You make me smile with the bed & habits bit 
by now weād watch a bit of tele & heād say shall I go & put the blanket on ( electric) got rid of our bed for him to hire a medical bed. Not back in bedroom yet after a long time! Only just sorted a bed!!!
Hi fellow grief travellers, its been a while since I posted anything, to be honest its been very up and down and Iāve shut myself away for a while in an attempt to balance the past with the future, my heart break and loneliness and just surviving at times.
I still push myself to keep going forward but not sure if its more like punish myself? Donāt get me wrong, I am getting more used to being without my wife, I know that sounds bad, even disloyal, especially as I use grief to cling on to the memory of my wife and as a defence to avoid the future, however, I do get up each day and think of the jobs I have to do, the jobs that my wife did so effortlessly like meal plans, housework, shopping even things like getting cards and sorting out household bills etc. I used to hate doing it but now seem to just do it as a second nature.
For the majority of the time Iām alone and without conversation and sort of used to that, but there are other occasions the loneliness of life alone is just horrible and more often reduces me to tears and into the depths of dark places. At these times I just donāt believe that Iām never going to see her again and still feels unbelievable. Of course I know that she has past, but for fleeting moments, heart and mind just cannot agree what is the truth.
I suppose another reason for not being so active on this site is that simply time has allowed me to cope for the most part and it feels unfair to say this when so many of you are starting out on the journey and just donāt want to hear that things get better with time.
The thing is, being a griever, for some three years I recognise that I have changed, not all for the good I have to say, far from it, the changes In have had to make to just get by have made me vastly different to the person I was. I overthink so much, Iām less confident, I wish for things that probably I will never experience again, like love, companionship, hugs and cuddles, a hand that is freely given to hold even intimacy. Yes I know I cant have what I had and accept that but there must be a different form that I can experience or is this the life I have, no doubt being an old lonely man grateful for any interaction, a bit like the Christmas John Lewis advert of the man on the moon!
Love can be found and it must be different to the one I had. It is possible as I am lucky to have a granddaughter now, I love her with all my heart. Its a bit of a clichĆ© to say that she has changed my life and Iām sorry for those that havenāt had an opportunity like this. Its not easy, such joy is accompanied by the sadness of my wife never being a nanny, she would have been perfect as she was a perfect mum to our sons. But what Iām trying to say is that a different love can be found and I can still be in love with my wife even though she is not here. I know that sounds weird, but I think thatās all part of the transitioning process, past love is felt through the memory rather than the physical and that allows space for new love in whatever form that takes, in my case my granddaughter, but it might be a pet or even another person in time, who knows!
If you are still reading this, it will sound contradictory, but thatās what grief is like, good and bad moments, ups and downs, battling reality with dis-belief and at the same time wanting a better life but self judging myself as being disloyal or feeling guilty about thinking of just me and not of her.
I have made some conscious decisions over some things which have made a difference to my outlook. I was getting fat! comfort eating anything I could lay my hands on, so I joined Slimming world, yes, not many blokes do that but what the hell, if nothing else it will add variety to the weekly meeting. Its not easy losing weight but in 12 weeks I have lost nearly two and half stone. but this is a two edged sword. I mentioned punishment earlier on, well, Iām very focussed on getting to my correct weight, 10lb to go, and I am already thinking Iām getting obsessed with it, that same goes with swimming, I swim at least a mile a day and sometimes more, and it gets worse, I mountain bike 25+ miles each time I go out and that sometimes is every day! Donāt get me wrong, its not a boast, far from it! Its punishment and a problem because Iām filling my life with discomfort to feel that Iām alive, a form of self harm, seriously, its an addiction and at 64 its a problem.
Changing the subject, I still write a lot, particularly about things that I do and the things I feel. Its a form of therapy and it helps me see how I have progressed over the 3 years. Its not for everyone but it helps me. in fact I approached Sue Ryder to see if I could help in some way, help others on this journey, no takers Iām afraid, but I suppose they have enough people to go around helping grieving people, so I am putting a book together. Iāve lost count how many pages and words, its in the region of 300 pages and some 100,000 words covering the journey from the day she past in my arms to present time. Iām not pushing a book deal, in fact some of my stories are already on this forum, Iām just illustrating that progress does happen when you look at the start of my book and where I am now. Once again I appreciate that those new to this unwanted forced life wont see it or take any comfort from what Iām saying, its far to early to make any sense of things or take any advice, you are hurting, your life has been destroyed for the large part, and you havenāt got a clue wat is going to happen next. The fact Iām a few years in to it and the way Iām writing doesnāt mean Iām any better, far from it, Iām just saying things do change.
