I came across this just now which struck a chord 
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Firstly, so sorry for all those that have lost their partners. My wife Jackie passed on the 8th March 2025.
You are so right, it’s horrendous. 
I wrote a letter that I placed in Jackie’s coffin. The vicar read it out at her funeral on April 2 2025, as I couldn’t.
Little did I know that many weeks later, the words would still be true.
Jackie
It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a short while since you left. In that time, it feels like I’ve been living in some sort of dream. At times, it feels as though I’m moving through the motions, like a zombie. Other times, it’s a nightmare that I can’t seem to escape, a constant, gnawing feeling that I’m losing myself without you. The thought that you’re never coming back is almost too much to bear.
The hardest part is going to bed at night. In the quiet, I relive our happiest moments together. I dream of us, as though we’ve had eighty years together instead of the years we had. It’s so hard to accept that those moments are just that; moments in a dream, not reality.
There are days when I feel you near, as if you’re still here with me. I can almost hear your voice in the stillness, and I hold on to that feeling like a lifeline. But then, there are days when doubt creeps in, and I’m left thinking that you’re truly gone, that I’m clinging to something that’s not there. It’s a strange and painful place to be, even as I write this letter to you.
One thing that’s become clear is how life moves on for everyone else, and there are moments when I find myself avoiding others. They have their own burdens, their own lives to live. But I’ve also been touched by the kindness of our family and friends, many of whom you would have been so surprised by. Their support has been a reminder of how deeply you were loved, and how many lives you’ve touched.
The love and companionship you gave me is a rare gift, something I know only comes once in a lifetime. I can’t imagine life without you in it. Before you, my life felt aimless, like a melody without purpose. Now, the music feels hollow.
Where have you gone, my love? Why did you have to leave so soon? I’m left with a void I don’t know how to fill. What will I do without you? I miss you more than words can express.
I love you, Jackie. Always and forever.
John
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What a beautiful tribute but oh so sad letter to send your dear wife off with. It really is just so heartbreaking that we all have to feel this way and we’d all give everything to have them back xxx
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I must admit it made a lot, including my best man from 67, in the church cry, however, that’s exactly how I felt emotionally. Even the vicar reading it out shed a few tears.
My youngest granddaughter put a happier letter in the coffin as well so that helped counteract mne
I would give anything to have her back. 
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Those words are lovely John, thank you for sharing them with us.They convey a lot of my thoughts and feelings too.
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It sounds like a cliché but I know where you’re coming from and share your grief. As much as anyone can anyway.
It was 6 months and our wedding anniversary this time last week. I thought I’d coped ok - spent the time when I normally think of the funeral service remembering our wedding instead. It actually helped - until it didn’t and I crashed later in the evening.
Today I’ve crashed again. For the first time I’ve found myself struggling to believe she’s gone… don’t really understand what’s happening.
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I think it’s one of those times when it just takes over you like a wave - ebb and flow - and catches you off guard. I suspect there will be lots of these moments even in many years time. Lovely though to think of all the beautiful and happy memories instead of a dreadful event (if you can) and as I keep reading the price of love is the inevitable grief that comes with it - and you clearly loved her deeply xx
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Thank you Debra, I’m afraid you’re right. Far too many still to come , triggered by even the most insignificant moments - today it was crossing from Lancashire into North Yorkshire and remembering how Jill always joked that we’d gone over to the dark side.
The greater the love, the greater the loss.
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@PSHm3
I’m so sorry and completely understand everything you describe.
It’s something I too, cannot get my head around…
We were together, we had each other, we were very happy, we did everything together, we planned for our future retirement, we talked, and laughed, and dreamed together.
We loved our life, we really, really did.
Then cancer took over and 9 months after my darling soulmate was diagnosed he was gone.
One of the last things he said to me was…
“I thought that we would go on forever, never imagined this”.
How heart-breaking is that?
I am now a completely heart-broken, lonely, isolated and broken person, who cannot adjust to this new existence without the love of my life here with me.
I cannot even process that he is no longer here and never will be again.
He was just 58 years old, loved life, and had everything to live for… and he really wanted to live.
He endured so much suffering and fought so hard, but sadly it was all in vain.
