Thank You all

Hello

Your situation sounds awful. I can identify especially with the inability to remember the good things as all the horrible stuff that happens at the end seems to make it impossible for the good memories to surface. I am grieving for a son, not a spouse. He died four years ago this coming March. But still, nearly four years on, the thought of his suffering and having to bear the appalling news that his life was over at 40 always seems to blot out memories of the happy times. I felt helpless and hopeless, and try to think of what he must have felt, a million times worse than me. Something I imagine only another person with a terminal diagnosis barely half way through their expected lifespan would possibly be able to understand. I wish you strength.

Hi,

I am determined to reply to your post, even though I don't really know what to say.

You and your dear wife have been through hell - and the final end seems very cruel: circumstances conspired against you, and you couldn't be with her when she died. So there is no good way to look at any of this. Cancer is a cruel, horrible disease.

But: you can be absolutely sure that all of the medical staff did their very best throughout; and you can be absolutely sure that your wife knew that you loved her, and that you were doing all you possibly could to help and support her. And, had you been the one who was ill, she would have done the same for you.

My own wife died about 15 months ago. We had been together for 38 years, and I was with her when she died. It's just me on my own now, and it is very difficult to cope with - so I think I understand your pain. When the realisation of what has happened hits me, I still collapse in tears several times a day. And I have always wished that it had been me, and not her: she had suffered enough and, selfishly, I didn't want to be the one left behind. However, had it indeed been me who had died, and not my wife, I would have both wanted her - and expected her - to carry on, to make full use of what she had, and to do her best to live a constructive and fulfilling life. So that's what I tell myself that I now have to do - even though it currently feels impossible.

A few things have helped me, specifically: company, socialization, and activity. I used to think of myself as a pretty independent self-contained person, but I now very much value the company of the few friends I do have. And getting out into the countryside, and into nature, always seems beneficial.

In addition, I have by now received some bereavement counselling from the hospice which managed my wife's care, and I am also attending a group organized by the local Maggie's centre, composed of people in the same position of having lost their partner. Both of those things have been helpful to me, so you might consider doing something similar. But you will know when you are ready to try.

None of what I have written above will ease your pain; and nothing can ever 'fix' anything. But I wanted to reply to you, if only to let you know that other people are out there reading what you have written, and that you are not alone.

I send you my love and best wishes.

Hi there, my husband passed on the 4th August from kidney cancer. I was on the Carer’s Forum previously, and then decided to continue here. This Forum has honestly been a lifeline. I can post at any time of the day and night, and someone is usually up. For me, it is the honesty, truth and courage of the people that post on here. Friend’s and family do their best, but cannot help with the visceral pain of loss. Your beloved Anne sounds like an incredibly brave lady, as was my darling Paul. You must be deeply exhausted mentally and physically. I had the nightmares too, flashbacks, palpitations. I have only recently stopped sobbing myself to sleep every night. My daughter was signed off work for PTSD, and is only now on a phased return. It was bl—-dy horrendous. I just wanted you to know that you are not on your own. Sending hugs. Kate. Xxx

I had my first Art Therapy session today. 
We didn't do any art as the lovely lady said she wanted to just talk to get a feel for if she would be able to help. 
Her first question was “How did you feel walking into here today?” (Here being St Elizabeth Hospice).

Honestly? Bloody shit. That I was forced into this situation by his going from me.

Much sobbing later I to.d her about my crockery smashing. Putting the pieces in a plant pot ready to use as drainage for new plants in the spring. 
She said “what beautiful synergy. Your rage you turn away from yourself and him and into a physical manifestation. You take the literally broken pieces of that anger, trauma and sadness and will use them to help create something beautiful for you both”.

I hadn’t thought of it like that. But love how she put it and agree.

So I believe she will be good for me.

Hello all. Thank you for your replies, it does help reading them. 

Its been a real roller-coaster day today. Spoke to (or, to tell the truth, cried at) the Hospice Bereavement Support Group yesterday for over an hour. They say that they don’t usually do bereavement counselling until after 6 months, but due to the circumstances they are going to try to get me in early. They did say that I needed to speak to my GP as soon as possible. So this morning, awake at 3am, up at 4 am, waiting for the clock to hit 8am so I could call the surgery. Only one GP I want to talk to – the one who gave so much time to my wife in the last week, she understands.

