Hello, I’m Amy, I lost my partner Martin, and although time has passed, the grief hasn’t softened—it’s just become quieter, more private. I live alone now, managing my home and garden, and I’ve created rituals to keep Martin close: comfort pages filled with sketches and calligraphy, lighting candles, painting pebbles to sit next to plants I buy he would of liked. They help me hold the love that still lives in me.
What’s hard lately is feeling invisible. My grown-up sons have their own lives and partners, and while I don’t begrudge them that, I often feel like I’ve disappeared. I speak, and no one really listens. They assume I’m “alright” because I’m not crying, because I keep going. But I’m not alright. I’m just practiced at carrying it quietly.
I miss adult conversation. I miss being asked how I’m really doing.
I know others here have felt this too—that ache of being overlooked, even by those closest to us. If you’ve felt it, I’d love to hear from you. Even just a “me too.” It helps to know we’re not alone in this quiet kind of grief.
Hello Amy, i understand what you are saying. I am only 10 weeks in after my lovely husband died suddenly from a cardiac arrest. My son and d in law were brilliant for the first couple of weeks. Now, of course, they have busy lives to get on with. I logically understand that, but emotionally I feel adrift and frightened. Like you I’m trying to get on with things. People tell me how well I’m coping because that’s what I show them. Inside I feel broken and can’t actually believe this can be true. I empathise with feeling overlooked.
I have a horror of being too much for people incl my own flesh and blood, and then being abandoned.
I love some of the things you are doing in tribute to your Martin close and the love you hold for him.
I read where Grief is love with nowhere to go. I miss my long, meandering chats with Michael. We could, and did, talk for hours. Now the silence is deafening and I sit on my own and the realisation that I’m on my own is terrifying and often brings on panic attacks. I am thinking of you and sending love. This is not a life we would wish on anyone is it? What so you sketch? The only thing I can draw is a cat from the back and if I’m feeling particularly artistic, then a cat from the back sitting on a wall. Xxxx
thats the trouble, families dont want to know, its been over 3 yrs for me and noone has ever bothered about me from the start, i am totally alone with this. its nlike we dont exist and so someone has died, get over it. gone are the days when people rallied round when a death occured, family neighbours etc, you were never alone.
And @BarbaraD does it really matter about a word spelt wrong
I am thankful to read all the responses. I am fully realising that I am far more fortunate than I realised. I am being very unfair to my family. I am weighing things up and realising that my exoectations have been way too high. The grief and the fear is making me see things through such a dark window. My family do check on me even if they are busy and I get phone calls and messages. My neighbours have been so kind and still are and some friends are sticking with me. I think fear and panic do skew things in my brain. You have all given me some clarity and a wake up call. SueF1, normally, perhaps a spelling mistake wouldn’t matter, but that became the wrong word and altered the sense of the sentence.
My love to you all. Xxxx
Oh. None taken Sue! I admit I am a dreadful pedant. It comes from having a brilliant English mistress albeit she was absolutely horrible!
Take care and much love to you. Oh, how I have always hated Sundays. I have, even to this day, a real stomach dropping moment when I think of a song called “Sing Something Simple” that used to come on the radio on Sunday evening. That was bath time, pack your Satchel time and general misery at the thought of school! X
It is really hard barbara…my family are good but time alone is still really hard .
We also know our family’s have their own life .
My daughter encourages me to try new things .ive made more effort with single friends .because i never understood before divorced friends have gone through similar changes in their lives .im still working part time which helps x
Hello Amy. I feel exactly the same. Invisible. My grown up family get on with their busy lives which is how it should be but the occasional visit would be nice. My daughter has been to visit twice in eighteen months which I am disappointed about.
Hey ho on we go to where I know not. Take care all.
Dear JAH25, I agree with you, absolutely. It is so, so hard and so lovely. The silence in the house is horrendous. I have neved alone before. Michael was a great talker and we wouid talk about anything and everything. I try to meet friends when they invite me and my d in law is encouraging me to join things. I dont feel ready for that. This really is like a living nightmare. I try to reframe things and understand and excuse, but I do feel a touch of anger coming up. You are right, alone time is so hard. Sending love to you. People tell me the pain gets less raw and things become easier to live with. We can only hope but at the moment that is impossible to believe xxxx
Some days its a real challenge to get out of bed …but my husband doesnt have that chance so i drag myself out everyday .
Bit looking forward to winter xx
Sweetheart, you have written so eloquently exactly how it is.
3 years today for me (and our wedding anniversary tomorrow)
I love the way you describe it as, quietly …
That’s, EXACTLY so
And here’s the thing,
Sometimes that’s okay, sometimes that’s how I prefer it, because it’s just me and Phil then , how it always was …
But other times I want to SCREAM…
HELLO, IS ANYONE THERE !!! IM STILL GRIEVING…
I understand what you’re saying. In fact it’s why I came on here tonight. The house is too quiet and that’s when reality hits and the tears come again. It’s only 5 months since I lost my husband of 46 years. He’s been at my side since I was 17 and it’s was just the two of us doing so much together as we weren’t able to have children. I have a sister but lost my brother 18 months ago and his wife just 3 months ago. My nieces are amazing but the have their lives to live and although I see them a lot, it’s not the same as having someone here all the time. I’ve thrown myself into trying to make new friends and spend much of the day out of the house but I think that might be making the evenings feel worse. The pain of grief is a physical ache isn’t it? But it feels heavy in my chest. I’ve started counselling but it’s too early to tell if it’s helping.
Do others find that it feels like everyone is getting on with life but we can’t because we don’t know what our life is supposed to be like now
I’m dreading the long winter days
I feel like people have stopped asking , after nearly 8months.
Im also dreading dark nights ,
I dont know what i want ,sometimes i want company then i want to be on my own .
Dont think ill ever feel any better than i do now x
Hello Mrsp4, yes, I do feel what you talk about. I suppose the reality is that they are getting on with their lives. W. H. Auden in his poem says it perfectly.
The pain is beyond awful. There feels no relief at times. Coming back to an empty house is awful but then being out and putting on the mask is exhausting and then it can be a relief to be back at home.
The bottom line is, for me, that I hate life now. I hate being without my Michael and the life we had. I am thinking of you. Take care. Xxxx
Your words are so familiar to me. I lost my partner Martin, and the silence in the house is something I still struggle with—it’s not just quiet, it’s hollow. Like you, I try to keep busy during the day, but the evenings feel heavier. I understand that ache in the chest- it’s grief, yes, but it’s also love with nowhere to go.
I just want to say: you’re not alone in feeling like life has lost its shape. We on here are all walking that same path, and we are right with you.
Barbara, your words brought tears to my eyes. Three years… and your wedding anniversary tomorrow. That ache must feel endless some days. I understand that silence you described—it’s not just quiet, it’s the absence of the one who made everything feel alive. I lost my Martin, and I still find myself whispering to him in the quiet, or lighting a candle just to feel close.
I love what you said about sometimes preferring the silence—because it’s just you and Phil then. That’s so tender. And then other times, yes… the scream. The ache to be seen, to be understood, to not have to explain that you’re still grieving.
You’re not alone in that scream. I hear it. I feel it. And I’m standing beside you in it.
I light a candle for Martin each evening. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll light one for Phil too.
