It was a beautiful early evening in Cape Coral, Florida. My husband, Mike, had called earlier excited because he heard where the fish were biting. Our niece Laura (from Texas) was visiting us on her spring break and their earlier attempts at fishing had come up empty; so he was very anxious to get going and get out there. But, before he left he called me at work and wanted to know what we were doing for dinner. So typical of my darling husband and his quest for his evening meal. I laughed and told him that I would make his favorite spaghetti and that I could not wait to see him later. I told him I loved him with all my heart and excited and in a hurry he said he loved me too with all his heart and that was the last time I ever spoke to him. He died that afternoon, on his boat, with my niece the witness. He had a sudden massive heart attack. In explanation to his doctor from what Laura had told me, he told me that Mike passed out and he passed on. He never knew what hit him.

The next several days and weeks are all a blur. The horror that a surviving spouse is tossed into is mind boggling. The mind with its protective armor—does just that—it protects you and numbs you because there is only so much pain a person can endure. Phone calls are made, funeral arrangements are made, and decisions are made all in a haze of grief.

And this brings me to that small horrible word—grief. Our society does not prepare us for what grief does to your heart, your mind and your soul. 

How to find your way back seems to be the question that plaques widows and widowers. Where do you start, how can you go on. You just do it. You have to do it. There is no right or wrong way, no black and yellow book—"Widows for Dummyies." Each of our grief is unique, and each of our journey's complicated.

I know that this is by far the hardest thing I have ever experienced, but I have also learned more about myself and the world around me during this period of grief as well.

The dictionary describes grief as "deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement." If you have ever experienced grief, I think you would agree with me that this does not even come close.

To fully experience grief is to succumb to the terrors of the mind and heart. And then to find yourself on the other end of grief—to find your way through it, you bravely have to embrace the pain and feel all of its intensity. I believe that the intensity you feel is equivalent to the loss you have incurred. The bigger the loss, the more pain.

But how do you let yourself feel the pain? Where do you find the strength and courage to go to that place that you find yourself, but that you don't want to be?

I have become a ferocious reader, bought so many books on grief, soaking up the information like a sponge, and have tried to read and learn to make myself feel better. I hated being this sad and confused and miserable. Day after day you wake up only to be reminded of the nightmare that has become your life.

I remember telling a dear friend that I hated that moment just a split second prior to when you were fully awake, because the reminder of your loss is instant and cuts through your heart like a knife. But you do wake up, and you do cry again and you do manage to find your way through another day.

And then down the road of your day, you remember that your loved one is dead and the reality of it all hits you like a ton of bricks. Mike is dead. He will never be coming home. He will never hug and kiss me again. He will never call you again at work and ask "Honey, what's for dinner?" You think this is so hard, but I got through the first week. This first week—as it turns out—was a walk in the park compared to the next couple of months.

Cards and flowers are not being sent anymore; friends and family have stopped calling and gotten on with their own lives; you are alone in your grief.

So what do you do now, when you have never felt so alone or never been this scared? You find help. You call your pastor, you call your doctor or you call anyone else you trust and you can confide in and you find help. You find a Grief Counselor, and/or you find a local support group—you need to talk and you need to cry. Make sure the Counselor that you select is a fit for you. You have to try them on just as you would try on a pair of pants. You talk to your friends until you can't stand the sound of your own voice. When they start rolling their eyes at you, you find other friends who don't. You cry until you have no tears left to weep, for as long as it takes, as many tears as you need to weep.

Grief is personal and scary and sacred. No two people grieve the same way and no two grief journey's are the same. Everyone moves at their own pace. Some may take months, others may take years and the remaining never find their way back.

I don't want to be one of those wives that never finds her way back. My Mom is one of them. When my Dad died years ago from prostrate cancer, my Mom became an alcoholic. We basically lost both our parents that year.

When you loose someone you love, a part of you dies with them. People tell you that time heals. I do not believe this to be true. Time does not heal. What happens is hopefully you will learn new coping skills and will create a new way to live your life without your loved one. Hopefully, you will become stronger and more empathetic to others. Some of us are wired differently and are highly sensitive and feel this pain more than others. I am one of them. I have had to learn biofeedback and all sorts of other skills. These skills can be taught—like yoga and deep breathing. Seek out ways to make yourself feel better.

Talk to your loved ones who have passed and ask them to send you patience and strength. They will hear you and answer your call.

This will become a series of trials and errors, but take baby steps and learn to depend on yourself—become your new best friend.

For me, the road to recovery started with joining a new local gym. The trainer there is also a widow whose husband committed suicide five year's previous and left her with four children. My 5:30AM workout buddy is a kind gentle man whose wife (his childhood sweetheart and the mother of his children) died years ago from cancer and he remarried again, found his way to happiness again and has been supportive and encouraging. Here comes the part about learning more about myself and life—those whose paths I have crossed during these most difficult months have been amazing people. I thank God for them and for those I have yet to meet. I had to physically get the stress of grief out. It was stuck inside me and making me crazy. A physical release in addition to crying was necessary for me. Long walks helped too, but it was not enough. And these hard workouts also helped me sleep, which had also become a very scarce commodity for me.

Finding your way back after your have lost your future requires much soul searching. What do you want to do with the rest of your life? Where do you want to live? Do you want to share your life with someone again and chance being hurt like this again? Can you endure this pain again should something happen to him? Will anyone totally get you again—and love you anyway? Do I really have the strength to go on?

The questions come at you from all sides and you manage what you can, and put the rest on hold for another day.

Keep moving, keep crying, keep talking until you can't do it anymore.

By then… for however long it takes, you may find the need to withdraw a bit to get your energy back. We have been to hell and back and need to re-group. Allow yourself time to do all of this in baby steps and you may find that now and again, you may take a step back. Don't be alarmed, this is all part of the process. You will move forward again—one step at a time.

Whatever religion or belief system you use, call on this as well as often and as much as you need to.

And when you think you can't stand it another moment… breath and realize that you have just gotten through that moment.

This is by far the most difficult thing any of us will ever go through and again, this is something our culture does not prepare us for.

Find the beauty that is still in our world and embrace it. Find the things in yourself that you love and embrace those as well.

Be gentle with yourself, be kind to yourself.

If you are lucky enough to have your legal issues neatly tied up and finalized, that is a gift that keeps on giving. If you were like me, a death suddenly with no will, you end up using energy to deal with family and lawyers, when you would much prefer using that energy to deal with your pain and grief.

It has been about 14 weeks now since Mike has died and I truly did not know what the term "depth of despair" meant. I do now. I pray to God and to Mike for strength and courage and guidance.

Our last moments as a couple were wonderful and kind and loving. I have no regrets other than what could have been, and what should have been.

I grieve for my husband, I grieve for the life we shared together and planned to share together forever and my world will never be quite the same without him. I will spend the rest of my life thanking God for this wonderful man and for the time that we spent together here on earth. I also have a strong faith that one day we will all be together again. In my heart, I know this to be true.

And I promise you, the sun will still come up in the morning, fish will still be caught off of Sanibel Island, and spaghetti dinners will still be made—just not with Mike.

Sleep with the angels my love!

Wishing you peace,

Dawn Terry

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