34 replies

My father died on April 18th of this year, 10 days before my eighteenth birthday. To say that this news shocked me is to say nothing. I moved to another city to study in September 2015 and therefore did not see my parents so often (my hometown is located in the ATO zone, so getting there was a problem for some time). I loved my father madly, I remember how on my last visit before leaving he cooked me the most delicious and favorite semolina porridge, and when I left I told him “don’t be sad, daddy, I’ll come soon!” He had a sick heart, but no one thought about death, even he himself never said that he was sick and that something could happen to him. Mom went to work and returned to find him dead. Cardiac arrest, one moment. The day I found out about his death and the next three were hell on Earth. Relatives who came to the funeral just to see each other “in some century” only made it worse, the aunt said “did you see my daughter reposted it in classmates! And she put a photo of it in the frame in the attachment!” Mom was left alone in another city and in a large house, in which everything reminds her of him. I can’t believe it all, I still talk about him in the present tense and I don’t want it any other way. I believe my father is with me, without him I see no point in anything.

I was 13 years old.
In the evening, my mother started having chest pains. As always, she blamed everything on the chondrosis that had been tormenting her for a long time. I smeared ointment on her back and safely went to bed in her room, and my mother went to drink tea in the kitchen.
At night I woke up from the crying of my 2-month-old brother, saw that the light was on in the kitchen, but for some reason I did not attach any importance to it. I rocked my brother to sleep and went back to sleep.
In the morning I woke up to the screams of my father, who was trying to revive my mother. But it's all in vain. Sudden coronary death. She was 39 years old.
To be honest, for a long time I refused to believe what happened. For six months, every time I woke up in the morning, I thought it was a bad dream, but now my mother would come into the room and say “good morning” to me. But alas.
After this came the realization of death and further remorse, but I did not have the right to “lose myself”, because I had to raise my brother.
I am eternally grateful to my father, grandmother and aunt, who were there and did not let each other lose heart. I have a wonderful family.
Take care of your loved ones.

And I was 18.

My father died, and I still remember how the news of this frankly shocked me. Despite the fact that I didn’t know him at all: my mother left him as soon as I was one year old (a typical story for the CIS), and subsequently he simply did not appear until I myself took the initiative at the age of 16. And the reason for that initiative was the financial difficulties that I experienced (my mother did not apply for child support). And then somehow for two years we had a market relationship, with periodic, non-reciprocal influxes of tenderness and interest towards him. And so, I’m 18, my grandmother calls, his mother, that is, and reports that he has fallen into a coma. I didn’t find time to go see him at the hospital, apparently I didn’t really want to look for him. And three days later my grandmother called again: “Lyosha, hold on. Dad has died.”

And so, I am standing over the coffin, surrounded by many mourners, and holding a handful of earth in my hands; I let her go and hear a dull knock on the varnished lid of the coffin. I was covered with a huge avalanche of emotions and thoughts, typical for a person in my position: “That’s it. This is the end. I’ll never see him again, I won’t tell him anything”... At first, my consciousness simply rejected this fact, then periodically I it was covered again, but now everything is ok.

The only thing I regret and that sometimes haunts me is that in my entire life I have never told him that I love him and don’t hold a grudge for all those unpleasant moments from childhood that are firmly etched in my memory. And now I really want to do it.

Take care of your parents.

I had a very difficult mother, she was incredibly responsive to people and compassionate, but being her daughter is very difficult. She was a bright and emotional person. Due to this, in some ways it really crippled me even in childhood; at times we had a very difficult relationship. But no matter what, I learned to love her and see the good in her. Look at the good and try to ignore the negative. In general, for 22 years, what have we not experienced. I loved her very much. And it’s a shame that I didn’t learn this patience earlier. She passed away in January. And I miss her very much. She left behind a wonderful 5-year-old daughter and a one-and-a-half-year-old son. Now I'm with them. But I will never dare to say that I am in her place. She was amazing.

When she died, I wasn't there. I was sick and was with a young man. And dad sailed through Denmark to Baltimore. There were children at home... they called their godfather for help, but it was too late. It was in the evening. Only in the morning did my dad call me. When I woke up and saw a bunch of missed ones, I immediately realized that there was trouble. But I didn’t expect this. She was 42. When I arrived home, she was already in the morgue, I immediately took care of the kids and tried not to think about what happened. I tried to hold on, for the kids and dad. But when I was cooking porridge, everything fell out of hand, and then my mother’s dissatisfied voice appeared in my head, saying that everything should be done wrong. And then a flood of despair washed over me, I almost whined, “Come, take the spoon from me, show me how to do it. Scold me! Just please come.”

