widow

Where Do I Live Now?

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2012-07-13 10.36.21It’s almost hard to believe that over a year ago I lived in a 3,300 square foot home that overlooked a lake. My wife, Sally, loved the home. I literally had to take up many jobs to help pay for the thing, but looking back, it was well worth it.

Once my wife passed away from cancer last May, I immediately put the house up for sale. It was our home, not mine. When Sally left this world, I only spent one additional night in the house. Her co-worker, who became good friends in a short period of time, literally put me up in her and husband’s home until it was time to leave.

I have a lot of admiration and compassion for those two people. They brought in a person who was very sad and did whatever they could to make living conditions as comfortable as possible.

Our home was beautiful, and she was the big reason for that. It was our sanctuary for over 12 years and many memories were made. That was one of the big reasons to sell the place. I just couldn’t bear walking into that house and not see her.

I completely understand that widowed persons will stay in the same house after their loved one has passed. It’s their home. In my case, the memories were too much for me.

So here I am, staying at a relative’s home, because it’s too difficult to be by myself. Still working, but the life I worked so hard to put together, along with my wife, is now gone. I’m trying not to ask for sympathy or pity, but it’s so hard to process on how things can change so quickly.

Looking to the future during this experience is almost impossible. However, I did make the decision to pursue a master’s degree. Where I end up in the long run is anybody’s guess.

It’s interesting that when you’re younger, homes and other possessions seem to be important. I always knew this, but After losing Sally, I realized more than ever that a house is merely four walls. It’s what’s inside that makes it a home.

 

What About That “Eternal Promise”?

Randy Mann4 Comments

It’s been over 10 months since the passing of my beloved wife, Sally. I look back and find it hard to image that everything I worked for, my home, my way of life and Sally is gone.

For such a long time, it was just me and her. We made some friends on our journeys and when we moved to Vermont and Idaho. But, at the end of the day, it was just us. We never had children as it wasn’t meant to be.

On many occasions, we said it would be her and me forever. That was the promise. Now, I’m forced to try to move forward despite the pain.

I realize that I still have a long way to go with the grief and loss. She was the “love of my life” and I believe that no other woman will love me the way she did. Our connection was special and deep. People would notice how we looked at one another, even when we were in our 50s.

As far as happiness in the future, I can only hope at this stage. I’m going to be 55, but making plans to get my master’s degree and resume teaching, a job that I thoroughly enjoyed. I’m doing the best I can. This was not part of the original plan for the rest of my life.

I think that we live by a set of rules that we create for ourselves or, perhaps, instilled in us by others over time. Regardless, my I have either been blessed of cursed with keeping a “promise.” It’s what I do and a rule I live by. Once I make that promise, no matter how big or small, I will do everything in my power to fulfill it.

For those who read this, I’m certain that most will think that all of this will change in time. However, my “programming,” at least at this point, forces me to honor any promise that is made, including an eternal one I made to Sally. I do remember the wedding vows, “til death do you part,” but that does not overrule the “promise.”

I saw a great blog by “Ten Thousand Days” that, in my opinion, hits the point. I’m moving forward, but not moving on.  This situation has become my new normal and I have no choice but to accept this big change. I try to “go with the flow,” but still find myself trying to swim against the current.

Prior to her passing, she told me that it was okay for me to find someone else. I also hear from friends and relatives that she would want me to be happy for the rest of my days. On a logical level, this makes sense, but on an emotional one, that’s another matter. Living the life of solitude is not exactly what I had in mind.

What do you think?

 

Coping With Survivor’s Guilt

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I managed to get through one of the “big dates” of my wife’s passing. March 24 would have been our 34th year together. It feels like you’re standing and cringing as that date approaches. How bad will the first one feel? Who will I get through the day?

The day started off as expected, emotional. But, friends and family came through and helped out, for which I’m extremely grateful. It would have been so easy for me to just stay in bed.

This first wedding anniversary without her made me realize the grief and guilt will not be going away soon. I fully admit that “survivor’s guilt” is a part of the pain and sickness in my gut.

