About Life After Kim

This blog is intended as partly therapy for me and partly to help others wading through similar emotional bogs. My Kim passed away just 7 months, 2 weeks, 2 days, 15 hours, and 14 minutes after her diagnosis. Her diagnosis occurred in the late morning hours 18 April 2020 – the height of the COVID panic and what (at the time appeared to be) the misguided, kneejerk lockdowns and draconian, unconstitutional, and, notably: continuing infringements on personal liberties by certain members of the political class. (I promised myself this will not become political, but if there is one thing in my grieving that would qualify as the “anger stage” it is my reaction to and opinion of those who perpetrated – and continue to perpetrate – this unconstitutional farce on us; the people who mandated that, under threat of violence, my wife be without the comfort of me or any family member when the medical equivalent of a death sentence was handed down upon her. So please forgive me for this one outburst.)

The average age of a widow in the US today is 55 years of age. Being an average, some will be younger, some: older. I’m pretty close to that average. Most will have been on a decades-long journey with their wife – three, in my case. Most will have heaps of memories; memories that will kick up like pheasant in the wheat fields, with shotgun blasts of pain to follow them up; some pleasant, some: not so much. The passing of your spouse under these conditions removes a very important part of you no surgeon can touch. You think you’re prepared if your spouse passes slowly, as mine did – but you’re not. You can never be prepared for this. And the emotions can be difficult to manage. If you’re lucky, you have raised some compassionate, caring children to aid you as you pass through the worst of your grief, as I do. So many today do not.

If the above description sounds like you, read on – see how one guy is working through this. Hopefully, something in my experience will help you with yours.