I had the flu recently and it knocked me for six for a week. I wrote a story called āVulnerabilityā, not while I was ill, I couldnāt even get out of bed, but afterwards. It occurred to me that that for the first time in my whole life I was alone and unwell. When you think of it, right from the birth you are being looked after and that carries on into marriage until one day you are on your own and feel crap. Couple this with grief and you go into some horrible places. There is a part in my story where I reflect upon the thoughts of āis all that Iām going through really worth itā. I refer to it as āThe twelve little stepsā.
I might post it as we all will feel vulnerable at times and it was a shock to me when this happened for the first time. Once again, it shows the depths of despair you can reach and Iām sure Iām not alone. The only difference is that Iām a bloke and not afraid to show my feelings, but those that have read my stories on this forum will know that by now.
On a more positive note, I have written about my travels, and the ups and downs that that brings, its not easy, the emotional demons constantly follow you around like a big black dog just waiting for you to fall so it can feast on your broken heart. I admit that I wear a cloak of sadness most days but the colour changes, some day its a light weight bright colour, some days its just plain old black and weighed down with sadness and misery. But I talk about the journeys I do, they do follow things we used to do together but in a different way and doing things we wanted to do but never did. I chronical these events and weave in memories of the times we shared together, as I say doing the same in a different way. That way I keep her spirit alive within my tale and leave a legacy for my children and childrenās children to read and learn about the nanny they never got to know.
Anyway, I apologise if my stories provoke mixed feelings, Iām not trying to say Iām ok or āfixā people, far from it, Iām just on a different part of the journey but I do want to give a small amount of hope and balance it with reality, Iām not fixed but Iām getting by, slowly.
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Hi @Mikeh ,every word you wrote rings so true with me , I over think everything and talk myself out of stuff.also the loss of confidence, I often think I must annoy people with what I say .because I annoy myself now with my thoughts. I have grandchildren and they are a true blessing ,but often find myself in tears knowing how much their grandar should be here seeing them grow up and helping to teach them his special ways. Oh yes and the vulnerability, I seem to have been poorly more often and donāt have the comfort my husband gave me always. There is no fix for us .just trying to learn to live a life without them. We do just get use to it. But obviously itās not the life we wanted all we can do is try and make the best of it .whatever way we can. Xtake carex
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Hi @Broken2222
Grief unites us all in the same way it at affects us.
I feel exactly the same and think the same way. I use grief as a defence to just shy away from even the best intentions and I think thatās not helped with my confidence either. I ran my own business, two in fact which one was with my wife. Iām actually in my workshops doing the jobs that my wife used to do and it just reminded me how much I miss her, not for her help, just that she is not here and I am now doing both jobs. There will be another story coming up about that no doubt.
Like you have mentioned about being a single grandparent, we both have to play the part of our lost loved ones with our grandchildren and whilst itās lovely to my granddaughter in my arms it would have been a lovely sight to see my wife with her.
I had a similar experience when I went to Spain to be at my sons wedding. Tradition is that the mum give the son away, and in this instance I stepped in to give my son away, a lovely day but filled with silent tears and a heavy heart. But what are we to do? We must carry on even though it takes all our emotional and physical strength.
Itās a very stale routine driven life, we literally cannot function without our loved ones beside us, we revert to instinct, almost being ferrel in our ways and our mannerisms.
I sometimes draw a parallel to that of a lost dog. Instinct makes raid the bins in our house to find food, we sleep through exhaustion but with one eye and ear open as the house doesnāt feel the same on your own. We cower from society and seldom get involved and more often donāt trust the hand that is offered and when it is, we just might bite it. Our tails donāt wag with enthusiasm our is our step is no longer taken with pride. We are that lost dog that wants itās family back, but they have gone and until fate, time and destiny allows us to be rescued, we live a life in silence, fear and hidden from sight.
My story on vulnerability isnāt an easy one to read, but itās true to how I felt and I suspect Iām not the only one that felt that way. I will post that over the next couple on days.
I do have other stories about how I try and blend past, present and hope for the future, but Iām a prolific writer and this forum probably wouldnāt allow it. But it does illustrate how I find a way forward and would probably be of help.