Unfortunately, she was fully booked. However, the village surgery has a mental health nurse coming in once a week, and they had a 1 hour cancellation late afternoon, would I take that? To be honest, I would take anything that might help. Didn’t expect much. Didn’t help that the surgery was playing one of Annes favourite CDs in the waiting room, so I had already gone through a stack of tissues before I went in (I used to think that I was keeping Kleenex in profits by myself, but reading the posts here I now know I am just one of many)  

They were so, so kind and understanding it was hard to take in. I just talked and cried for one and half hours. I think the biggest take-away from it was that I have never told anyone what my beloved Anne really suffered in her last week. The children and her siblings are suffering enough with her death, how can I hurt them even more by saying how much screaming pain, indignity and anguish she went through? So, I kept it to myself.  The nurse made me realise that I had been bottling that up with everything else. A pressure cooker, lid screwed down, ready to explode at any second.

 I still won’t ever be able to tell the family how bad it really was, but being able to offload to someone disconnected from it was an immense relief. I came home totally drained, sat on the settee and cried non stop for hours. But maybe you will understand, it was different tears. Still hurting, still grieving, still missing her SO much, but something had been released, at least for a few hours.

How these mental health teams manage to take on so much pain and anguish from strangers I will never know, but I will be forever grateful, even if the relief was only a few hours.

It is all coming back to me now (Oh God, another favourite song of hers), but maybe, just maybe, I can believe for a few minutes, that with help, I might get through this somehow. That’s got to be a start, hasn’t it?

Yes, it is a start. I am so glad you managed to get that appointment. You are fighting for yourself. My approach was to just go with it. I found that trying to keep the pain in makes it much worse. I am the same as you, I haven’t told family or friend’s how much my darling suffered towards the end. I am not sure they would be able to handle it. We are the only ones who know the truth. Sending you strength and hugs. Kate. Xxx

JealousOfAngels said:

That’s got to be a start, hasn’t it?

It's a great start!

I am very pleased that you have had the chance to talk to somebody, and I hope that the hospice can arrange further counselling for you as soon as possible.

In my own case, the counselling I received from the hospice was arranged very quickly after the death of my wife - because I think the people involved could see that I was in a mess. It helped me a lot, and I am very grateful. The process largely involved me talking at somebody for an a hour each session, and mostly being in tears the entire time. I can't explain exactly why this helped me, but verbalising the thoughts, and saying them aloud in person to a good listener, definitely seems to enable one's brain to process them in a different way than happens when merely turning them over (and over, and over ...) in one's mind. In addition, my counsellor was able to interject interesting and thoughtful observations and reflections from time to time.

Best wishes! And keep talking!

I had a crash day today after my first counselling session yesterday. 
I came away from it knowing it will be of benefit and went to our cafe to tell our 2 best friends all about it. A few tears but was ok. 
Ok when I got home. 
Actually ate more than Pringles!!! 
Long cry when I went to bed as normal.

Today has been really hard. 
Lots of sobbing. 
Lots of things I had kinda parked came to the fore. 
The worst was something he said 8 days before my beautiful Valen went.

We were in bed and had managed to get him comfy semi prone (he had taken to sleeping sitting up to release pressure on his incredibly swollen neck). 
We were facing each other. He had one arm over me and the other hand was holding my arm. 
I thought he was finally asleep and had started to silently cry over our soon to be lost life together.

I think he thought I was asleep as I was so quiet. 
He whispered so softly “ Oh, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go. Please let me stay”. 
I took his hand, kissed it, his forehead, his lips. 
I told him “I love you so very much and will always desperately love you. I want to hold you here like this forever and keep you here safe with me”. 
We cried together until he slept.

I had not exactly forgotten this, but had put it somewhere in my head which was accessed by the counselling. 
I guess this will happen a lot.

I remember that he said in his sleep, he had started to talk in his sleep the last 2 weeks, “I’m not ready to go”.

I think he knew he didn’t have the 3 to 6 months we were told (this being the last 2 weeks of the 4 we got). 
But my beautiful Valen stayed positive, practical and patient right up to that second to last morning when the insensitive btard of the consultant called, as we were about to leave for the hotel to stay the night before his treatment was to start. The same consultant we would be seeing the next day.
To tell us that the scan from 6 weeks previous showed shadow on brain stem and they wanted to check it hadn’t grown. 
The shadow we had been told nothing about. And if we had we would have taken a totally different pathway.

On my love. You knew didn’t you.