Hi, Jill,

The first post of yours I read was about speeding up grief's duration (if I remember the wording correctly).  In my opinion, it had good points and far too generalized points. 

But then I read this post and I see that you feel the same agony (in your own special way) that we all do.  It came across as you being cheerfully optimistic and then suddenly, NOPE, ain't happenin'.  May I ask why there's such a contrast? I'm just curious.

My stories been up and it feels really redundant to type it again, but I'm going to.  My husband was first diagnosed with colorectal cancer stage IIIC December 6, 2010.  Exactly 7 days after his dog had to be put to sleep because of inoperable pancreatic cancer.  I'm sure you experienced all of this in some form or fashion, too.  He was immediately put on radiation and chemo.  I mean, they flew with the appointments.  We knew it was serious.  In March 10th, I believe, of 2011, he went into surgery.  They removed 16 inches of his colon and surrounding lymph nodes and tissue where it was obviously spreading.  There was a big question as to whether or not he'd have to use a colostomy bag permanently.  He did get an ileostomy bag temporarily.  But, while they couldn't save the "reservoir" they were able to save the sphincter muscle. From the day he was diagnosed, I did not leave his side save for twice.  Once because my sister-in-law forced me to go home for a few hour nap because I'd been at the hospital every second he had for two weeks.  I got an hour sleep and he called me and said, 'I need you'.  I said, "I'm on my way" and I was out of the door in five minutes.  The last time I missed going to a chemo treatment with him was when my mother was in the hospital this last time with pancreatitis that ended up rupturing and killing her. 

In December of 2011, he left his last chemo treatment declared in full remission.  But, they said he had a 50/50 shot of it coming back and if it did, it would be either the liver or lungs.  In 2015...it was the lungs.  Stage IV.  But he didn't make it to his fifth chemo treatment.  He had an abdominal aortic aneurysm, a rare side effect of the new chemo drug.  I called his oncologist and spoke with him personally while my husband was at work.  He didn't want to say it, but I finally got him to...if it came back as cancer that had metastacized from the colorectal cancer, it would be Stage IV lung cancer.  At most, we had five years.  We ended up with 4 months.  My mother passed on July 13, 2015, and my husband went quickly and painlessly 12:23 a.m. August 13, 2015. 

Now...a lot of what you wrote in the letter is true for me, too, and many, many others here!

But if there is something I have learned (not sure if you mentioned it, too) it's that everyone's grief is different.  Everyone experiences their particular grief differently.  And there are those that were so ripped apart in such a violent way that they don't even show any signs of being able to work through their grief....if that's even really possible and all that exists for them is anguish, hopelessness, fury, the destruction of hope, the complete annihilation of their world.  Complex grief.

Then there are some who exist.  No live...but exist.  Go through the motions, go through the violent swings, numbness, and then memories of love. 

I have read many letters/memorials on this site and they are all beautiful!  And in that writing, comes a cleansing.  May just be a sigh of relief that lasts 2 seconds.  But there's some kind of cleansing. 

I am glad you've joined and look forward to reading more of your posts! 

I am so sorry you lost joey and I wish I could take those memories of the suffering and make them be al