Those two little words, “what if,” still run through my head. A lot of my guilt stems from not forcing my wife, Sally, to go to the doctor, just for annual checkups with she turned 50. I get it when I hear the saying, “you can force a horse to water, but can’t make it drink.” Still, I can’t help but wonder.

For a long time, she was healthier than me. Sally worked out on the elliptical in a room in our house. Her job required her to be on her feet all day long. She ate well, much better than me. Honestly, I set up our insurance and future based on the fact that I would be the one that would leave first. Life threw me and everyone else a massive “blindside.”

The thought that goes through my head is that if I would have been more persistent, this cancer could have been caught early and things would be different. My sister, who is a doctor, tells me that this type of cancer would have likely not made that much difference in terms of the outcome. Logically, I understand. Emotionally, that’s a different story.

I’ll never know if things would have been different. Perhaps not knowing allowed us to live life to its more fullest. We traveled a lot the few years prior to her diagnosis. Maybe her “quality of life” would have been far worse if we did know and went through the long and painful treatments. Regardless, I still wonder “what if.”

This process of grief is relentless. You can run, but you can’t hide. One of the steps I’m trying to work on is “forgiveness,” especially for myself. It’s far from easy. Happiness is something I don’t feel entitled to, at least not now. It’s a matter of trying to be “less sad.”

But, I try to press onward with each day. I try my best to be functional. Making plans for one, two or many months down the road is hard. However, I do make them, just to get some sort of sanity.

Now, I will be bracing for the next two days, her birthday and the one of her passing. I already know the road coming is going to be rough. Again, I’m doing my best.

 

The Task of Going Through “Stuff”

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From conversation and personal experience, the most difficult task that a widow or widower must face is going through the “stuff” of their beloved. Shortly after my wife, Sally, passed from rare cancer last year, I made the decision to clean out our house and sell it.

Deciding to sell the house was an easy one for me. I could no longer live in a place that had so many memories. It was also expensive and too big to handle on my own. However, because the home is located in an area that gets snow, I had no choice but to clean it out and get it on the market as soon as possible.

I literally made about 30 trips to the local dump and sold much of the furniture and other possessions. Those things, possessions, clothes and other things are not the same without Sally as we got them “together.”

Going through the majority of this stuff on my own was painstaking and emotionally traumatic, but had to be done. Each item, especially clothing, had a memory attached. I completely understand that they are “things,” but there was still an attachment to my wife.

I’ve talked with many people who still hold on to many possessions of their deceased spouse. I do understand why some of these people do that. It’s so hard to let go of anything. In my case, I gave away all of her clothes. The only thing I wished I would have kept was a beautiful green dress that she would wear on special occasions.

Despite keeping most of her jewelry, I still think about that green dress. Let’s face it, the thing would have been in the closet, but it would have been close by. However, I did make a trip to Atlanta to see my sister. We went to one spot that had a beautiful waterfall. It was a chilly day and she gave me a purple hood to wear. It was chilly enough that I decided to wear it, even though it looked a little feminine.

At the end of the day, after our nice excursion, my sister, Susan told me that purple hood belonged to Sally. I asked to keep it and without hesitation she said yes. That hood sits on top of a 3 by 5 frame with our picture.

I’m not an expert on whether it’s a good idea to keep things or to give them away, sell them or whatever. In my case, I don’t have the green dress, but I do have have the purple hood. You can let me know what you think and what you’ve done as well.

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Trying to Get Through Those “Dates”

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When one loses their significant other, especially when it’s the love of your life, the emotional roller-coaster becomes even tougher. I’m now going on month 10 since my darling wife left this world. However, this month comes with another date, our anniversary.

I used every bit of willpower to get through the holidays. For those in this situation, does it seem that the holidays go on forever? Now comes the date of our wedding anniversary, then her birthday and one-year marker. I don’t know how others handle it, but this part of the journey feels like I’m “bracing” for the hurricane of dates to come and go.