Dad was only able to come on the 4th day; they decided to bury him on the 9th. When we arrived at the morgue, my dad told me from the doorway, “Hold on, we’ll get out if we have to, this is not something you can calmly look at.” But when I approached my mother, I didn’t see her. Maybe because of the makeup and unusual clothes, but I didn’t recognize her. There were a lot of people around. About 100 people. And everyone was next to mom. They looked at my father and me and apparently waited for a reaction. It was very difficult for my father. I hope I never see him the same way. But I didn’t know how to behave, I was dumbfounded. I started unpacking the flowers. I didn’t know where to put the paper and some woman I didn’t know came up and took it. She brought me out of my stupor. People behaved very strangely. Someone roared deliberately, someone told me that I have a wonderful father and he will definitely marry again, someone behaved as if he had come to a party. All this caught the eye, but for some reason not many. Despite the huge number of cars, my dad and I went in a hearse with my mother. Mostly we were silent, Marina’s brothers spoke, on abstract topics. Dad tried to hold on and said that it was a unique hour and a half when mom was in the car, but it was so quiet. And he was right, this silence could not be ignored.

Mom was a believer, so we decided that a funeral service was necessary. Apart from the feeling that this shouldn’t happen, I didn’t experience any other emotions during these 9 days. We stood through the entire service, and then asked to remove the flowers, then we had to close the coffin. I stood at her feet and someone said that in the morgue at her feet they left her photograph and some things that turned out to be unnecessary, from those that dad brought to prepare her for this day. I went to get it and saw her foot in a sock, a special slipper. I took her leg. I didn’t recognize her in her face, but no one painted or touched her leg. And I saw her legs so often. She didn't like socks and slippers. And this was my mother. At that moment it dawned on me, here she is. She lies here. Now they will close the coffin and I will not see her again. I was hysterical. I got into the car and cried there for about five minutes like I had never cried before. It was bitterly cold. January 16.

Almost six months have passed. On the one hand, I was given responsibility for the children, which made me more mature, but on the other hand, it really brought me down. Without her, it became empty everywhere she went. To this day, people I don’t know stop me on the street and show me sympathy. I am infinitely pleased that so many people remember her. Take care of your loved ones, we are all not as simple and not as good as we think, but loved ones are loved ones.

My mom died when I was 25. Cancer. I was 8 months pregnant, maybe this fact eased the pain a little. Of course, it was painful, difficult, I didn’t believe it for a long time. Then there was a feeling that I was left without a head, it took me a very long time to get used to it. Then I realized that, left without my mother, I had grown up irrevocably. They didn’t take me to the funeral, the doctor forbade it, but the next day I was still at the grave, and I felt a little better. After a while, the pain dulled, I got used to the idea that my mother was no more, but I still (8 years have passed) feel regret that my mother never saw my daughters.

My father died when I was 7 years old. Moreover, he died at home and on a holiday. When my mother came into the room and told me, I started crying. They didn’t let me go to the funeral, they left me to play with my cousin. The most interesting thing is that I knew that my father’s funeral was on that day, but I had fun with my sister. Then, when I was 9-10 years old, the thought arose that I was to blame for his death (then, a long time later, I read somewhere that children often blame themselves for the death of their parents). But now quite a lot of time has passed and it has really healed. Of course, growing up in a single-parent family took its toll later, despite the fact that my mother later got married. It may seem cynical, but it’s good that it wasn’t my mother who died, without her it would have been much more difficult.

I was 18 when I became an orphan. My dad passed away when I was 14, and then my mom left too. Cancer took her, at that time she had been ill for six years, and I understood that the inevitable was inevitable, but when it really happened, I didn’t think it would be like this. She left right before my eyes, and when I had to call an ambulance, it came flooding in, I couldn’t say the words “mom died.” There was a shock. I didn’t immediately clearly realize how my life would change. Further, my relatives protected me from everything related to the organization of the funeral; for three days, being left alone for at least half an hour, I began to sob, and the funeral was already allowed. Then - a year and a half on drugs in an attempt to forget, an endless feeling of guilt when I let go and all that. I was able to quit and recovered a little. Three years have passed already. I'm more or less used to living alone, but in any case, it's still sad. I really regret that I can’t introduce my mother to my boyfriend, I think she would like him. I often think about her, and I wonder if there is something after death, does she see me or is this fiction?

I was 17. My mother was ill, she had to have her leg amputated, but I didn’t know that her illness could be dangerous - I thought they would amputate her, well, there would be a prosthesis. But a thromboembolism happened... First, my father called and said that he was urgently going to get medicine that could help, five minutes later he called back and said that was all. My legs gave way and I screamed. Then I went to tell my sister (she was five years old) and reassure my grandmother. Then call relatives. It was like being delirious. At night I took two tablets of Rododorm to fall asleep. Many years have passed, I still consider this all some kind of bad dream, an error in the program. By and large, I never believed in my mother’s death, although I remember the funeral clearly.

