Yesterday I woke up prepared for the worst. It was the eighth anniversary of losing Rick to lung cancer. But I realized that, as the years go by, the major events aren’t as painful as the loss of the little daily things that I miss about being with him.
I spend a few days of the year promoting my widow book series at author events, and I have the opportunity to talk to lots and lots of widows and widowers. Even years after the major grief has subsided, it seems many of us are having the most difficulty coping with the idea of spending our golden years alone after hoping and planning for all the things we were finally going to enjoy doing with our spouses. We feel cheated.
Yesterday morning, when I rolled over towards Rick’s side of the bed in the darkened room, the pillows next to me reminded me of him lying there beside me all those years of our marriage. For a brief moment, I felt like he really was still here. I read a lot (and I also have an overactive imagination), so somehow that triggered thoughts about weird things – like glitches in the matrix and alternate realities. I like to imagine that there is some other universe where he didn’t die that day, and we get to enjoy these golden years together, after all.
ALTERNATE REALITY
In some lovely other universe
I awoke today in bed
And these pillows piled up next to me
Were really you, instead
And we chatted over breakfast
Then we set about our day
Both happy we’re retired now
With more time to chill and play
We planned our next vacation
To the cabin or some beach
Because our golden years are finally here
They took so long to reach
We spent all our time together
From dawn to setting sun
We laughed, we loved, we lived our lives
Until the day was done
But years ago, this very day
You took one long last breath
And my whole world seems upside down
Since coping with your death
So now and then I fantasize
The life we would have known
In that lovely other universe
Where I’m not here alone
This is also like my story. My husband Ken and I were married 32 years. A really good 32 years although childless as I had cancer at a very young age we had an extremely close bond. We found out his father had pancreatic cancer and he lived just over a year. Ken had recently retired so he drove up to be with him for the last few months of his life. When he got back home, he stated to me he wasn’t feeling well. I assumed it was the loss of his Dad who he was very close to and the stress of the trip. He continued to complain ( something he never did as a rule) so I set up an appt for him. After a lot of testing and colonoscopy and an inpatient hospital visit we were told Ken had stage 4 pancreatic cancer (same as his Dad just 6 mos before) and had at most 5 months to live. We were absolutely stunned and incredulous at this news. Ken lived only 18 days after that news. It went into his brain. He was 60 and I was 63. I am now 67 and I am still in shock. Less than a year later just before Christmas, I lost my stepfather and 7 days later I lost my mother. I moved to be closer to Ken’s family as they were supportive at first. They have now turned away from me and I’m so alone. I have no one in this world. I tried a grief group and it was awful. Everyone went around the room and talked about their pain. I never went back. How can I carry their pain when I can’t even carry my own? I’ve tried to do things that I used to enjoy but they bring me no joy now and I’ve given up on them. Each year, I hope will be the year I find something to look forward to but so far nothing but emptiness. I have lost the love of my life and the one person in this world who loved me for me. He was the most gentle, funny, sweet wonderful man I have ever known and I feel blessed to have been able to share a life with him. A life that ended much too soon.
Wow. It’s like you somehow got into my head. This poem speaks so loudly. I lost my husband in 2022, after two months shy of 25 years. He had Parkinson’s and dementia. He was 64. It was a second marriage for both of us. We were best friends, did everything together. Now I’m alone. Yes, I have my children, and friends, but I miss HIM. My soul mate. My safe space. My comfort zone.
Thank you