husband

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how do you go on each day knowing that his time running out he at moment is ok eats but tired most time cold always even now its 19c he got jumper track suit trousers under a quilt sometimes he puts the heating rad on by side him and the gas fire at night he sleeps in a lay back chair as he finds laying flat uncomfortable, I sleep in my room. I cannot stand the heat in the room I just well we don't talk about what's next he been told he want see Christmas this year, I just so holding on if I try and think what could happen sooner just break down hide, he on the side tells you knew it could happen than end of decussation it 48 years married he has never really be one to talk I just don't know what to do I know he is must be afraid I'm terrified to be what's next yes I know I have to deal with it but I watch both parents die in hospice. I got some how get to understand i don't want him to die at home 2 sons that are home don't want that either but he does so walk around  pretending or rather ignoring that's coming tried a bucket list while he can get around but that fell on dirt I than rowed with him he has got piles of tools in garage, you need to go through it what belongs to company or you he refuses to tell any family members I did but his own sister i refuse to. I just want be ready if possible when he gone i.e. his bank stuff i don't have it his things who he wants to go etc I read that lost broke angry I can see that at both of us he used do garden I get what's the point I want be here to see it next year just hurts I struggle to sleep because I'm just lost in sorrow.

  • Hi there,

    Your message really touched me. You are holding so much right now—grief, fear, frustration, love—and it's no wonder you feel lost in sorrow. Watching someone you’ve spent 48 years with slowly fade, knowing what’s ahead but not knowing when, is a kind of pain that can’t be put into words. It’s like living in two worlds at once—one where everything seems normal on the surface, and another where you’re bracing for goodbye every single day.

    The heat, the silence, the practical things no one wants to talk about—it’s all part of this exhausting and heartbreaking limbo. And it makes complete sense that you're struggling to sleep, that you feel broken, and that even trying to prepare feels like walking through mud. You're grieving while he's still here. That’s something so few people talk about, but it’s one of the hardest kinds of grief.

    Your husband’s way of coping—retreating, not talking, not planning—is his way of protecting himself, maybe even trying to protect you. But I hear so clearly how desperately you need to talk, to prepare, to feel some sense of control in a situation that feels like it's slipping through your fingers. You're not wrong to want answers or help with practical things like his wishes, bank info, or the garage—it’s not unloving. It’s brave, it’s human, and it’s coming from a place of care.

    If nothing else, please know this: you are doing an extraordinary job, even when it feels like you're falling apart. You’re still showing up. You’re still trying. You’re still loving him through something that’s shattering your heart.

    You don’t have to carry this alone. Is there a hospice nurse, counselor, or even just a compassionate GP you can reach out to for support? You deserve to be held too.

    I’m holding space for your sorrow, your strength, and your love.

    With warmth and care,
     Butterfly Resilience Butterfly