I lost my father at 10 years old. That morning, somewhere between 4 and 7 o’clock, I felt very bad, I couldn’t sleep, and bad thoughts came into my head, and I also had to write an Olympiad in Russian at another school. Dad was already in the hospital for the second week. When I returned from school, my seven-year-old second cousin called and asked if I knew that my dad had died. I took it as a joke; after all, my mother would have told me. I immediately call my mother back, asking if this is true, and she says yes in tears. It turned out that he died precisely during those hours when I was tossing and turning without sleep. Then my mother came home from the hospital, along with her friend, who consoled her. And I couldn’t even say anything, it just didn’t fit in my head. Memories immediately flashed back to how badly I spoke to him, often saying “leave me alone.” There was no strength to cry. I went outside, lay down in the snow, looked at the blue sky and asked daddy to come back.

Now, seven years later, his photograph hangs in my room, but I no longer remember him. I don’t remember the smile, the laughter, his voice. Remembering that day immediately brought tears to my eyes.

Love and take care of your parents.

My father died this year. Exactly one day before my 23rd birthday.

The story is quite banal in terms of its prosaic nature. My parents divorced more than 10 years ago, and the relationship with my father and further communication between us did not work out (there were attempts). During all this time, I managed to experience a whole range of feelings: from the deepest hatred and desire to abandon my father, to the awareness of strong love and regret.

I always wanted to keep in touch with him, just spend time together and know that I have a dad and he loves me very much. But this was not the case. He found himself another wife, he had other children, and it seemed to me that there are not only former spouses, there are also former children. I spent my entire teenage period in protracted hatred, then I decided to let go of all the grievances and move on with my life. So she lived, with a part of herself torn away. A few more years passed, and I realized that it was not easy for him either: he took a wife with 2 children and had two of his own, he worked alone, he had to look for every opportunity to earn something and there was not enough time and energy for anything else. But this also seemed to me an unconvincing reason. But the relationship with his grandparents (his parents) is good (we communicate constantly). And on the occasion of my grandmother’s anniversary a year ago, I saw my dad; that was our last meeting. I had mixed feelings: he seemed like a stranger to me, and I wanted to pick on him all the time, and at the same time I was very glad to see him (impossible to explain in words). He offered his help in everyday matters, but somehow it didn’t come to that, and I don’t even remember why... we became hopelessly strangers and were unable to learn to communicate with each other.

And then the day came before my birthday. Grandma calls: “Hold on, your folder is gone.” The first reaction is silence, then tears, then only thoughts and questions: “how?”, “why?”. Before the funeral, I didn’t feel anything, I didn’t cry, I didn’t spend my birthday at all. But when I saw everything with my own eyes, I realized: the line had been passed. Now, for sure, nothing will ever get better, everything... While saying goodbye to him, I involuntarily burst out: “We couldn’t, daddy!”

This is what I now understood, after his death: he loved me very much, but he was ashamed to appear in my life, because he thought that he could not give me anything... in vain he thought so, very in vain... And I I really regret that I never told him this: “I love you very much simply because you exist.”

And the moral to everything is this: do not be afraid of being rejected or misunderstood. There is nothing worse than unspoken words to people who are not with us...

My father and I didn't have the best relationship. On September 10, 2014, he was getting ready for work, drinking coffee, and watching TV. We left the house together. he starts the car, we exchange one word. “Bye,” I say, “Bye,” he answers. The next day, September 11, 2014, I slept for half a day when I came home from school. I woke up from hearing someone open the door. “Dad came after 24 hours,” I thought and slowly began to get up. I was mistaken, on the threshold I saw my mother all in tears. but I was sleepy and couldn’t figure out what happened. Mom silently looked at me through her tears and said: “Dad died.” I don’t know what was wrong with me at that moment, but then I didn’t feel anything. This is the worst thing. I, completely unaware of this, silently went to wash myself, only in a slight daze. Going to bed, I thought: “What nonsense, tomorrow morning he will come home from work at 9 o’clock as usual.” and in the morning he never came. And then it seemed to pierce me. and all this pain fell on me like an avalanche. I cried for a week, no, howled, whined, moaned in pain.

But over time everything calmed down, I don't cry anymore

I was 10 years old - my dad was leaving on a business trip and was about to return. But he was still not there, and, having fallen asleep, the next morning I went to school. Mom took me away, unusually silent and closed - at that moment something skipped a beat in the child’s intuition. On the first day, no one said anything to me, and I felt the most terrible resentment, even rage that everyone was hiding something from me, and the bad feeling intensified with each passing hour. Unable to bear the burden of thoughts, in a fit of (childish) rage and anger, I took my mother’s phone, dialed my father’s number once, twice, three times... No answer. Mom comes into the room, takes me by the hand and says in a very weak voice: “Dad won’t come.” At that moment I felt terrible bitterness and the realization that I would never hear his voice again. She cried a lot, unconsciously tried to distract herself - she drew, played the piano. Whenever someone came to me, she asked to leave me alone.

Dad and I loved each other incredibly. Of course, my mother managed to play both the role of father and mother in my upbringing, for which I am incredibly grateful to her, but I still feel different problems that have opened up with age. And sometimes I’m still overcome with terrible melancholy from thoughts like: “He never saw how I grew up.”

Hug your parents more often.

I lost my dad less than a year ago.