We were so, so close, inseparable.
He took me with him that day too, and I don’t know how I am supposed to carry on.
I am having panic and anxiety attacks on a daily basis and feel lonely and hopeless.
The pain is unbearable.
All I have to offer is total understanding, empathy and compassion for what you are going through.
You are not alone.
Please take care xx
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Good morning everyone,
I didn’t fall asleep on the sofa last night, I went to bed at just after midnight.
I was exhausted and thankfully managed to get a few hours sleep, before waking up just after 5am.
I felt compelled to get up.
That’s when the first moment of panic sets in, and there was no way that I would be able to get back to sleep.
That moment of waking up and realising that I am on my own, without my beloved soulmate is horrible, like groundhog day being re-lived over and over again.
Today, I have tasked myself with writing the eulogy that I will read out at my darling’s funeral next week.
I want to properly and rightfully honour the memory of my beautiful, kind, and loving soulmate, so I hope I will be able to find the right words, when I sit down to put pen to paper.
I miss him more than any words could ever describe and I didn’t know that the pain of losing him altogether, could or would be this painful.
If ever I had any worry or concern, he would wrap his arms around me, and gently tell me that everything would be ok.
Any worry or concern I had would just simply and completely melt away in that instance.
I felt so safe and loved. I trusted him 100% and he always made everything ok… always.
What am I supposed to do now with all the fear, uncertainty and anxiety of this unknown and unfamiliar existence without him?
I do try reaching out to neighbours and colleagues by phone mainly.
They are supportive to some extent, but phone calls end, and I miss having my special person there 24/7, knowing that he was always there for me, and always wanted what was best for me.
I do try my best not to burden anyone.
This is a massive and humongous adjustment, that is needed, and I am really struggling with that adjustment.
My life/existence now is recognisable (alien) to me.
It’s the silence in the house, the emptiness and loneliness felt within, not being able to share my thoughts or a joke with my best friend in the whole world, and not being able to make any meaningful plans for the day.
The happiness and joy I once thrived on, is gone.
I miss his smile. I miss everything about him. He was my world.
He didn’t deserve any of what he went through and I wish he was still here.
As others have pointed out in recent posts… these days, people tend to keep their distance.
Where in the past, they would have rallied round in your hour of need, they now go out of their way to avoid.
Everyone has conformed to this selfish way of living and I am left alone.
I am not used to the silence, or my own company.
I am used to sharing my life with the love of my life.
Days like this… we would have had so many plans, it’s heart-breaking.
I’m sorry for ranting, but I can’t be anything else but honest.
Thank you everyone for your kindness, advice and support, we all share the same pain, so we understand.
Sending love and hugs to everyone on here xx
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Good morning 
It doesn’t sadly get easier does it? It’s 18 weeks today that My Jackie passed and I am still utterly devastated and heartbroken. Saturdays are alway bad for me. Been quietly sobbing since 4.30.
Groundhog day indeed. You describe what probably most of us are going through.
To be fair to those family and friends that appear to have disappeared, most of them do not understand what we are experiencing. Unless they have suffered the loss of a partner, they think it’s just another sad passing of a family member, friend or pet. And I don’t mean to denigrate those deaths. . Most of them are not really being selfish, it’s the lack of understanding something that they will no doubt in time.
Loneliness is horrible. I guess you are a lot younger than me, but even at my age of 79, I can’t see myself living alone for the rest of what remains of my life. Jackie and me were together for 60 years, nearly 58 of them married, but I am sure she would want me to find companionship as I would have her, if I had gone first.
Having had two funeral services fir Jackie, one where I live and one back in the Welsh church where we married, i can honestly say the day will be extremely hard for you as it was for me.
I had thoughts of reading a letter I had placed in her coffin at the main funeral, but I couldn’t do it, so asked the vicar to read it out, so I would humbly suggest having a backup plan.
Crying myself in the front pew, I could hear numerous friends and family sobbing as well. My two oldest granddaughters went up to say something after the vicar read mine and they were both in tears at the loss of their nanny who they adored. It’s extremely emotional and you will be the most emotional on the day.
