It is now just 8 months since my wife, Jean has passed, in hospital with severe Alzheimer’s and frailty. People often say to me how are you ? To be frank, I feel devastated I still cannot believe that she has gone. Jean was my partner, my rock, my anchor in life. I worshipped her and cared for her these past 7-8 years, and to have her gone now is almost too hard to take.
My grief is profound. I find it impossible to move on. I think about her all the time, with thoughts going through my mind about the caring I gave her, did I do enough, was she in pain etc etc.
My god was it hard going for Jean and for me.
What I had to deal with, felt at times unreal, and if someone had said this is what it could be like - I probably would have said that I can’t do it. Somehow I managed, how I don’t know, inner strength perhaps. What I do know is that because of my unconditional love for Jean and living up to my wedding vows, I just carried on and on and did it. I loved the bones of that woman. She was the most honest, caring, loving person you could wish to meet. She was after all my best friend. She loved family. She loved life until she was overwhelmed by this dreadful, dreadful disease. At times the fact her memory was waning would make her cry, and her tears destroyed me.
Grief was just a word to me, it meant little, but experiencing it now has been the hardest thing that I have ever faced. The thought that the person you were married too and lived with and doted over for 56 years and married for 51 years, shared life’s experiences and that I will never again speak to or interact with, is just so difficult to take and accept. To think that I will never again hear Jean’s voice, makes me want to weep.
Unfortunately Jean slowly ebbed away before my eyes, and I had to, although I didn’t have any choice in her matter, to step up and care for her. I would have done anything for her and often did without hesitation. A lot of the time I was floundering, scratching my head, thinking what should I do now. To watch a loved one go downhill before your very eyes is unimaginably difficult to take, and to accept. To look at Jean look at me questionably and not understanding me was heart wrenching. To think that I had to wash her, feed her, cook, clothe her, toilet her, medicate her, I find unimaginable, and it’s not something that I ever thought I would be doing. There were plenty of down days where Jean just wanted to do her own thing and I could not dissuade her. At times she didn’t recognise me which at first really hurt.
As Jean’s condition worsened I didn’t know which way to turn. She didn’t want outside help and getting any meaningful help during Lockdown was difficult if not impossible. I must admit that I didn’t want to lose Jean to a care home and she certainly didn’t want to it either. Although near the end I tried In earnest to get some form of help, as I realised that I was finding it difficult and if was affecting me. On her Alzheimer’s journey she had a lot to put up with. I could write a book.
I read somewhere that the grief I’m going through is like PTSD, I can quite believe it. I have had two doses of grief, one watching her deteriorate before my eyes and secondly since her passing, and the utter despair afterwards. After the initial grief we start to move into an all embracing sense of sadness and emptiness. At the moment I find it difficult to move forward. I know that I’m trying to live my life currently as if she is still with us. Like her dressing gown is still in place, as are her clothes etc.
I have survived some recent milestones like our Anniversary, her Birthday, my Birthday and Christmas, it hasn’t been easy. Luckily I have a Son and daughter who have been marvellous and very supportive. I am very proud of them and believe that Jean was instrumental in their upbringing.
I often get very emotional thinking about her. I do feel lonely and alone, and when I get home after visiting my kids, I close the front door and the silence is deafening. When Jean was at her worst, I used to fantasise about having time to myself, but now It feels like a dark place.
Although Jean was 80, I think she went too soon.
How do I move on from this ?
It’s difficult to imagine, I believe it will be a long and difficult road ahead.
It will take time.
My grief is profound. I find it impossible to move on. I think about her all the time, with thoughts going through my mind about the caring I gave her, did I do enough, was she in pain etc etc.
My god was it hard going for Jean and for me.
What I had to deal with, felt at times unreal, and if someone had said this is what it could be like - I probably would have said that I can’t do it. Somehow I managed, how I don’t know, inner strength perhaps. What I do know is that because of my unconditional love for Jean and living up to my wedding vows, I just carried on and on and did it. I loved the bones of that woman. She was the most honest, caring, loving person you could wish to meet. She was after all my best friend. She loved family. She loved life until she was overwhelmed by this dreadful, dreadful disease. At times the fact her memory was waning would make her cry, and her tears destroyed me.
Grief was just a word to me, it meant little, but experiencing it now has been the hardest thing that I have ever faced. The thought that the person you were married too and lived with and doted over for 56 years and married for 51 years, shared life’s experiences and that I will never again speak to or interact with, is just so difficult to take and accept. To think that I will never again hear Jean’s voice, makes me want to weep.
Unfortunately Jean slowly ebbed away before my eyes, and I had to, although I didn’t have any choice in her matter, to step up and care for her. I would have done anything for her and often did without hesitation. A lot of the time I was floundering, scratching my head, thinking what should I do now. To watch a loved one go downhill before your very eyes is unimaginably difficult to take, and to accept. To look at Jean look at me questionably and not understanding me was heart wrenching. To think that I had to wash her, feed her, cook, clothe her, toilet her, medicate her, I find unimaginable, and it’s not something that I ever thought I would be doing. There were plenty of down days where Jean just wanted to do her own thing and I could not dissuade her. At times she didn’t recognise me which at first really hurt.
As Jean’s condition worsened I didn’t know which way to turn. She didn’t want outside help and getting any meaningful help during Lockdown was difficult if not impossible. I must admit that I didn’t want to lose Jean to a care home and she certainly didn’t want to it either. Although near the end I tried In earnest to get some form of help, as I realised that I was finding it difficult and if was affecting me. On her Alzheimer’s journey she had a lot to put up with. I could write a book.
I read somewhere that the grief I’m going through is like PTSD, I can quite believe it. I have had two doses of grief, one watching her deteriorate before my eyes and secondly since her passing, and the utter despair afterwards. After the initial grief we start to move into an all embracing sense of sadness and emptiness. At the moment I find it difficult to move forward. I know that I’m trying to live my life currently as if she is still with us. Like her dressing gown is still in place, as are her clothes etc.
I have survived some recent milestones like our Anniversary, her Birthday, my Birthday and Christmas, it hasn’t been easy. Luckily I have a Son and daughter who have been marvellous and very supportive. I am very proud of them and believe that Jean was instrumental in their upbringing.
I often get very emotional thinking about her. I do feel lonely and alone, and when I get home after visiting my kids, I close the front door and the silence is deafening. When Jean was at her worst, I used to fantasise about having time to myself, but now It feels like a dark place.
Although Jean was 80, I think she went too soon.
How do I move on from this ?
It’s difficult to imagine, I believe it will be a long and difficult road ahead.
It will take time.