I was sitting at night, watching a movie, dreaming, and then a message - oops, from my sister from Odessa. Then, when I answered her “hello”, she called me:

Hello. How are you?

Hello. Fine. You..

Do you know that dad died?

My breath catches, I stand still and try to figure out what question to ask.

• Are you here? - comes from the tube.

I want to dump my sister and recruit my dad. My sister says she understands how much it hurts me, etc.

After the end of the conversation, I sobbed and asked for forgiveness for quarreling with him in our last conversation, for my ingratitude and rudeness.

I went to my mother and, having learned that she already knew and didn’t tell me anything, I got angry and ran out of her room.

That night I went to bed, but late, around four in the morning. Lying in a dark room was scary for the first time. And lonely. And empty.

"The earth is empty without you..."

We flew to Odessa, his hometown, for the funeral. I couldn’t believe that it was him in the coffin. For the first time, even though I’m not hysterical, I couldn’t stop crying. I wanted to rewind time, that was my greatest desire.

Take care of your parents

This happened 3 years ago, when I was 18. He wanted it that way.
My parents divorced when I was 6, and despite the fact that I lived almost in the village, we saw each other once a year at best, and a couple of times a year I received hundred-ruble alimony. At 17, I left to study in another city and for some reason began to call him more often, but every time I had to introduce myself and remind him that he had a daughter and she needed more attention than a bottle.
The last time we spoke was in March. He asked me to give my son his last name, otherwise it would disappear.
On August 10, my mother woke me up and said that my grandfather (father’s father) would come in the evening, to my question “Why?” she just said that dad died.
She started screaming, hitting walls, becoming hysterical. I describe my further state as “a huge black hole in my chest” - all my emotions and all my strength went into it. I cut my hands, thinking that this way she would get out of me, but, naturally, only blood came out. I didn’t eat for a week, I just lay there and looked at the ceiling. I remember the funeral in great detail. The hardest thing was that I stood at the coffin alone, and dozens of people told me behind my back that it was my fault, although I still don’t know anything.
And then I dropped out of life for a year and a half. I studied and worked, but I don’t remember any of it. I tried to drown out the emptiness inside in every known way, but nothing worked. Nobody wanted or tried to help me. Then I accidentally met a man with a very similar character to him and the pain disappeared. Now it’s much easier, but the feeling of an abandoned child does not disappear anywhere.
I am his complete copy in appearance. At first I beat and threw away mirrors and tore up photographs. It's still hard to look in the mirror at times.
I didn’t forgive because I don’t know what to forgive for.

I repeat: take care of your parents, but also take care of yourself when you become parents, because you will be the most important people in your children’s lives.

My father died in my arms, I was then 20 years old, just a couple of weeks before my anniversary.

He had been ill for many years, with a pulmonary disability. A few months before, he quit his job. I spent a long time in the hospital twice. The second time - that was it, it was already a matter of time, he couldn’t walk anymore. A month of torment and insomnia.

I was sitting at home alone with him, my mother was trying to prove to the notary that she was legally obliged to come to the immobile patient to draw up a will. The notary answered that some kind of law was not a decree for her, and that if you needed it, take it to the office yourself (this dialogue was periodically transmitted to me on my cell phone). My father was terribly superstitious, and until recently he did not want to write a will - like they don’t live after that. But the day was just such that he himself understood: he had not even days, but hours to live...

When my father once again began to choke, I even tried to do something else. I injected him with a medicine that at least somehow helped in such cases. I called an ambulance. They didn’t have time, they simply witnessed the fact of death. I sat and was dumb.

The mother returned with nothing. I went into another room and stupidly cried into my pillow. Not for long. The next day I pretended that everything was as it should be - it was just a test at the institute. Actually, I didn’t say anything to anyone. The fact that I sucked was only my business.

But I really felt bad two years later, at work. On the anniversary of my father’s death, our newspaper summed up the results of a competition of children’s essays about the war, the winners were awarded, and at the solemn ceremony there were a hell of a lot of pitifully tearful songs about the war from local amateur performances. I sat alone at the projector in the hall of the cultural center and these very songs almost drove me into hysterics. Then it let go.

Unfortunately, now, eight years later, I don’t remember my father as often as I should. I'm used to it.