Having gone through that experience, at the second service for the internment of Jackie’s ashes, i asked the vicar to read a poem I had written. As much as I would have loved to read both the letter and the poem, I know it would have been too much for me. I am someone who has played in bands since the early 60s so never get stage fright, but saying something at the funeral of someone you have loved for decades is a different thing.
Sorry to ramble on, but I am just suggesting that by all means write the eulogy, but ask someone else to read it. It’s going to be extremely emotional for you.
Whatever you do, you know you have the support of everyone here.
Look after yourself.
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Heartofgold. I promise that you will slowly start to be able to manage your new life. I am 15 months in, and yes I still miss my Darling Elizabeth. I can find enjoyment like watching Dolphins with My family and excited grandchildren. Meeting up with an old friend who now lives in Spain. I have sort of started to grow round the grief, Of course I will be triggered by things, like walking along a beach with my feet just in the edge of the sea, like Elizabeth and I used to do, But it does get to be livable.
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@Johnr
Hello John,
Thank you for your kind words of support and guidance, which I appreciate and value.
It will indeed be an extremely difficult and emotional day.
The vicar may well have to read my eulogy despite my best intentions.
My stomach is in knots just thinking about it.
We are both 58 years old, John, and we were at the stage in our lives when we were starting to think and dream about our retirement plans for the future.
We were so looking forward to the future and we talked endlessly about growing old together, and having each other always.
How wrong did we get that?
Having worked hard all of his life, Michael will never get to experience or enjoy what he had worked towards.
The thought of that destroys me. How much he has and will miss out on.
Life is so cruel and unfair. To be honest, I can’t accept any of this.
Thank you John.
Take care too xx
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It’ll be one heavy burden off your shoulders on the day. People will not feel less of you for having the vicar read it out. As I mentioned, people were crying when he read mine out and he even had a tear in his eye.
I started crying as soon as I sat in the funeral car behind the hearse. I looked up and could see Jackie’s coffin a couple of yards in front of me. So near but so far.
You need to be strong for the coming week and then slowly start to rebuild your life. You are still young and will have a future. Never forget Michael as I will never forget Jackie.
It is hard and I haven’t mastered it yet, but as that lady sang, I will survive.
Look after yourself. 
Gone to the dark side 
I’m from Lancashire too 
. Treasure your memories, it’s all we now have unfortunately
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It’s going to take forever. We are forever changed and even though you will manage to find joy in some small things/moments, you then reflect on them and they’re never going to be the same as you want to rush home and tell your other half about them.
My husband was also young, just 63 and had retired at the end of last year. We also had loads of plans - we were moving and starting a new adventure, holidays, you name it. He came off his motorbike in Ireland whilst on a road trip visiting relatives and the shock of that (having spoken to him the night before and texted a few hours beforehand) is something I will never get over. Ten months in and I still believe it’s a sick dream and he’ll come walking through the door any minute.
I wrote Harry’s eulogy and had a wonderful celebrant read it, but I also then had a few separate lines I really wanted to read at the very end of the service so I asked my brother to come and stand with me in case I couldn’t get through it. Perhaps you could do this or some of it if you didn’t want the vicar to do it? Fortunately I managed - I viewed it as my last opportunity to say something to him while he was still in the room, but I’m not ashamed to say I had some 
to help me get through.
It really is the shittiest of times. I don’t know if you have children or pets? I have a daughter and a 
so I suppose you have to carry on for them as they need you.
Keep talking, relive your beautiful memories and don’t look too far into the future it’s one day, hour or minute at a time.
I keep recommending a book by Megan Devine called “it’s ok that you’re not ok” which I’ve found very useful in dealing with a lot of aspects and other people in particular.
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Lived and worked in Burnley for years. Met Jill just after heading towards Skipton so everything here is etched with memories of her - Now I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I hope so but it’s also all the more painful.
We’re both about the same time into this nightmare; I hope you are coping ok generally and have got the support you need when the bad days hit. To use your metaphor, I’ve found that when the tide flows it nearly drowns me, when it ebbs it drags me out and under. I’ve never been a strong swimmer despite the number of times I’ve been thrown in the water over the years anyway. Hope you’ve got a lifebelt or lifeboat on hand should you need it.
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