This is a story of the love lock we placed on weir bridge in Bakewell. It got published in a magazine and is in a book. You might want to read it, I wonāt go into detail and itās not a plug, just a true story of love and how time passes for others but not ourselves.
What is a bridge ā¦ā¦.
Is it just a means to get from A to B, a mere convenience, we all use them without a backward glance countless times in each and every day, but some bridges provide much more than just a means to cross a divide.
The āLovelock Bridgeā at Bakewell is such a bridge, for many itās a short cut to town, for some itās an eyesore, to those who have to look after it itās a problem, for the town itās an attraction, for the purveyors of padlocks and engravings it has been a welcome source of income, but that is just the tip of the iceberg.
Each padlock had been placed for a reason and they all have a story. Many are just a novelty never to be visited again, many are betrothals of love, public statements of affection, some padlocks consist of a main lock with the family all secured around its shackle creating a legacy that at that point in time, they were all as one.
There are announcements of engagements, marriages, firstborns, and all manner of special occasions. Of course there are far too many that are in remembrance of lost loved ones, relatives, pets all in memorandum no doubt placed in quiet sombre reflection under stifled tear as the world marches by oblivious of the importance of that little padlock, which to them its just junk, but the placer, it is a sacred memento of a time that cannot ever be retraced accept as a fond memory in their heart.
What is a bridge? well if you ignore its practical purpose and consider symbolically that it is a journey, from one point in time to another?
Each padlock shares that a point on the journey, there was an event that had to be shared, a personal talisman that says, I was here, with a story that has been told in silence, all safely locked within this padlock on this special place and the key will be held in our memory forever.
My story started in 2014, when my wife and I placed a tiny padlock with a hand engraved heart on one side and our initials and date on the other. At that point in time we had been married for 32 years, brought up a loving wonderful family who have placed padlocks opposite ours. We were in love as much then as we were when we first met as childhood sweethearts. As the years progressed, we lost sight of our little padlock as many other padlocks were placed around ours.
Each time we crossed that bridge we gave up looking for it even though I always tried while my wife patiently waited until she said āitās probably fallen offā and walked off the bridge signalling itās time to stop and catch her up. Oh how I wanted to find it, but alas, I never did, but I always tried.
You never know when a ālast timeā has passed until it passes, try and remember, the last time you did something, for example, for those that have children, when was the last time you read to them in bed, or took them to school, or bathed them. It will be hard, that āLast timeā just passes because you think there will be another time but ālast timesā are happening every day.
Well I unfortunately remember the ālast timeā retrospectively. I tried to find our padlock and wished in hindsight I tried a little harder as I did find our padlock 9 months ago, but this time, my wife had passed, so she never saw it again since we placed it in 2014, I didnāt realise that would be our ālast timeā so I make a point of finding it each time Iām there.
My current last time was Saturday 4th June 2022, the Queens 70 year Jubilee weekend, and the time before that was last September 2021, when I found it for the first time, 7 years after we placed it.
It was on our 39th Wedding anniversary, our first since she passed. I was in tears on the bridge and was comforted by some young people that heard me shout out āIāve found itā they didnāt have to stop they didnāt have to show concern, but they did and they helped me photograph it, so they are part of my story now.
This bridge is not just a bridge to the town, for me, itās a point where my wife has crossed from my world to a world that I cannot be, well at the moment, that will have to wait until our spirits collide at some point, in the meantime I must be content with hopefully seeing her in my dreams and feeling her in my heart, for on that day she crossed the bridge and waited on the other side as I tried to find our padlock on a chilly evening in March 2020.
Unfortunately a ticking time bomb called Cholangiocarcinoma, that goes un-noticed was about to explode just a month later and it was all over just after our 38th anniversary in September 2020 - that was her last time.
Was it fate that I found the padlock on our anniversary, our first apart, was it destiny or was it her on the other side? Donāt judge or mock, especially if you havenāt walked in my shoes? For Iām not alone, Iām just another story, shoulder to shoulder with the 1000ās of other untold stories all safely locked away in timeless memorandum on this little but significant bridge in Bakewell.
So, this is not just a bridge, itās a living memorial of last times, happy times and many other noteworthy events and that why itās so important to preserve this monument as itās not just a bridge itās 1000ās of stories all frozen on a journey from past to present.
Wouldnāt it be nice to try and record as many stories as we can about our padlocks on the bridge as a lasting digital legacy of its history and the importance of why itās in our hearts?