Yes.
For as long as I can remember, I have always been haunted by the fear of my mother’s death. So much so that this topic was simply taboo. I wasn’t going to understand or accept anything, and I certainly wasn’t prepared. She understood this, and very rarely tried to talk to me, like, it’s inevitable, it will happen to everyone, you have to be prepared... But I closed myself off, straining myself to the point of impossibility.
And it happened.. April 20, 2016, from Tuesday to Wednesday.
Mom was 69 years old, I was 32 years old. I live in another city. I was going to come for the weekend, but for some reason I really didn’t want to.. Either the weather was not very good, or something.. Now I myself can’t understand HOW SO...
And she REALLY asked. Usually she’s the opposite - she says, sit there, everything is fine with dad, why spend money, what if you get sick on the road. And the drive is only three hours...
And I went. On Monday evening I went back. I remember how we said goodbye... There was something in it... But I wasn’t going to catch anything.
On Tuesday she called me to order a taxi for them - she took my dad to the hospital, he caught a cold. Dad has a bad character, he is capricious, and even before, a trip to the hospital with him was a total waste of physical strength and nerves for mom.
And here she is weak herself, and even he is pulled from the 1st to the 2nd floor and back... Everything was aggravated by the fact that he had cataracts and then he could see almost nothing.
Then I ordered them a taxi back. To the question “How are you?” She answered in a weak voice that it was VERY difficult and that I should not bother her until the evening... She would rest. In the evening I went to meet a friend. I called my mom. She said that when I get back, I’ll definitely call her at any time so that she doesn’t worry. We've always done it this way.
In general, I dialed her at 2:15.. Quickly, so as not to completely wake her up (she was sleeping), I said that everything was fine and I was home..
And that was our last conversation...
Now I'm happy that my phone records ALL conversations...Even though I'm afraid to listen to them.
I woke up around 11, got ready for work, went to work around two and started calling her in the minibus. It was raining heavily. She didn’t answer the phone. Calming myself down, I arrived, changed clothes and went to work, while at the same time continuing to call my dad. I got through. And then he said in a confused voice, “Mom doesn’t react to anything and lies in bed, so cold...”
...Yes, after that, even though I began, rushing around the hall, calling all the ambulances and my relatives to run to her, I already knew that EVERYTHING. That THIS HAPPENED. That she is not here now.
Well, what happened to me?
The most powerful and enormous fear of my entire life came true. An emptiness appeared, which is still there and will not disappear anywhere. But now the topic of death is not taboo for me. Just no one to talk to...
I myself called my sister, who lives very far from us - in the Murmansk region, and we are in the Odessa region. I told her myself. I had to do this and do it immediately. And what can we say about our feelings... An autopsy was not performed on her due to her age and illness (it was drug-resistant tuberculosis), thank God. In the evening she was taken to the morgue. In the morning we went to fill out paperwork at the hospital and brought clothes and things for bathing.
The doctor diagnosed the cause as coronary heart disease. She died in her sleep, as they say - they found her in the fetal position, with a calm face, closed eyes... It seemed like she was sleeping... They said it was a stroke in her sleep. ..One of the easiest and most painless methods of care..
The left half of the body was burgundy-red, especially around the heart. The nails on my hands turned black - I realized that for some reason blood had flowed there... Along my face, exactly in the middle, there was a clear border between red and normal skin color... I was eager to go to the morgue, and had no idea what my reaction would be. But seeing her in such an unusual form, HER-I was happy, if you can even use this word in such a situation. She was nearby. Just in a disconnected and contactless state, and her body no longer served her... But she WAS there. I somehow even felt calm...
The next evening we went to pick her up at the morgue so she could spend the night at home. The hearse didn’t want to wait for me, and we just flew by car so as not to miss each other - I HAD TO PICK HER. When we arrived, we found an open hearse with a coffin and men, sawing a young willow tree, which fell for absolutely no reason, blocking their exit. So they would have left long ago... I know that she was WAITING for me..
So we went with her - alone in the hearse... I didn’t allow her to close the lid and held it the whole way...
This was the brightest of all - this was our journey home..
And then home, carrying out the coffin, a trip to the border to pick up my sister, who traveled almost on foot in some places, their “meeting”...
Last night next to me, with my hand in hers... I even passed out for a few minutes...
Next is the funeral. Everything was organized by a local ritual, and thanks to them for being there - I was able to spend those last precious hours NEXT TO MOM... I didn’t leave her side the whole time of the procession and ride. I don’t remember how I felt. I only remember the moment when the priest took the earth with a shovel and sprinkled it in the coffin at four points with a cross. I was really startled; if I had been ready, I might have banned it. There was some kind of internal protest. Then I read - this Christian rite is more like a pagan one - “sealing” so that the soul does not wander the earth, but goes where it needs to go.
It took me a very long time to come to my senses, my relatives, friends, acquaintances helped me with this, everyone was sympathetic and unobtrusive. I am grateful to them. I started a notebook where I write to my mother.
I constantly “scan” space-time for connections with it. When I felt her, I felt calm, warm and comfortable, when no, hell opened its abysses in front of me... I caught her state. I felt how far she was, but not in kilometers, of course. This is different. Shortly before the year, I somehow calmed down, because I felt, quite realistically, that she was now... resting... She was like a baby in the womb - sleeping and waiting in the wings. Or some subsequent events... and while she sleeps and rests... In general, in these sensations of mine there is an extremely large amount of what is not defined in human language, and I have to select the most similar one, but it can very remotely describe what is happening..
I want to end with this.
I know that it has not disappeared. That it is still there. That we are connected very strongly, and this connection is not only in this world and period - it is everywhere and always. We won’t get away from each other, it’s just that everything will happen in a different “scenery”. I feel it. And I have no need to prove anything to anyone. But it’s a pity that there are very, very few people who can talk about this topic...
Thank you for asking..

