How can it be that the world that they were here so recently and now gone forever? Very difficult for the mind and heart to grasp that.

This. So much this.

I want him so badly, a little voice keeps saying "You could go to him, and you'll never be without him again." But so many people would be even more devastated, thinking they'd failed me. Billions of spouses have gone through this. I have to believe that there will be happiness, that it won't always be a thing of "If only he was here."

I am so angry, it was going so well, one of the last things he said was "Another bump on the road."

He was so excited at the idea of hosting a fireworks viewing party from his room with the stupendous view out over the valley. He'd be wanting to go out on the porch and watch. So these are triggers.

I was just thinking, "God, how much of this do you think they want to hear?" I must remember to reach out to people. Utah is such an awkward place to be.

Is there anything more I should say to a guy in re: the whole birth-control thing when he asks Amanda Marcotte why she hasn't had her tubes tied if she's sure she doesn't want kids besides "You're not the boss of her." Because my inner nine-year-old generally doesn't make my political points for me, despite what my detractors think.ETA: Connie, I don't know what to say, but I believe it will be that raw for quite a while, and then sometimes it will be hard to feel better and have the memories be less acute, but I don't know what it's like to lose a life-partner--I hope that sooner rather than later the stuff you shared makes you as happy as it makes you sad right now.

I was just thinking, "God, how much of this do you think they want to hear?" I must remember to reach out to people.

All of it that you want to share. All of that. We're here.

I am so sorry. This is awful. But people are here.

And while no one shares the same loss, a lot of us have had really difficult losses.

Nothing is the same. The sky darkens; it is not as blue as it was. Food does not taste like it used to. Music does not sound as sweet. Other people seem like aliens because you no longer live in the same world. Your own life is a weight around your neck. Somehow you make it through that first day. And then you make it through the next day. And the next. It doesn't stop. It goes too slow and it goes too fast. But somehow you keep going. And then one day you realize that though the sky isn't as blue as it used to be, it is still blue and it's ok. Food may not be the delight it once was, but it is no longer dust and ashes. Music sounds like a pale imitation but at least it no longer sounds like static. A bit of pleasure comes back. You start to feel those pleasures, small though they be, almost whether you want them or not. And you begin to connect to people again. No, it isn't the same. But it's ok. And sometimes it is better than ok. It will never be the same, but someday it will be another kind of good.

All of it that you want to share. All of that. We're here.

This. Completely this.

I've heard that voice in my own head, Connie. It's valid. But not the only option, by any means.

One of the things that got me through was having to call a friend each day when I woke up. It was tedious and it made me mad...no lie...but _having_ to do it gave me a thing to do. It didn't make me want to live, but I was willing to do it because my people asked it of me.

I wish there was some easier way. I wish someone could be there, just a presence, for you. Failing that, we're here.

What Beverly said.

What Cass said ( because I cannot figure out quoting on this device yet.)

Let people listen. If they aren't listening right and it's too hard and they rub you wrong, they aren't the right listeners,but don't stop. The right ones are out there and I'd like to think here.

One of the listener things I've learned that I've told mom when coping with her sister's loss of Frank is that she can't fix IT, but she can just be there to chase all the mental trails and head them off when they're heading to unproductive grounds- but nothing can fix.

It's been a weird place to know the ground better than my mom in dealing with loss, and while I wish I'd no need for it and certainly not the circumstances leading to it, I know it's actually helped my mom and my aunt. Life is just weird.

I was just thinking, "God, how much of this do you think they want to hear?"

We want to hear whatever you want to share.

I'm so sorry, sweetie.

We want to hear whatever you need to say, Connie.

You are a strong person, and you know he'd want you to stay strong.

One of the listener things I've learned that I've told mom when coping with her sister's loss of Frank is that she can't fix IT, but she can just be there to chase all the mental trails and head them off when they're heading to unproductive grounds- but nothing can fix.

THIS. She learned this because of me.

Sarameg is the reason why I made it through. She didn't need to be there physically, but she would have been had I asked. Her nightly phone calls were beacons in a very dark place, and often the only things I could hold on to. She didn't judge; she didn't preach; she didn't fix. She just was. And that's what I needed.

Share everything. Share nothing. It's not going to change the fact that we support you, and we're willing to take whatever you want to throw our way.