Many people have said that, “it doesn’t get better, it just gets easier.” I’ve heard so many “dates” on how long before you start to feel better, or at least somewhat functional. The majority have said it’s about a year-and-a-half. I’ve also heard the second year is the worst because you start losing your support group. The other ones go out to three years and I’ve heard of those struggling after five years and longer. Perhaps I can get more insight to this one too.

I read where the dates of anniversaries, birthdays, etc., mark the passage of time in this what I would call an unwanted journey. Prior to this last week, I thought that I could get through the rough time a little easier as I try to prepare and brace myself.

A quick lesson learned as you can never prepare, no matter how hard you try. This last week was one the worst. Trying to escape the overwhelming sadness that will blindside you is not possible. There’s a lot of truth to the saying, “you can run, but you can’t hide.” I’ve been running as fast and as hard as I can, but there’s no hiding.

One way I’m trying to cope is to do things “out of the box,” or out of my comfort zone. I am trying to do what I can to ease the pain, but realize I just have to “sit in it.” But, once the big dates have passed for year number one, I’m going to take a two-week cruise around Europe, something I would have not considered prior to all of this. I don’t expect to feel better overall, however it’s a different environment which makes for a distraction.

The month of May is one of the big “dates.” Her birthday was on May 8 and she passed late on the night of the 24th. Looking back, it’s almost hard to believe that one year is almost here.

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Most People “Don’t Get it.”

Randy Mann2 Comments

When you lose the love of your life, it’s like being in a fog. There a pit in your stomach bigger than the Grand Canyon. I wake up every morning wondering how this could have happened. The center of my world was lost to cancer and I wished it would have been me instead of her.

I’ve had many people “set up” time with me to help ease the pain. Good friends let me stay at their home for 3 months as I couldn’t stay at my house. However, there are those who simply can not handle this type of situation. From my experience, they do not want you, or someone that’s been through this kind of trauma, to rock their happy existence. These people do mean well, but have no idea on what it’s like and will try to avoid you.

I’ve heard a number of comments that cause me to shake my head, or to not deal with that particular person. Less than two months after my wife passed, there was a gathering with friends. Of course, everyone asks the same question, “what are you going to do?” I said that I was trying to figure it out. What I really wanted to say was that I was just going to lay in bed for the next year.

I did mention to one person that I was selling my house and going to travel to get my mind away. He said that “it sounds like you’re going to be in an enviable position.” WHAT? I told him there was nothing enviable about that at all. There have been other comments related to this, but it’s pointless to list the examples.

I’ve been told to go seek psychological help, or asked how long until I’m over this. I will often get question after question on this situation, like I’m in a courtroom. People want you to be your “old self.” Unfortunately, that’s not very likely, at least not in the near future, as a big part of your world is no longer with you.

The best ones to discuss this horrible situation with are the ones who’ve been through it. They understand the tremendous hardships, pain and the journey. I was also warned to be careful on who I open up to about this event. Others have difficulty because they simply “don’t get it.” And, for their sake, I hope they never do.

For those reading this who have been through a similar situation, I’m assuming will have similar stories. Please feel free to share.

Doctors and Treatments. A New Way of Life.

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When a loved one gets sick, especially a long-term illness, you find yourself becoming very familiar with hospitals, doctors’ office, pharmacies, physical therapy offices and other places along that line.

When my beloved Sally was diagnosed with vulvar cancer, we had to adjust our lives and schedules for her treatments. The strength she had for this was amazing. The doctors said the treatment was going to be intense and were uncertain if she was going to be able to so much in a short period of time. But she did, with dignity and grace.

In a span of 7 weeks, during the holiday season of 2016, she had to go through 6 chemo therapies and 32 radiation treatments. In addition to those treatments, there were numerous trips to the pharmacy, a trip to the emergency room when her fever spiked from the chemotherapy, plus other trips that had to be made for blood tests, blood transfusions and magnesium supplements and other procedures that I can barely remember. She rarely complained, and I didn’t either. You do what you have to do.

