I’m so sorry… 
You are in our thoughts here.
i’m very glad the both of you had the courage to go for the gold ring. thank you for sharing a bit of your wonderful husband with us.
i hope the years of love you had together sustains you in the years ahead.
may you be granted strength and peace.
I’m very sorry to hear about this, js. I’m glad that you had so much good stuff together tho.
My condolences to you.
I hope that when I die, someone will think as well of me.
Hi, everyone.
I think reality is setting in for me today. He’s not out of town on a trip or gone to a movie or caught up playing a computer game. He’s gone entirely. And I’m alone entirely.
Your well-wishes help. It makes me feel like he had an effect on the world, even if only indirectly, that he didn’t just disappear. Already I feel a little disconnected from our life together, as if I only dreamed it.
Know that you are not entirely alone.
I think the disconnect is how the mind protects itself after a great shock, and death is a shock no matter how prepared we think we are. Just be gentle with yourself, and talk when you need to talk and be quiet when you need to be quiet. You know we are here whenever you need us.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
If anyone is interested in donating towards a memorial for Steve, please see this thread.
jsgoddess, thanks for checking in every so often. I’m so glad you still feel like being “here” with us.
jsgoddess, my deepest sympathies and my wishes for peace and strength.
Thanks for organizating the donation thread, ZipperJJ.
I’m very sorry for your terrible loss.
My condolences as well. You have many friends here who care about you. Please let us help if you need anything.
Bill
jsgoddess - I am so sorry. When my wife died years ago, the reality asserted itself in stages. First, our dog came home from staying with friends and he ran directly to the bed where she had spent most of the year preceding her death. For some reason, the dog’s disappointment made her death seem more real.
Then all the friends and family went home and I was in the house alone, dealing with silence and echoes. Then I went back to work, and returned to the empty house each night, and it was still empty.
Then months later, a strange recurring pain. When I would mow the lawn while my wife was ill, she would sometimes come out to the patio in her bathrobe when she wanted me for something. She would just stand there, waiting until I would notice her and stop the mower to see what she wanted. During the spring after she died, I would catch myself looking toward the patio expecting to see her.
And finally, for years after her death, I would find myself thinking “I can’t wait to tell Joanne about this” when something that I thought would interest her would come to my attention.
I’m sitting at work right now crying.
Julie, you will be in my thoughts and prayers for a long time. I wish you peace. Peace will come, eventually.