Take care of yourself. Thanks for the disclosure.
Thanks, everyone. It made getting through the first day easier.
Rats, dude. (that’s all I got, never been in your position but I probably will be and I’m not looking forward to it)
Yeah, I imagine for lots of us death of a spouse is about the worst thing there is. It terrifies me.
running coach, glad to see you around and hanging in there.
I’m not gonna say you’re over the worst of it, or anything silly like that, but … you survived the first day. That is enough.
So this morning I put on some music to get my mind off things and the first song that comes up on shuffle is Darryl Worley-I Miss My Friend
I fucking lost it.
This isn’t a home anymore.
It may be cold comfort, but lots of people here to support you while you go through what you need to go through.
Just try not to get tears on my tie. I have an afternoon presentation to give. 
Condolences to you and to all those who mourn. And big hugs to you.
I’m so sorry.
{{{{{{Running Coach}}}}} Of course you did. That’s what tears are for. I promise that it will feel like a home again, and that all the little reminders of her will be comforting once the initial wave has passed. (though I imagine they may feel like fresh stabs right now.) You are in the first tidal wave of grief, it’s only natural to feel you are going under now and then. You won’t. It’s like the flu, you go from thinking it will kill you to wishing it would, but then the worst passes and you’ll start to feel healthy again. Just let the pain come, let the tears come, and let them wash through you.
Try to think of the things that she would do to care for you during your grief, bringing you food, a throw blanket to wrap up in, setting a hot bath or putting a favorite old movie on the television, calling an old friend to come and sit with you. Whatever those things are, honor her by doing them for yourself.
And keep coming back here, and say it as many times as you need to, in as many ways as you need to, on as many days as you need to, because we really do care, and we really do get it, and we really are just honored to listen.
It gets better.
No really, it gets better.
I’m sorry to hear you lost your wife. I lost my wife July 11, 2003. She was 38, we’d been married for 20 years.
When I say it gets better, the emotional pain doesn’t go away; but you’re able to not think about it every waking moment. The first year has all of the triggers. The first birthday, the first Christmas, you get the idea.
Continue to surround yourself with people who love you and don’t mind talking to you about it; even if that’s here, online.
Hang in there.
Sorry for your loss, RC. There is never a right thing to say at times like this but I always think of this bit from Torch Song Trilogy that feels to me like it nails grief pretty well:
I don’t think knowing that helps much in the moment though. Best thoughts possible to you anyway.
Wise words.
If you can, take it day by day. Hour by hour. Breath by breath if you need to. Or in the words of Dory the blue tang, “Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.”
My sincere condolences to you and your family.
Sincere condolences to you and yours.
“From dust are born the suns, the seas, and life.
Dust we are, to dust we shall return.
It swirls in hope and song, and then swirls on.
But dust does not forget the dream that stirs it.”
Marti Steussy
That must hurt, lad, I feel for you. Keep running.
I am struggling to find words that will stand out amidst the usual condolences. Some find comfort in the thought of an afterlife, meeting again. At the risk of coming off callous, for the sake or mere originality, don’t shy away from talking. I am just an ignorant observer, but I have watched multiple family members die in front of me. One time I had a teacher who seems to have died under similar circumstances as your wife - her liver shut down and soon everything was over. I had a childhood friend crushed to death under machinery. I have lost a mother - her death was kept secret for strange reasons related to her mental illness.
However, I am young, and I have not lost a lover of 37 years. My best guess is this person became part of your identity. Every action and moment held meaning and substance simply because it was never alone. The idea of returning to a place that once was home and picking up life must be damn near impossible. The redefining of your future, the sudden realization of the frailty of life, all crashing down at once. The idea of trusting another human being so far from possibility, the senselessness of it all all you can likely think about.
The hardest part will probably be in forgiving yourself. Even though the world will tell you the same goddamn thing again and again, nothing will help but facing shit head on. No one ever knows what to say. Everyone is uncomfortable. But life is messy shit. Emotions are messy shit. Emotions are human.
Make a few mistakes. Don’t hide. Whatever you do, don’t hide. That’s really all the wisdom I’ve learned from this life. Hiding from pain does nothing but lessen you.
I would wish you all the same condolences everyone else does. Bet you’re dead sick of them. If not, then I wish you the same.
Thank you for all you said. However, I’m not sick of the condolences. Not everyone can express what they feel, me among them.
But everyone means to offer comfort and to say “I’m with you”. I cherish that.
So sorry Coach, I wish you and your family the best.
My prayers are with you running coach.