Thank you for such a reverent, heartfelt answer... It is symbolic that there is practically no reaction from the people to it. Although there should already be a three-digit number of advantages... Well, people are not used to empathizing and delving into something truly important and human. This probably comes with age. And with the loss of loved ones.

Tomorrow it will be four years since my father has been with me. And I really, really understand you. I even cried. I spent 3 months pulling him out of a severe heart attack, but I couldn’t. I lived with him for a month in intensive care. And he handed over 2 more at home. EVERYONE talked about the inevitable, but until the very end I believed that I would pull through...

Answer

My father died under the wheels of a train in 2000, after the New Year holidays. My parents were already divorced at that time and I lived with my mother in a rented apartment.

When we got a call and my mother answered the phone, I immediately felt that this call was connected with my father.

After talking on the phone, my mother came up to me, sat next to me on the sofa and said:

“Pash, sometimes it happens that God takes people to himself so that they become angels. And so God took your dad to heaven.” I cried a lot, I felt incredibly sorry for my father. For some reason I wanted to receive sympathy from the whole world, because I believed that this tragedy was not only mine, but everyone’s.

I went from endless pity and regret that I don’t have a full-fledged family, that I didn’t have time to say goodbye, as well as endless self-torment with the question “What would have happened if he hadn’t died? What would my life be like now?”, to humility and accepting the fact that I will never see my father again and must try to move on with my life.

When I was 18, I was in my 2nd year of university, I was going to move in with a guy, and I didn’t know any problems in my life. Later, my father was given a terrible diagnosis - cancer. The guy, naturally, sensing the smell of problems, merged, saying that he suddenly stopped loving me. And then it began... hospitals, surgery, after which it seemed that everything was done! The disease was defeated. But no... in December the tumor appeared again and metastases began. I didn’t believe the doctors who said, get ready. There was faith that everything would be fine. 2 times intensive care, tears, I took him everywhere (luckily I made an agreement with the university and went to the evening class). Then they wrote to him in the direction - hospice. And for my father this meant the end. We hid the diagnosis. My father was always afraid of suffocating and it was hellishly cold in our apartment from the open window. And then he died 2 weeks after his birthday. The worst feeling that it was over was when I was organizing the funeral. Then I began to understand what happened. Later, a battle began with his brother for housing (it was all mine by inheritance, but who would want to give away housing). I will say this at the end - my life has changed very dramatically. A fair amount of time has already passed, but still that wound has not healed. Value time with your parents

My father died when I was 11. It happened on March 8, on that day my mother and grandmother were at the 40-day wake of our distant relative. My father returned home and went to take a bath, while I was sitting in front of the TV. He closed, turned on the water and the water flowed for three hours. When my mother came and asked me how long my father had been there, I was worried because he had been there for a really long time. They started knocking on the door, he didn’t answer, and eventually, when they broke it, they saw that he was unconscious. Mom called an ambulance, and I was very scared. The doctors who arrived an hour later confirmed death (the heart stopped), a lot of people came running, the police arrived, and began to fill out some papers.
At the funeral, I sobbed until my lungs were hoarse and I still can’t go near my father’s grave. At first I didn’t believe it at all, didn’t take it seriously, couldn’t understand it. Now, looking at it years later, 13 years later, I understand that it is very creepy to experience such sensations. Well, that is, not fully realizing the death of a loved one.
Take care of yourself and your family.

Shock. Scream. Apathy. At a funeral, laughter is inappropriate and the desire to cheer everyone up is inappropriate. At school there is aggression towards anyone who wants to feel sorry or at least stutter. I was 12 and death was, to put it mildly, unexpected. My father died from what is now commonplace cancer. True, a month after the diagnosis was made, we thought we would have time to do at least something. After this there is absolutely no use of resentment against life. Deterioration of relations in the family (with my mother I didn’t want to see her tears, with my brother all the responsibility is now on him as a man and he is 17 as a result of which he is separated from each other, well, I don’t know their politics). And she very rarely cried. It's impossible because...

This happened 2.5 years ago.

Let me start by saying that this man was so special to me beyond words. This was my beloved grandmother, who made a huge contribution to my upbringing; after my mother, she was (and is) a special person.

"I'm in the process of finding a job. I've been sitting at home for 3 days and studying material for a work exam.

2 am, on this day I have a copy.

My father calls (in an understandable state) and asks me where my grandmother’s photographs are, I don’t understand anything and ask “why,” he responds by saying that she died. And he says it as if I know it. I didn’t believe it at first and immediately called my mother. Mom was in tears and said it was true. This happened yesterday, but they agreed to tell me after I handed in the copy, but my father called me anyway.

I don’t remember well what happened next, there was such pain... hysteria... and all the words that fit this state. It felt like a thousand knives were stabbed into my chest, and then crushed with concrete slabs... and then lowered into an ice well and left there.

