with the naivety of a person who hasn't experienced much loss, that he would decline quickly. He had seven OK years. He binged on The History Channel, back when that was a worthwhile way to spend your time. He went bowling. He told me stories about going to Tigers games in the 1920s. He laughed sometimes.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this journey, Ramona. Also, the photo is wonderful.
What great memories, John. I'll bet you meant as much to your grandfather as he did to you. Lovely.
Thanks for sharing yourself with us, Ramona. That picture is truly adorable: two cute kids against a lovely backdrop. I hope the day goes quickly and smoothly.
Yup. We thought we had the world by the tail!
Thank you, as always.
That hit me hard. Sending you lots of love and support while you go through this reminder of love and loss.
O, Pioneer! Don and I have been happily married for an unusually high percentage of the years since 1970 and we are very aware that nothing lasts forever. You are planting sign posts for our future. Thank you.
All I've ever wanted to get across is that love is everything. It exists, even through the pain.
And the pain wouldn't be nearly as acute if the love wasn't there.
It's terrible that it has to be that way, but wonderful, too.
If that makes sense.
💚💚💚💚💚
Thinking of you, Ramona. I always somehow thank Ed for introducing me to your wise and succinct words via Substack - so thank you, Ed. She's a special woman.
Okay, now you're going to make me cry! But it's a good cry.
I love this, Prue. ❤️️
Thinking of you today. I loved your thoughts on not remembering him as a saint and your dream of an average day of bickering. 💛
Mona, I'm sure this wasn't easy to write but as usual it is beautifully written.
❤️ <--that’s all I have because there are no words for this except: Thank you for sharing.
“Grieving for me is not a constant. I’m grateful for that. But loving my Ed is.” Thank you for grieving out loud with us. Writing is how I’ve been able to grieve and go on loving, too.