My late husband's birthday is next week

I phoned the Samaritans today because life seems so pointless without the man I loved so much.  I regret all the times in 25 years when we argued.  I regret that I was not supportive enough when he was dying, how I had to distance myself from him just to be able to live through it.  I regret all those evenings we spent in separate rooms watching something different on the computer.  I regret the fact that we never talked about it, because he couldn't and I couldn't make him.  I regret the day he got drunk and I told him off because he couldn't have chemo if he was drunk.  Because ultimately the chemo didn't work anyway and being drunk helped him when he'd just been told he was going to die.  I regret falling out with his family when they had no sympathy when his death made me mad with grief.  Everyone expected me to fall apart.  So I did.  They loved him too, although they never loved me, and my son is suffering because out of loyalty to me, he's lost them as a source of support.  I'm so scared now of medical procedures that I won't go near my doctor.  He was allergic to the first chemo drug he had, on the first day, and he dropped like a stone and almost died right there.  I have lost my faith in modern medicine.  It couldn't save him.  It just delayed the inevitable.  It has had such a profound effect on me, watching him die, that I can't see the beauty in life.  I fear that I will never see it again.  And his birthday looms and I feel hollow where I used to feel warm.  In my heart.  I am a dead thing that walks and talks and does meaningless things to fill the hours and days until I die too.  When does it end, when will I stop crying, stop remembering the brush of his soft beard against my cheek, and how big his hands were compared to mine, how safe I felt when held in his arms.  I will never love again because I am too scared to now.