Please feel free to share as I am trying to promote its importance and save the Love Locks.
Here is the link to the page:
I wish you well on your journey, and hope that peace finds its way into your heart.
Mike x
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Iām so glad you found your lock ,and Iām sure it was your wife showing you where to look. But I can also imagine how heartbreaking it also was , I often think to myself I must tell/ show Chris ,then it hits me so hard that he isnāt here on earth with me .of course he is and will always be with me in my heart and mind .just wish I could reach out and feel his loving touch and kiss. I have never heard of a lock bridge ,but it does sound such a lovely place to have put such a romantic gesture. ā¦
I hope you do post your writing on here , they do help, and Iām sure the forums wonāt mind one bit . As you can probably tell ,Iām not much of a writer, but I am. Well was a great reader ,but donāt seem to be able to concentrate for long now .my mind wanders off . But I do find your postings bring a calming affect to me . Thank you .
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VULNERABILITY - A story of sudden realisation.
This will read as a story about me feeling sorry for myself and I suppose I do if I was being honest, but its far more that self-pity or a sob story. There many occasions over the last 3 years where I have found myself making decisions to suit myself and only myself, so what! we all do that donāt we? Well if you are in a longstanding relationship or have responsibilities, your decision making process usually takes into consideration the feelings or needs of your partner and a decision is agreed upon or not as the case may be. However I find after some fifty years of mutual agreement that my so called freedom now means that I only have to think of myself. Some might think, whatās wrong with that? But it feels unnatural to act this way, almost selfish to just think what I want to do. As I say, when for so long Iāve been used to working with a joint decision it just doesnāt feel right.
Iām getting used to living just my life, I donāt like it, Iām used to being part of a team and we worked well as a team, in fact we knew each other so well that we just decided to do things without even having to discuss or compromise, in a way we were seamless, we worked, lived and loved as one unit.
Nowadays itās much more difficult to make decisions or even try and figure out what to do especially if your mood takes a dive and controls your ability to reason or make sense of things, these are times of āsudden realisationā
My most recent āsudden realisationā was brought about by way of a simple heavy cold. My low mood affected my ability to think of things rationally and offered a somewhat distorted view of things. In addition Iām stranded in a world where overthinking is normal and common sense doesnāt make sense!
In life there are so many ups and downs and normally when you are part of a couple you seem to weather these occasions with comparable ease. Iām not sure if itās just because I could share these times, both good and bad with my wife things seemed easier or is it that Iām getting older and facing a life as a singleton, that I now suddenly realise my vulnerability.
This past week I have put myself into isolation as I have a lousy cough and cold, the first in over three years but more significantly, the first time alone. Right from childhood there has been someone there to look after me, as I was to those around me, but now I am just fending for myself. Not wishing to make a play for violins, just simply recording how different it is to be on your own in isolation with no one around the house.
Now I know Iām a bloke and that of course means a drama of sorts, but I do genuinely feel vulnerable and lonely and for the first time unwell. Yes this is a low point amongst many low points that I have unwillingly become used too, but the dynamic has changed with illness.
Dark thoughts, tears and a feeling of āis this really worth all the painā seem to be foremost in my head; if I wasnāt stronger I could easily be persuaded to seek peace. I move off topic a little and reflect upon my recent visit to Surprise View above Derwent Water in the Lake District. This place has brought many a lovely time with my wife and my family but now is preserved for a more sombre event, for this will be my final resting place at some point.
My last trip over the New Year caused me to write a short story called āTwelve little stepsā where I paced out the number of steps from where I was sitting to the edge of the cliff. It was eleven, the twelfth being peace for me but heartbreak for those I leave behind, well Iām here today so the twelfth step wasnāt taken obviously, but it just goes to show that given what I have in front of me, old age, emptiness, low expectation and just frittering time away without any consciousness of its precious value, the difference between eleven and twelve are very close at times.
This being my first illness has exposed all sorts of feelings that Iām sure are not helping my recovery. In truth, as I do nowadays, I always want to run away, escape to somewhere, not that will actually help in anyway, but itās what I seem compelled to do. I shut myself away to protect myself but this seclusion only makes things worse. My longing for a normal type of life is great but I donāt know how to start. In some respects I need an extended hand to help me pass this stage, a hand that wants to take a chance, a hand that is freely given not out of duty or pity. Iām way beyond advice, I know itās given genuinely, but other peopleās assumption of what I feel like is a million miles away from what I actually feel like. I always remember how a bereavement counsellor tried to āfix meā when she hadnāt actually experienced bereavement herself, let alone the effects of complicated grief.
