John Roskopf - I Carry Your Heart in Mine: Creating a Meaningful Life after the Death of a Spouse

It never hurts less; it just hurts less often.

Widow of victim of American Airlines Flight 191 crash in Chicago

A ugust 7, 2014 was our 43rd wedding anniversary. Thats when I first noticed the limp.

Carol and I met in college in 1968. Quincy College, now Quincy University, a small Catholic college in southern Illinois, was the perfect place for young students to meet, although for us it surely wasnt love at first sight. In fact, we couldnt stand each other the first time we met, outside of the local bowling alley. But somehow, a year later we reconnected and never parted ways after that. I think it was on our third date that Carol told me that she wanted two boys, and she even had the names picked out, Stephen and Patrick.

We were almost the same age. She was not quite two months older, but she was a year ahead of me in school. Upon graduation with a degree in elementary education, she had just one job interview, Saints Faith, Hope and Charity Catholic School in Winnetka, Illinois, and it would be the only paying job she would ever have. Teaching was her mission in life and she embraced every day of it. She loved the children and they loved her. We got engaged at Christmas of my senior year and were married right after my graduation. We never did have Stephen and Patrick. Instead, God blessed us with Kate and Meghan, two wonderful girls who owned us both. They now have beautiful families of their own.

Carol was never one to run to the doctor. It wasnt until I insisted that she agreed to go. That was October 14, 2014. She said she was not in pain, but that her leg just did not seem to support her weight. That was strange because she walked a lot. In fact, when we went on our strolls together, I had to work to keep up. Somehow, and Ill never figure out exactly how, our family doctor knew what was wrong as soon as she told her story. He immediately sent her to an oncologist for tests. She had stage four breast cancer that had metastasized to her spinal column, liver, and possibly her brain. The weakness in her leg was due to a large growth, one of a dozen, on her spine that was blocking nerve impulses to her leg. The diagnosis was immediate and bleak. On our second visit, after a round of tests, Carol asked if she would live long enough to see the birth of Meghans first child, who was due in mid-December. The oncologists did what they could, but she passed away on December 15, just two months after her first visit to the doctor. She never saw her grandson, born just six days later.

It is impossible to describe the pain, the anguish, the feeling of utter helplessness I felt after Carols death; nothing can compare to the loss of a spouse, especially after a long and successful marriage. You look forward to the many happy days to come, and then, Wham! Shes gone. Youve lost your partner; youve lost that intimate connection. In a large sense, your future has been stolen from you. People will try to comfort you with all sorts of clichs, like It takes time, or Shell always be with us. Have you heard the old sentimental standard, Memories are so we can have roses in the winter? I have several times! All from well-meaning family, friends, relatives, and coworkers who have no real idea what you are going through; they simply feel obligated to say something .

No amount of platitudes is going to make you feel better. People somehow think you will get over it or past it or be able to move on. It doesnt work that way. You dont get over it; you learn to live with it. If youve been through such a loss, you know. There is no Big Aha moment where everything suddenly becomes crystal clear and from which you leap to a new life. You cant just flip a switch.