I ran out into the street and sobbed, all the neighbors probably thought that someone was being killed (but no one came out). Then I started walking, just wherever my eyes looked. I don’t remember what happened then at all. Everything was divided into how I went outside and then drove to work.

But my torment did not end there. I had to go to work. I really needed this job, so I gathered all my will into a fist and went there. If this had happened half a year/a year ago, I would not have gone anywhere. But my grandmother knew about this job and about the job and wanted me to get a job there. It was kind of my duty. It is her duty not to give up, because she would not want to.

There was no face on me, just solid “red meat”, I couldn’t speak and stop crying.

I really hoped that they would let me go, looking at my condition. But it was not there. No one cared about my grief. I have never seen such composure. Not only did I pass “something like an exam, fortunately they didn’t ask me much,” but they also left me to work, explaining that it would be easier for me.” Perhaps this was true, for several hours my tears flowed a little less But humanly speaking, it was low. But I no longer felt anything. My heart turned to stone. I was no longer afraid of anything.

At that moment I was completely alone, it was summer and all my close friends had left. Also, the people whom I called my best friends did not support me. (they live in another city) They didn’t even send an SMS, but before that they communicated quite closely. We were friends for more than 11 years and were included in each other’s families. That is, they knew my grandmother very well. I took it very personally, tantamount to betrayal. In those days our friendship died for me. Of course there were people who supported me, they simply saved my soul ️

And the most important thing is that when she left, my grandmother knew how much I respect and love her. we called each other very often, even though the time difference was 7 hours. I am amazed at Her wisdom, the day before she died, she asked my mother not to allow me to fly to her funeral if she died. She said that she wanted me to remember Her alive. And so it happened. This pain cannot be relieved, more than 2 years have passed, and I still don’t believe it. It feels like we haven't talked for a long time...

And my advice: tell dear and important people how much you love, respect, and trust them. Thank you! Talk about their importance in your life. Nobody knows when this or that person will leave. It may be too late. Don't be afraid to be sensitive and vulnerable. After all, the person who left may have known about your attitude, but if there is an understatement on your part, then it will gnaw at you for the rest of your life. There are never too many words of love.

You just can’t imagine what a thrill it is to realize that I don’t have this understatement! What I always said is how much I adore Her. After that, a lot of things changed. With my friends, we began to value our relationships more, to thank for the truth. say we love you. Every day I tell my mother how much I love her. I wish the same for you. But! Only if it is sincere, never go against your heart. Not every person deserves love, even if it is a relative.

My parents have been divorced since I was 4. My mother led an antisocial lifestyle, used drugs, was in prison, and I lived with my dad and grandmother. Until the age of 14, I saw her a couple of times in early childhood, so I didn’t really think about her existence and missed her specifically, but in general the presence of my mother. But at 14 she left prison, rehabilitated herself, got a job, found a husband and became pregnant with my sister. I went to her work every day, spent time with her, talked. I accepted her with all her shortcomings and loved her with all my heart. At 18, she left to study in another city and lived in a dormitory. And at that time my mother lost her temper, left her family, and went to live somewhere at the dacha in a cold, unheated house. She divorced her husband and started using drugs again. We couldn't do anything about it and stopped trying to help. And then late one evening in February my grandmother calls me on Skype and tells me that my mother has died. In a moment of shock, tears rolled up to my throat. She saw my face and asked me not to cry and passed out. For some time I sat stunned. I had just found my mother and lost her, so little time I had time to be with her and get to know her. Then I sobbed desperately, sitting on the floor, blaming myself for her death, for leaving, for not helping her, for allowing her to be left alone in this state in an icy house. Unable to bear the loneliness, I went into the next room and cried on my neighbor’s chest, and she calmed me down. Then they told me that there was no overdose, cardiac arrest and that’s all. And that she called my grandmother all week and said that her life was hell and she couldn’t stand it anymore. She was freed to some extent. There are no former drug addicts, people, remember this, don’t waste your life. My little three-year-old sister and I were left without a mother because of drugs.

Mom had cancer, and the days were counting.

Mom held on until the last, and although the smile turned out to be forced, she tried to cheer us up, which made me even more desperate that nothing could be done.

This year, many celebrities died, Lyudmila Zykina and Michael Jackson left one after another, the world was experiencing loss, and my mother, looking at the TV, quietly said: “They weren’t even saved, let alone me.”

My sister and I were on duty in turns, we came from other cities, although not far away, but we each had work and family, and dad was always there, it was impossible to look at him, his mother’s illness exhausted him so much. Cancer is always scary.

It was time for me to leave. We said goodbye to my mother; she was so weak that she could barely sit up in bed. They hugged longer than usual and both cried. They asked each other for forgiveness. I felt that I would never see her again. The next day at lunch a call from my sister: that’s it. Although the news was expected, it was as if the world had collapsed. It’s like when you seem to know that something inevitable is going to happen, but you still believe in a miracle.