Yes blokes, or maybe itās just me, are needy, I realise that under the false bravado that we hide behind is actually a softness that so soft it needs to be protected by a tough exterior. This toughness is like armour and when you are with your loved one you donāt need that armour, you can live in the softness of love with each other in the full knowledge that you have unconditional love to protect you. However, when you no longer have this, the armour stays on, in fact I am making it thicker so that I can defend myself from emotional feelings like love and desire, disappointment and whatever else life has to through at me.
Itās just safer that way, but by doing so, you alienate or distance yourself from the world outside and that in time makes you disappear from the world itself. Whilst this approach serves to protect it also destroys in equal measure. My forced isolation, mainly because I donāt feel like doing anything but sleeping off my bugs, has reminded me of the time when we were all forced to isolate.
In the early throws of Covid my wife and I were forced to be together and I can honestly say that I fell in love with her all over again, our bubble was safe, my children and extended family were safe, and so there was no need for armour or toughness, just softness.
One thing that was a blessing is that I wasnāt able to work and because of that, on that fateful day in April, when my wife collapsed, I was there to do some traumatic things to keep her alive long enough for the ambulance and helicopter to get to us. What a different tale it would be if I had gone to work that day as normal. A factual but extreme example of vulnerability, I was there and she was cared for, if I wasnāt well she would have been very vulnerable, not saying this for hero points, far from it, it has left me traumatised by the events that I far too often play out vividly in the small hours. I did what anyone would have done, but it shows how in everyday life we donāt think about our vulnerability, we simply donāt even worry or think about it and if I was not in that situation, well I wouldnāt even be writing about it would I.
Over the lockdown we went through tough times and a funeral with only a sparse group of attendees, but both I and my family where by her side, we could not save her in the end despite all the valiant efforts of those concerned.
It was the day after my sonās wedding anniversary and I felt sure that Carol was just hanging on so that it wouldnāt ruin their day, itās the sort of thing she would do. I seem to remember telling her that itās next day, or words to that effect, to be honest I black these things out, I suppose itās the minds defence system to stop things spiralling out of control. Shortly after she slipped away and my instincts were to save her again, breathe life into her once more, but I knew it was futile and I had to make the decision to just let her slip away in my arms with a final āsee you laterā and a kiss. I felt like I had just turned her life support switch and become her executioner, a thing I still reflect upon and not in a good way either.
A few weeks later my doctor said to me, āwe in the medical trade can only trick nature until you can fight it off yourself, sometimes nature is too strong and we can do is be with you until itās all over. We have done the best we can and she has gone with her family around herā, those words of course make sense but do nothing to quell the decent into dark places, and when I am most vulnerable, those memories peck at me and attempt to persuade me that perhaps enough is enough and I need to be with her. Donāt worry, Iām just being truthful and Iām not at the eleventh step, but Iām not at the second either. Itās just another battle that fortunately I manage to keep under control and hidden, well until now.
Having such a beautiful life stripped away before you is terrifying but we are powerless to control it and despite what it does to those left behind, those that are on this cruelly shortened journey truly know the meaning of sacrifice. She was such a strong person to keep it all together despite knowing that all she ever wished for was never going to be fulfilled. I feel ashamed that I cannot cope at times with trivial things when compared to what she had to cope with, or is just that I cannot accept whatās happened and she had no choice but to accept.
These situations and thoughts lead me into thinking about my own vulnerability. How vulnerable I am to ill health and my ability to recover from illness and for that matter. How vulnerable I am as there is no one looking out for me or more specifically, in the house, an empty house at that. I have even thought about how anybody would be able to gain entry in an emergency. Silly but these are real things that are brought into question when you live alone, and ones I will have to address as my fragility kicks in at some point over the next twenty or so years.
I donāt know why Iām going over old ground, perhaps itās because I live in the house where it all happened, perhaps itās because I still want to try enjoy the things we used to look forward to but canāt as there is little point doing stuff on your own. Or is it just that in the absence of anything else, am I just clinging on to the fading memories of my past because thatās all I have left. What I do know is that being alone does encourage you to think of scenarios and the outcomes are generally not positive and illness certainly doesnāt help dissuade you in any way.
These physical, mental and emotional tests are long lasting and seldom seen from the outside, they are muscled back behind the maleās amour of bravado in the fear of being seen as weak. In reality itās a strength but it is hard to show this when men are pre-programmed to hide emotion.
