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I think this point might be important to clarify. I don't mean "faking" my feelings, or "faking" that things are ok. I mean "faking" my life. And of course, people you just meet don't need to know the intimate details of your life, and probably don't even want to. In a way I was pretending to myself that everything was normal again. That home was "home" again. That I was at a training center, and Bill was at home. And for anyone sitting with me (i.e., a woman wearing a wedding ring, using the term "us" or "we"), they would assume the same. It was easy to do that in an unfamiliar environment. I almost convinced myself on a certain level. I think that was the part that disturbed me. It's hard to explain...

I've just completed a 2-day training course. It was an intensive two days learning the software package, InDesign. It was a bit of a drive from my house, which was a challenge being that we're in the middle of a rather major storm (So Cal standards anyway). That's beside the point though. I was just emailing a friend telling her how it felt really good to be "out there." To be in the business environment for a couple days. To be learning something I'm interested in. To be engaged in conversation with different people about different topics. The class was made up of 5 women of similar ages. I don't know why it was all women, but we all had lunch together and generally "bonded" for the two days. We exchanged emails and plan to "network." Three of us were in the midst of a career path shift. It was an easy atmosphere. People shared about their families, boyfriends, etc. Even while engaging in conversaion about everyone else's lives, I managed to not mention the details of my own. I never mentioned Bill (although my wedding ring affirms my being married), and therefore never had to address "widowhood" or recent loss, and get those reactions. (Normally I would always talk about Bill, Mrs. Dickens (doggie), etc.) I had pretty much decided that if asked, I would talk of Bill as if he were still here -- in the present tense. The instructor of the course was English and spoke of England and of the type of "English" things I would typically enjoy talking about. I never engaged in those conversations personally, because the obvious question about my link to England would arise. But I felt in a good mood both days. I was happy to be there. I felt "normal." But it occurred to me as I was driving home that I was "faking" something -- even to myself. I was even thinking of showing Bill all that I'd learned. I think my faking it those two days made that feeling even more intense. Over six months and when around new people, I'll do all sorts of conversational dances to avoid the truth. It left me wondering what that meant about where I really am in my grief process. Anyone relate? Oh yeah, and it's our wedding anniversary tomorrow (Jan 26th)...

Don M's comment rings so true to me and sounds exactly like something my wonderful Bill would have said (with an expletive inserted anywhere possible). In fact it is something he did say often. I suffer greatly with "if only" thoughts. I am finally starting to be able to put them to rest. Partly from conversations with people here, with sharing experiences with others, and from realizing that there's no way anyone can do everything. You can't suddenly become a research scientist while dealing with a new diagnosis of someone you love, and managing treatment, etc. I have very good friends in the medical profession who assure me they wouldn't have seen all the things that are troubling me. You're also bound by what the person undergoing treatment wants. Bill had no interest in clinical trials or getting lots of doctors involved. He was the one with the cancer, and he was the one being poked and prodded, so it's only right that he was the one making those decisions. You just need to know you're doing the best you can. If there is something you can do differently today, then do it. Try to keep the "from this day forward" mindset or you'll drive yourself crazy. Be gentle on yourself.

(((Randy))) I can't quite describe what it was like to read your words of two years ago, and know that I didn't "know" you then. It made me realize that perhaps I never actually said, "I'm so sorry for your loss." I know Deb was an amazing woman, and she must be ever so proud of all you've done and continue to do in her honor. Hugs,

(((Grace)))

Hi Peggy, It's great to see a post from you. I'm so sorry about your recent stroke. Wow. Your fighting spirit continues to push forward -- good for you. I'm so sorry to hear about the health problems your son has had as well. Enough already, huh. Thank you for sharing that things are getting better with your grief. I think it's comforting for those of us at any stage to hear that someone's grief is getting better, especially when we know that the depth of their love was and continues to be so great. Your party sounds wonderful! Thank you also for asking how we're all doing. I have good days and bad days. But, I can honestly say I have more good days than bad lately. "Good" being relative, of course. (But when the bad days come, look out!) I'm finding new strengths, new parts of my personality (some good, some not so good), and greater friendships. I realize that Bill and I were such a twosome that I only let other people in so far. That's changed now, and that's one new thing that I like. It's hard to admit anything positive, but I think it's critical to healing. I also miss Bill and appreciate his amazing spirit more than ever. The void is overwhelming. I'm getting ready to face the real world again and begin back at work as soon as I find something suitable -- that will be the next major phase for me. Thank you for sharing your journey -- the good and the bad. Hugs,

I PMed her after you posted about her being in hospital, but haven't heard anything. But then I didn't know if she had computer access. Thinking of you Liz...

This list is just so long. I remember seeing it last year, before my Bill passed. Too many people lost. Too many people grieving.

Leslie, I'm so sorry for what you're going through. I think you live in the Los Angeles area? If so, you might consider checking out this grief councelling place. They have two locations. One in Woodland Hills (where I live) and one in West L.A. I'm posting it publically, because there may be others in the area who are looking for grief support. http://www.ourhouse-grief.org/

Laurie & Nova -- thinking of you both and praying for you in this difficult time. I know how hard it is, and I'm so sorry. Nanci -- ((((Hugs)))) I understand...

