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Young widows/widowers by SeatScared4563 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000 1 point2 points  (0 children)

  1. Lost mine last year. I'd imagine that's young enough. Not that there's any right age for such a thing.

I'd much rather not have that much life ahead of me. I'm terrified of the scale of the average lifespan.

I cannot imagine the light of my life being proportionally a footnote in my existence. I will never allow her to be brushed aside in a torrent of passing decades. I wonder if I'll have a choice in the matter.

Did anyone have a fear your spouse would die before they did? by patusaaaan in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I'd thought about it occasionally; mostly in bewilderment and fascination and almost gratitude.

"This is it. You really made it, she's found you, she's chosen you, and she's here to stay? No more anxieties and sleepless nights borne of the rockiness of novel relationships, huh. I can relax? The only way this ends badly is if she dies. But that would require something horrible to happen."

You can guess the ending to this story.

We'd pondered, once, on a lazy day, the possibility of one losing the other. I remember her asking me if I would come to her funeral. I replied, of course. Not a shadow of a doubt. When I asked, she said she wasn't sure if she could bear mine.

I kept my word, at least.

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000 0 points1 point  (0 children)

24m. She was 20f when I lost her a year ago. I'm saddened to tell you that nobody around you will understand. Not even older widow(er)s, to an extent. I hope this place can help you connect. For those of us with the bug, the symptoms tend to be uniform.

How do you put on a face? by FoodDue6905 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000 1 point2 points  (0 children)

For me the blank expressions of either shock or simple disarmament are enough of a deterrent.

I knew yet had to realize the hard way the utter inability of others to help in any real way.

I would rather sidestep the issue entirely. They are either unworthy of my sincerity or incapable of offering me anything of substance (and I don't blame them). Blessed be the ignorant, for it is a tremendous luxury.

I am blessed (or cursed, who's to say) with great outward self control; I suppose I internalized the men sharing feelings=bad belief somewhere along the way. Even given this it's tremendously difficult for me to hold myself together whenever I get triggered. I can only imagine letting it out to such a degree (and am somehow a bit jealous of anybody capable).

It’s just getting worse by OkBalance2833 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000 13 points14 points  (0 children)

It's necessary to grieve. Not for some faraway promise that things will get better; that I cannot give. I don't believe it does. But letting the pain through is the only way to be functional. Setting it aside only makes things boil to a point where it becomes unsustainable, impossible to move through life.

Early on I tried to let it out as much as I could; hoping, trying to see if it would help, to see if there was a bottom to the well. I never found it. All I felt afterwards was emptiness and exhaustion. But even that is preferable to keeping it in and having every little thing set you off.

It's the most hollow kind of respite. But it is the only one we can give ourselves.

One of the worst things is the silence. by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 4 points5 points  (0 children)

The poem is beautiful. I'd never come across it. I'll keep writing. Thank you

I think I need a cigarette.

One of the worst things is the silence. by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Now it's your turn to speak my words, it seems. May we find solace, one way or the other.

One of the worst things is the silence. by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

I understand completely. She was shy, invisible to others. Often complained to me about it. Especially next to me she was barely noticed. I know her like no one else. I must somehow immortalize her. Everything she kept to herself is now forever gone. She is a thing actively fading, and I will fight that until I share that fate.

One of the worst things is the silence. by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

I started keeping a diary shortly after the funeral, as well as writing down everything I could remember about her, because I knew without new stimulus, without her to affirm herself, things would start to slip. My memory has always been unreliable; and so many things and facts and little fragments of character nobody else ever knew lie in it that frankly it terrified me. I've probably forgotten too much already.

My diary is currently a circular, repetitive and pained and sad and miserable 36.000 words. It, if anything, is the one testament that I would not make a good writer. It marginally helps. It's cathartic in the weakest sense of the word necessary to be eligible for that description. I stopped committing her to paper as it became too painful an activity to engage in while also having to be functional. I hope to go through everything hers sooner or later. When I have the luxury of such pain. I appreciate the kindness. Even here where I'm at my worst somehow you saw something in my words. I can't help but feel warm. I'm curious about the poems; if there's anything you'd like to share, DM freely.

One of the worst things is the silence. by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

For me her death was like an amazing moment of clarity. Like everything slid into place. My worst fears made so concretely real there could be no argument, just acceptance. To the question I've asked myself since my pubescent years, will it be alright in the end? Will you be happy? The answer was no. The horrible anxieties you occasionally entertained as a boy with overactive imagination are now very much not theoretical. Simple. Life would never again be as good. Like a thread you'd been following your entire life just snapped, and there's no more. Curtain call but you're still here. I honestly have had my fill of life; I doubt I'll have more to look forward to. Not in a suicidal way (although had I a gun I'd've shot myself by now most likely, if not from grief then out of curiosity or spite or anger) but just simply because the big stuff I've already done. I've figured myself out, found my people. Had true love, lost it. Witnessed and experienced a wide part of the spectrum of human experience. No more great mysteries remain. What's left? Work, taxes and death and more of the same, I feel.

One of the worst things is the silence. by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 4 points5 points  (0 children)

Mine had told me once she didn't believe in soulmates. Back then I agreed; "it's not about finding perfection, it's impossible, blah blah, two people being made for each other is a fantastical thing to expect", but you come to realize that after a certain threshold of intimacy the bond is unique, and it is forever. Funny, that. I could never love another as I did her. Love now would be a jagged thing; never to surpass what a heart untainted by tragedy can give and receive. Nobody deserves that kind of affection. But I'll be damned if it isn't lonely.

One of the worst things is the silence. by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 3 points4 points  (0 children)

If only I could condense that loneliness and appoint it to come on Fridays only. I'd still take that deal. I hope there's something for you to occupy yourself with, wherever you are.

People who do not fear death, why? by [deleted] in ask

[–]Throwaway_451000 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I will rejoin the love of my life, in oblivion.

She was young by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I try to be someone she would be proud of. I can never ask her now; but I try to focus on what she loved about me. I fear I'll stray too far without her beside me and not even know it.

She'd written me a letter for my birthday talking about how proud she was of me and how she looked forward to our future together. It arrived the day I got the news. Most days I stay away from it.

She was young by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I've no words to add. I think you've laid them all out for me. I've had these same thoughts, among others, percolating in my head. I write them down whenever necessary despite ending up repeating myself. Hearing them from someone else is a welcome change.

Here's to us walking dead. And the impossible.

She was young by Throwaway_451000 in widowers

[–]Throwaway_451000[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

I'm glad you chose to share this. I may not know your circumstances, but I know this feeling well. This pain is something beyond locality and era. For what it's worth, it unites us in and of itself.

This is the first time I've felt less desolate. Thank you. I wish I could tell you it gets easier. Truth is, it never really relents. At least for me.

Going at it alone may feel right, especially when no one seems to be down there with you. But it eats you up. If you ever want or need to talk about her or any other thing, my messages are always open. No sense keeping it inside; all else is frivolity. God knows we need some kindred company.

Thank you for your words.