Brynda, we love you and continue to pray for you. Rick is sorely missed.
I’m not too keen on Diet Coke: so I tell my husband I love him more than chocolate. When I tell him that, I’ll think of you.
I can’t believe it’s been a year. I often think of you and Rick, and our dinners at the Blue Nile.
Ugh, I’m terrible at expressing myself. You have my best wishes, though.
You know, Brynda, I wonder how you’re feeling every time I see a post of yours, and have ever since you wrote that thread titled something like “I’m mad enough to kick someone” shortly after your husband passed. I sometimes want to PM you, but I can never think of anything to say that doesn’t sound trite or annoying, so here I am, posting to this thread, fumbling my words, trying to figure out what I should write. I suppose I don’t have anything to say except how I truly feel, which is I hope you are well.
Strength and peace to you, Brynda. I think of the two of you and your “I love you more than Diet Coke” often.
I understand the guilt, and have known it myself, but I hope you can forgive yourself for it.
Peace to you.
There’s no shame in wishing for someone’s pain to end. It’s actually pretty selfless, and the gods know I’ve been there, myself.
This was a beautiful post. Thank you for sharing it, and may your heart continue to heal.
Brynda - I know how you feel. Watching my father die by inches was so much harder than getting the news that my mother had the massive stroke and was brain dead. After all, when you get hit by a moving train, you don’t suffer.
When you’re ready to go to lunch, let me know. And there have to be some decent movies coming out again, right?
How’s the pot working out?
StG
I miss RickQ like crazy. He was a genuinely good man, always kind to others. Seriously, he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. The world is a poorer place without him.
Hugs to you, Brynda
I guess I need to clarify things a bit. The “pot” in question is an enameled dutch oven, not any sort of plant life.
StG
{{{Brynda}}}
Thank you for that lovely message. My own father died from rheumatoid arthritis in his lungs and was in so much pain near the end that I too wished he would just die. He was so strong, he lasted weeks with only one lung while he wasted away. It finally filled up with fluid and he died. I was so ashamed. But I realize now, it was not wrong to feel that way. Rick is at peace and he would want you to be at peace with yourself. You are in my thoughts and prayers. Thank you so much.
Brynda, I got on the phone right after reading your post and called my love to tell him.
I love you more than Diet Coke, too, my friend. And though I’m coldturkeying the DC, that’s a LOT.
Oh Brynda, dear Brynda I am still so sorry for your loss. But still so moved to tears by your grace in the aftermath.
Brynda that was a beautiful post, it brought rain to my eyes too! I could see you there, trying so hard to be strong, crying into your pillow. I don’t even know the man and I could almost hear his voice saying, “Are you okay baby?”.
I am not a fan of the Diet Coke, loathing, as I do, all things diet. But I find ginger ale to be nectar of the God’s. Before this evening is through I will tell the man holding up the sky in my world, that I love him more than ginger ale, if that’s okay with you.
You’ll be in my thoughts for days to come, and my prayers, and I’ll be lighting some candles on my altar to help you through this next week.
Thanks so much for sharing this,
I wish you peace, my friend.
Brynda, I’m so sorry for your loss. I remember meeting you and RickQ in Toronto and really enjoying the afternoon. Memories…
I remember what it was like when my sister Jan died of liver cancer. In nine months she went from moving furniture into a new apartment in Ottawa with her new boyfriend, to a jaundiced yellow shadow of herself in the hospital bed. As far as I can tell, I was on the road when she died, pulled into a rest stop on the 401. I went straight to the hospital and couldn’t find her; I had to call my family and get the scoop. I remember Mark saying, “Are you sitting down…?”.
I remember what it was like the year after Jan died. I remember all the little anniversaries amd place-reminders. I remember wanting to pick up the phone and tell Jan about some new book or movie or idea, and then suddenly hitting the brick wall of remembering. But it gets better. You survive. You go on. You have survived, and you are going on.
But you never forget. It’s been twenty years for me and sometimes it’s still as close and raw as yesterday. But we go on. That’s what life is. We go on, all of us, in spite of the hurt, cradling the memories of our departed. We go on, every person and tree and puppy and amoeba.
We are life. We go on.
Brynda,
As hard as it may be to believe this, the worst is almost behind you. So stay strong for the rest of this week.
My wife died nine years ago. My neighbor had lost his wife a few years before that, and he passed along a thought that helped me get through the next year. His son had told him “You’re in for a year of firsts. First birthday without her. First anniversary without her. First Christmas without her.” And so on. And once you know you can get through the first ones, the next ones will be easier. Not without pain, but easier. It helps to know that there is at least a glimmer of light down the tunnel.
For me, it was like having my wisdom teeth out. At first it was all pain and numbness and a huge gaping hole where something had been for so long. Then the stitches heal, but you keep going back to that hole because it is such a reminder of what you lost. And then one day you realize that you hadn’t thought about that for a day or so. And then for a few days more. And then you get back to living. The hole will always be there, and will be a part of who you are, but you will learn to live with it.
Good luck and take care.
Best wishes for you, Brynda. Your post moved me to tears. I am so very sorry for your loss.
Done, on both accounts. And you know that I’m here for you in any way I can be.
Thank you. It means so much to me that so many of you remember Rick, remember our story, and wish me well. Having loved Rick so fiercely, I cannot stand the thought that he died in vain. Something good has to come of his life. One of those somethings is those of you who loved your partner more than Diet Coke (or ginger ale or chocolate 
) today. To know that toofs and his wife had constructive discussions, or that my posts helped Omega Glory in her grief, and especially to read that my experience helped Satchmo feel less guilt–well, that means the world to me.
CubMistress mentioned what a good man Rick was (she’s my sister, so she knew him). Here’s two of my favorite stories. One day when Rick came home from work, he told me that as a ice-breaker at work, the boss asked everyone what they were proudest of. Everyone else said their degree or something similar, but Rick said it was his marriage. Another time, I told Rick at bedtime that I had seen a stray kitten and I couldn’t get it out of my mind. At his suggestion, we went that night to try to rescue her, and eventually did a few days later. How can I not miss a man like that, who loved me with all his heart? Who looked big and tough, but was a sweetheart to his core?
Brynda,
I didn’t know Rick but I can tell that he was a very lucky guy and was very well loved. I hope that time can help heal the sorrow that you are feeling.
Best wishes,
Sherm
Ps. I talked to both of my sisters and my Dad this weekend and made sure to tell them I loved them all. Thanks for the reminder
Brynda, you do pop into my head occasionally and I am reminded of some of the brief conversation we had right after Rick passed. I hope I was able to provide a little distraction, but I know it’s a small consolation. My thoughts are with you, you’re a great lady and a strong person.