((((Sheri)))) I read your post last night but just didn't have a clue what to say. I guess I still don't, but just want you to know that people care what you're going through. Perhaps you saying that to your daughter brought a "downer" on her game day. She may be handling her grief in a different way. Or, perhaps she's having a hard time handling your grief. I think back to when my grandparents both died. I was in my 20s for both. I was so consumed with my own grief in the first few weeks, I don't think I ever even gave a thought to what my mom was going through. I really don't. I also got over those horrible feelings pretty quickly, to be honest. And I adored my grandparents (still do!). It's different for her. One day at a time, Sheri. And if you must, one hour or one minute at a time. Perhaps a grief group.

I too have something that was passed out at a grief group. Usually I don't like the poems they distribute, because I find them too depressing and hopeless. This isn't a poem, but I found it very true. It validates common feelings, and can help others understand a bit better. Grieving My Way I believe grief is a process that involves a lot of time, energy and determination. I won't get over it in a hurry, so don't rush me. I believe grief is intensely personal. This is my grief. Don't tell me how I should be doing it. Don't tell me what's right or wrong. I'm doing it my way, in my time. I believe grief is affecting me in many ways. I am being affected spiritually, physically, emotionally, socially and mentally. If I am not acting like my old self, it's because I'm not my old self and some days I don't understand myself. I believe I am being changed by this process. I see life differently. Some things that were once important to me aren't anymore. There are some things I used to pay little or no attention to that are now important. I believe I will be affected in some way by this loss for the rest of my life. As I get older, I will have new insights into what this death means to me. My loved one will continue to be part of my life and influence me until the day I die.

Thank you for posting that Kelly. It's worth reading.

I'm so sorry your family is having to go through so much all at once. One is bad enough.

Lilly, I don't know how you're feeling, but I can't imagine not being scared. You're such a brave person. Thinking of you...

(((Nick))) I pray that when you look in your beautiful baby's eyes, you will see a part of your mom. She would want you to be excited. She would want you to feel all the joy a new baby brings. And she will know that the love she gave you will help you be a wonderful father. She's so proud already!

Ghita, I am so shocked to read this and so, so sorry. Sometimes there are just no adequate explanations. The first days are a whirlwind. You might feel a large surge of energy with things to do. Don't expect anything specific from yourself. Just let things happen emotionally as they will. It can be a roller coaster, particularly in the first weeks. It's so unreal. Allow people to help you. If friends ask if they can help, say yes. Do anything that you think might bring you a moment of joy, especially spending time with loved ones. And come here -- we understand.

Sarah, I'm so sorry. That is an extremely quick timeframe. You must be in shock and wondering if it's all real. My step kids are ages 22 and 25; their dad, my Bill, was just to turn 55 when we lost him in July. He was bigger than life to them. They loved him so much. They're doing as well as they can be. They both handle it very differently from one another. But I think they both hold on tight to their friends and family and God, and take it one day at a time (which is pretty much what I do). Much love to you,

(((Tina))) Those before and after dates never quite leave you. The world suddenly changes. Everything you see looks different.

Thanks for your insights. Every one of them valuable, as always. Nick -- what you said about the acknowledgment of your anger bringing you closer to your mom. That's so interesting to me. It's real. It's like any relationship between two living people -- if one or both is denying any significant feeling, a door is closed. Great insight. Thank you for sharing that. It was so refreshing to have breakfast with these two "girls." Both in their 40s as well. Both lost their husbands in 2007 to illness (one cancer who died just one week after Bill; one ALS). All of us at a similar point in our journey. I guess I really needed that this morning, and I didn't even talk about the dream. I did talk about the regrets, and leaned I wasn't alone. Then I came home and took a nap. Hugs back...

Last night I had a restless night with little or no sleep, until this morning when I had a vivid dream. It's not the first time I've had a dream like this, but it's been a while. Bill and I were in some kind of semi-separation. It was his choice. Coming and going. In the dream I'm hurt and angry and not understanding. I never get a good answer back from him. Then in a fit of accusations I say something like, "I don't think you would take care of me if I ever got sick." And then he went silent. I wake up briefly then fall back into the dream. We're driving in the car. He looks at me like he's really annoyed or possibly hurt, and says, "I can't believe you think I wouldn't help you if you were sick." Something like that. I wake up for good. At this moment, I'm still upset and very unsettled by it. I watched 4 episodes of Grey's Anatomy last night. I think partly because of the hospital scenes, I went to bed obsessing about things that happened in Bill's last days. Things I regret or wish were done different. Those "if onlys." I think I'll forget about hospital shows for a while. I remember Katie's post about what dreams mean. I wonder if this dream means that I'm angry at Bill for leaving. I know it's very common, but I've never consciously felt that. Particularly as I'm right on the cusp of having to take another big step (finances and new work) that just accentuates his absence. Or maybe it's me I'm angry at. I don't know. This morning I have a breakfast with two women from one of my grief groups (the one I've only been to twice). I'm glad I have that to go to. Anyone have similar experiences?

I never had the opportunity to "meet" Karen, but so sad to hear the news.

Grateful for Nova's new outlook. Grateful for God and his mercies. Grateful for wonderful friends. And new friends (got a call from two women in a new grief group asking me to meet them for breakfast tomorrow). Grateful that every day is a new beginning. Grateful for Jackie. Grateful for all that my wonderful, previous Bill taught me.

Pat, You've had so much illness in your life in recent years. It's understandable that you would feel like that. You are a strong woman who is a true inspiration. When you get your glands checked out and find it's nothing serious, that might alleviate some of the problem -- seeing that it isn't always cancer. ((((Pat))))

Hi Lillian, It's great to hear that you're having a wonderful visit with your family. Enjoy it! (There must be an Enter key somewhere! )