Watching what the treatments did to her was hard to say the least. She developed a new side effect called lymphedema. We never heard of that one until her legs and feet swelled to the point she could barely walk. It’s a blockage with the lymph system due to the treatment. Physical therapy and constant massages was the only thing that could be done. No medication is available for that condition.

Going to the doctor’s office for checkups was difficult. I literally could not sit in the room when she was being examined, even though the doctor said that I could. I would go outside to the waiting room and sit and wait.

I remember one occasion when one of the doctors pointed at me to come over. I braced myself for the worst, but at that time, he informed me that the tumor was shrinking, and things were looking better. That’s the one thing with hospitals and doctor’s visits. There are good days and very bad ones.

There was one trip to the emergency room when they did x-rays. There was a blood clot in her leg and a spot on her lung. I worried about that spot, but there wasn’t too much concern for that at the time as the focus was the area for the cancer treatment.

I remember the trips, sometimes two days a week, to an office that specializes and tests for blood thickness. They were amazing and wonderful to Sally. They were very saddened when I had to break the horrible news.

I will say that practically all the medical people that treated my wife were extremely kind and supportive. There were a few days when she was feeling worse than usual and the medical facility would take her in right away. Sally had me bake cookies for them during the holidays. I’m not much of a baker, but I was glad to do it. At least the cookies tasted pretty good.

On her last chemotherapy treatment in late December of 2016, at least I thought it was before the cancer spread, the nurses came out and played the song, “Hit the Road Jack.” I thought it was very cool.

Becoming a Caregiver

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When your spouse is diagnosed with cancer and requires extensive radiation and chemotherapy, your entire life will change, practically overnight. My wife, Sally, did a lot of the housework, cooking, working and, of course, taking care of me.

Yes, I did help out when I could, but it was her home and wanted to take great care of it. I managed the finances, worked on my own business plus going to various jobs. One of my jobs was to gas up her car. That was a chore she refused to do, and I was ok with that. We made a bet that if she ran out of gas on the highway, I had to let her buy a $1000 worth of clothes. There was one time I almost lost that bet, but in the end, she got the clothes anyway.

In early November of 2016, my wife, Sally, was diagnosed with a type of cancer called vulvar cancer. It’s very rare and occurs on the outer surface of the female genitals. The doctors informed me that it’s one of the most deadly forms of cancer, especially if it gets to advanced stages.

Watching a loved one go through the treatments for cancer is brutal. One of my relatives told me that I was going to be a “caregiver,” and it was going to be very difficult. They weren’t kidding.

From the diagnosis to that fateful day, it was about 7 months. I understand that many people will care for someone else for much longer, and I can honestly say that I have complete admiration for their service, dedication, patience and understanding.

From the beginning of treatments, in addition to working whenever I could, I did all of the household chores. A goodnight sleep became a thing of the past from that point as I had to get up two to four times a night and help her to the restroom. Because the cancer and treatments were focused on the genital area, using the restroom was difficult for her. I had to sit outside the bathroom and talk with my wife to get her to relax. One could only imagine some of the conversations that took place.

Her appetite was almost gone. I had to come up with any kind of simple food dish to get her to eat at all. Her favorite was scrambled eggs, cheese, potatoes and a little bacon mixed in. My sister taught us how to make it, and I got pretty good at preparing it.

To have someone completely dependent on you is a feeling I had never experienced. To be honest, I was willing to do anything to make her comfortable. It’s kind of unusual to say, but sometimes I felt honored to care for the person who made my life so complete.

I was amazed that I didn’t get sick as flu season was in full force. Perhaps I wouldn’t allow my body to shut down because there was no family close by to help out. The stress of the situation brought me close to a nervous breakdown numerous times. But, I somehow managed to hang in there.

I have a new appreciation for caregivers. Their sacrifices are enormous and thank goodness there are people who walk that path, even when they haven’t chosen to do so.