I realise that at my time of life, when time is numbered statistically, a year is just a second compared to younger life when a year lasts forever and this also has a sub-conscious bearing on matters. I waste time worrying about things when I should be using the time I have wisely. Health, old age, infirmity, hearing, eyesight will all start to have a drain on my physical ability and if my mind also decides to depart then what is left.
I donāt want to be a burden, I want to live a full life, but not the life I have. Unfortunately seemingly with every positive thought or stride I take, the black dog of doom is following me reminding me of all the possible pitfalls that are coming my way. Maybe my mind is already playing games and thatās why I have these constant thoughts flying around like manic woodpeckers just waiting to land and peck away at me mental wellbeing. I suspect the reason for these moods and despondent feelings is all down to not having someone to focus on or even something, although having something will not help with my vulnerability.
As I say, Iām not at the eleventh step, but it does come flooding back at times and thatās probably why I need to escape my prison at times.
Escaping isnāt the solution, I will be alone and on my own wherever I run to, I canāt escape that, I wish I could as the thought of the next twenty or so years like this is not something I look forward to by any extent.
Lone travel is something to do, I stand the chance of meeting people and forgetting my troubles momentarily but it seems pointless without sharing in a meaningful way, but meeting someone on my travels might open a whole new can of worms and whilst that prospect would be a nice thing, itās also a scary thing. I do know for sure that plutonic relationships are good but they cannot fill your hearts desires as a more meaningful relationship can, and one has vulnerability whilst the other doesnāt. So it would seem that vulnerability is something Iāve just got to accept.
I wrote another story called āAfter life or Life afterā which reflects of both sides of the situation, her āafter lifeā and my āLife afterā which I try and balance the two through an imaginary portal where one has past and one has been left and even though neither of can pass back and forth the wishes of both of you can. I wish her happiness in the world she lives in and I like to think that she sends her wishes back to me, I would never wish the life I have on anyone and even knowing that my wife would be distraught knowing how I feel t doesnāt stop me feeling this way.
These things in life are inevitable and cannot be changed, itās a natural order of sorts but when it affects your heart and mental wellbeing it can make you feel vulnerable especially when you face it alone. Itās understandable maybe even forgivable that when faced with the contrast of good over bad, bad drags you into deep dark places especially when there is no one to keep your spirits up.
You have to rely on basic instinct and survival at times to claw yourself out of that well of despair and thatās tough to do when the future doesnāt hold much hope or ways to fill the holes in your life, your heart, your mind. The danger of pushing your needs and wants deep out of sight is that they will keep popping back up when triggered by an occasion, some music or the sight of an older couple holding hands on a walk. These feelings are plentiful and like grief, you cannot suppress it, it will simply keep popping up, itās like trying to hold a balloon under water, it will not stay under and it will fight to the surface despite your efforts. I suppose that the balloon represents love and it should be picked up and enjoyed and not drowned and I was lucky to know from experience that loving and being loved in return is the best way of surviving these ordeals and I also understand that not being able to love and receive love can shorten your life as continued sadness can make you feel āwhy botherā and like the balloon thatās being forced to do something it doesnāt want to, it would just simply wish to be burst and disappear and those twelve little steps could offer the same.
So coming back to the beginning, why do I feel so vulnerable? I suppose itās a combination of a number of factors I feel this way. I have no bubble, no one to love, protect and care for, so my armour is on all the time, I am safe, but that means being alone, Iām am in forced isolation, my choice, but my draw bridge is up so I canāt leave and others canāt enter and this is the first time in my whole life there is no shoulder rest my head on. Bluntly the memories of times when there was a shoulder to cry on can never replace the act of love being physically given in the form of a cuddle or just being there to cheer you up, itās not much to ask for but seemingly impossible to achieve at the moment. Having time, living without human interaction for large parts of the day and I suppose not knowing what the future has in hold allows the opportunity to overthink, dwell and conjure up thoughts with unhappy endings. Why do I do that, well to be honest, I live a lie, the world has healed but my world hasnāt, life goes on, but for me its stood still and above all, I am not happy, despite the false face and demine I project. Itās well known that happiness breads happiness, itās infectious and glorious, and in contrast, un-happiness breads despair and is poisonous to yourself your well-being and to those that are close to you.