Getting the News is like a Big Earthquake with Lots of Aftershocks

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I have found out the hard way that losing a spouse is one of the most stressful events in one’s lifetime. I saw a study that this type of event ranks at the top for stress, but I will never begin to understand divorce, losing a child or other traumatic events. Regardless, the emotional toll on my body has been enormous.

I will never forget that fateful time in October of 2016 when the doctor who examined my wife came out to talk to me in the waiting room. She almost looked pale and said, “we’re going to look at this and take care of it.” At the time, I really didn’t know exactly what she was talking about, but I did have an idea.

On Thursday morning, October 20, 2016. I’m trying to wrap my head around the news that the love of my life, Sally, may be stricken with cancer.

My friend Tom once told me, “you can only be shocked once.” There is a lot of truth to that statement, but the “aftershocks” of that news kept on coming after feeling of what was the biggest earthquake of my life.

I’m tried my best to be strong for my wife while going into my office to cry. I’m tried my absolute best to be positive and not let her see my breakdowns in my office. The last time I cried was when my father died over 15 years ago. Since then, I lost track of how many breakdowns I’ve had.

I knew something was wrong for quite some time, but getting her to the doctor’s office wasn’t easy. I could do was to there for her and tell her it’s going to be fine and “life your life,” which she did. I told her for a long time that you live life to its fullest, because you never know what’s around the corner. You see and read how this type of thing happens to someone else. Well this time, I’m was that someone else.

Not to sound like it’s about me, but I would have traded places with her in a heartbeat. Honestly, I always thought that something like this would happen to me, not the other way around. At the gynecologist office, I had to call my big sister, Susan, and give her the news. It literally took everything I had to not to lose it on the phone outside of the doctor’s office.

In the beginning of all of this, the doctor did say that it does look like cancer, but uncertain how far it has progressed. I remember taking the phone downstairs, away from the possibility of Sally hearing the conversation. All I remember was that he said, “it’s not good.”

The rest of that day when we got the news, was sitting and watching TV as we both dozed in and out of shows we had on our DVR. She was on vacation from work, but some vacation. Without children, we would spend the time off visiting family members or try to see new places. From this experience, I tell my friends to “take that vacation” or “appreciate what you have,” because as my stepfather, Rich, told me, “tomorrow is promised to no one.”

I awakened the following morning as Sally went downstairs. Hard to sleep when it’s “not knowing,” or fearing the absolute worst scenario. In the back of your mind, you know that one day something will come along and turn your world inside and out.

 

Why I’m Writing This

Randy Mann2 Comments

IMG_20160105_164038731_HDRI decided to write this blog about becoming a widower. I married my adorable friend and loving partner, Sally, with the idea we would grow old together. I always thought that if anything were to happen, it would be to me. I was obviously wrong. As I write this down, it’s been close to 9 months since the love of my life left this Earth.

Since that event, I sold my beautiful home in Idaho where my wife loved to live and left the area to be with family in California. It was a large home that overlooked the water. We both worked very hard to get into a place like that and just as difficult to maintain. The home made her happy, so I didn’t mind. But, I was starting to get to itch to leave as the long winters were getting to me, which led to occasional feelings of isolation.

But, I could have never imagined the pain of losing that one I planned to spend the rest of my life with. The feelings of isolation prior to her sickness don’t even compare to those feelings now. In this blog, I will write about this journey that I believe one can never prepare to take.

Receiving and processing the news in late 2016 was life’s absolute “blindside.” My beautiful wife, Sally, had to change her life. Her job had to be suspended and I became a “caregiver.” The hope if at least containing cancer after short and intense treatments was shattered when it had unexpectedly spread.

Since that agonizing day in May of 2017 when she passed, I have done things “out of the box,” including travel, gone to singles groups hoping to get insight from others sharing a similar experience, attended support groups for widows and widowers and even talking to mediums. I fell that if I’m going to tell the story, I should tell the entire sequence. My weight dropped 35 pounds from this experience, but at least some people tell me that I look good.

The purpose of this blog is not to depress or to gain sympathetic responses, but perhaps to use this to somehow lessen the pain and show others that you’re not alone.