I feel such mood swings cause me to be judged and friendships are tested and ultimately decided upon the flip of my emotional coin. Thatās another thing, these little ups and downs are weathered when you are a couple, patients is given without condition whereas those on the outside of you can tire of the constant dramas in your life and metaphorically cross the road rather than get involved which leads you to try and suppress that balloon or hide it from view, as you fear that in time those that are around you may just fade out of your life and further increase your vulnerability.
Having been in a relationship since the age of fourteen and a half, I havenāt really known what vulnerability is, I have been protected as I protected her and we knew no different, but when I was sprung out of loves protection into the open jaws of loss, life is a holocaust of emotions and I find that my naivety has been astounding. Itās a hard life when you have been used to giving love and then suddenly have no one to give it to and no love to be given in return by someone who wants to give it.
Like all things in life, where there is good there is often bad, with love there is hate, with happiness there is sadness, where there is truth there are lies, where there is youth there is old age, where there is birth there is death and where there is health there is illness and more damaging, the more remote I become the more others become remote from me.
There is always a balance, natureās seesaw of sorts and like a seesaw, itās no fun when you are the one being bumped on the ground or worst still, sitting alone on one end. Vulnerability and safety share a seesaw and normally are in balance with each other. You look after each other and the safety of that companionship offers support so you never really feel vulnerable, but when one is removed, you are on your arse and thatās a different feeling altogether.
For me, I am frustrated that I still can give a lot, most of the time Iām healthy, in fact Iām fitter now than I have ever been, Iām independent, self-sufficient and financially secure but still a bloke trying to keep my balloons under water, I have so many balloons and just have to try and keep all those balloons under water especially as there is little hope of finding a home for many of them. So I must just put those thoughts of love and happiness to one side and get used to just amusing myself with hobbies, pastimes and āFriends Zoneā company. See the thing is; I find that living this type of life does not solve the problem of vulnerability, it just adds to it and I donāt want to feel prematurely vulnerable, but I suspect, like all in my age group, time is running out and some of those inevitable dark times of fragility are coming my way for sure and there is nothing any of us can do about that, and when it does. So there are two choices, well three, put up and deal with it and be comfortable in burying my head, or start looking at care homes now, if you want to, consider the twelfth step!
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@Mikeh, you always describe so well the feelings and thoughts most of us are all going through here. I admire you for being able to put this all into words, I reflect in everything you say, I just find it so hard to express myself. All these new emotions going on have just ānumbedā me and all I can do is keep my feelings to myself, not talking to anyone about them, hence leading to my total isolation from the rest of the world, leaving me feeling like a ānon humanā, not belonging to this world anymore, just watching everyone getting on with their lives and me being just a bystander. I do still have my two adult kids living with me, but their grief is different. I have no friends who have lost their soulmates prematurely, my husband was only 57, there are so many separated, but thatās obviously not the same. I canāt talk to my parents, how could they understand, still together after fifty-eight years? I get angry at my mother when she moans about my father, I just want to scream at her: āAt least you still have him, how would you have felt if youād lost him suddenly after only 25 years, at such a young age?ā
You describe the loneliness and vulnerability of being without our soulmates so well, too. I went to an open-air concert with my son and daughter the other evening , a famous singer my husband loved too. The atmosphere was wonderful, a very warm evening, the setting was the Roman Theatre in our nearby town, but I just didnāt feel any of those emotions I would have felt if my husband had been there with me. My daughter graduated from university two months ago and at the ceremony there was an empty chair beside me, was it a coincidence? It should have been for her dad! I managed to hold back the tears but that emptiness, that hole I have in my heart, my soul, is present at all times, even in joyful ones. I was so happy for her, thinking how proud her dad would have been, but that shadow is always there covering the brightness. I donāt seem to find any joy in anything, I only feel safe in our home. When I find myself out amongst people, even just for shopping, I just canāt wait to get home, to get rid of that horrendous feeling of ābeing lonely in a crowdā.
I live in Italy and in the city of Rome (three hours away from me), there is a lovelock bridge just like the one you describe. When we visited Rome once, we crossed that bridge, obviously a beautiful tourist attraction, we stopped and read some of the messages, I wish we had bought one to place there too, if only Iād known I would lose him so soon.
I really and truly often wonder: āWill I ever feel human again?ā.
You really deserve to publish a book @Mikeh, your posts remind me of C. S. Lewisā āA Grief Observedā, about his grief for his beloved wife.
Sending you comfort and more peaceful days.
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