I immediately went to the station, bought a ticket and went to my parents. While she was driving, she called everyone in turn from the phone book, alphabetically, and said: my mother died. At first everyone fell into a stupor, especially those who were on the list through work or other contacts, but everyone found me some words of consolation and condolences. Just enough for the whole trip home. I don’t know what the driver was thinking (I was sitting alone in the front seat), but it helped me not break into hysterics. I didn’t have any tears at that moment, I was in shock.

How we buried Iama is a separate story. She bequeathed to bury her next to her grandfather, and this is in the city where her sister lives. We went to the funeral home in the small town where my parents lived to order a hearse. They are closed on Sunday. And on Monday we were told that the hearse must be ordered three days in advance! How clairvoyant you have to be to predict death!.. It’s useless to swear, and you won’t be able to endure the funeral - after all, your relatives must come. My sister left to prepare the ceremony in her city, and in half a day my dad and I collected the necessary certificates to be allowed to transport my mother. While they were running from the hospital to the prosecutor's office (where they had to get a certificate that she died of illness and we were not involved in her death), dad stopped in the middle of the street and began to cry. I gathered my will into a fist and dragged him further. We didn’t even have time to cry like human beings... When the certificates were collected, we washed our old Moskvich, unfolded the passenger seat and removed the backrest, and went to the morgue. Dad stayed behind the wheel and I went inside. A worker in a white coat (it was a lunch break) pointed with the hand in which she was holding a sandwich to the row of gurneys behind her - “choose.” I understand that lunch and profession do not depend on each other, but the set table a meter from the dead shocked me greatly. I didn’t recognize my mother right away. She seemed to have become smaller, and the clothes they dressed her in were so ugly that I peered into my mother’s face and did not believe that it was her. "Well, did you find it?" Found it. Mom had a cute wrinkle on the bridge of her nose, and she recognized it from that. She cried, but quickly wiped away her tears - we had to travel a hundred kilometers, and we couldn’t get unstuck. The worker put a special mask with a freezing effect on my mother’s face, because it was July and it was hot, so they could get there. They put my mother in the coffin, closed the lid, and two orderlies carried her out. "Where is the hearse?" I pointed to our "Muscovite". The guys showed no surprise, they placed the coffin lengthwise on the unfolded passenger and rear seats, and we drove off. At the first traffic light, traffic cops stopped us - apparently, we were not driving quite normally - but when they saw our cargo, they waved their wand, like, pass.

I can’t imagine how we got there at all. The parents lived in perfect harmony for 52 years, the disease decimated my mother in six months, turning a blooming woman into a dried-up mummy, and my father was exhausted mentally and physically by all this, but continued to look after my mother and did everything himself, except for the last month, when my sister and I were on duty it took turns and dad couldn’t handle it alone, and it was completely unbearable for all of us.

Dad drove without really seeing the road, periodically dropped his head on the steering wheel and sobbed loudly. I was sitting behind him, and next to him stood a closed coffin... The car was thrown into oncoming traffic, then onto the side of the road. I jumped up, dying of horror, hit my dad on the shoulder and shouted: “Dad, do you want to kill us?! Please, drive normally!” So we drove on... Driving past the meadows we stopped, and I picked a huge bouquet of daisies - my mother asked them to put them on the grave, not roses or anything else. She loved daisies.

When we arrived at the house and saw a crowd of relatives, our strength left us. We didn’t tell anyone what we were going to take my mother in, so that they wouldn’t worry about us there, so as not to create additional stress for our relatives. When we turned into the courtyard of my grandmother’s house (our village house, where my sister now lived) and got out of the car, both of our legs gave way and we fell into the arms of our relatives who arrived in time... And we both burst into tears. And I finally gave vent to my tears - now that I had “delivered” dad, I could relax and grieve in a normal way....

I walked away from everything for a long time, I grieved. Some little thing (the children accidentally turning on a video with their mother, things, events) made me think about my mother and I started sobbing on the spot, which really frightened the children... Almost eight years have passed. It doesn't hurt as much anymore. All that was left was dull pain and resentment that it was my mother who was gone, although she was not to blame for anything and could still live now.

After staying at home for some time, he returned to St. Petersburg, life was slowly returning to its previous course.

It was never easy for me to find a common language with my mother; the total difference in interests affected me. Over time, after her death, I began to think about what a great sacrifice she made, loving me selflessly and not demanding anything in return. And I regret that I didn’t give her as much as she gave me.

I didn’t say anything at the funeral because I don’t like it at all. “A thought expressed is a lie...” In the end, words really cannot convey the whole range and all the contradictory feelings that you experience for a deceased person. Trying to express this, it seems to me that a person simply turns the truth into the vulgarity of human words.

It’s like I remember this day yesterday. Then my school class and I went on an excursion to the local library, it was raining, the atmosphere was already quite sad for me. The bell rang and my mother told me to go home. This one call alarmed me, because nothing like this had happened before, her voice was as if she was crying, I didn’t know what to think. I call the intercom and my grandmother answers and opens the door. Entering the hall, I see relatives holding a portrait of my father, I was scared. And then I hear the fateful words: “Anechka, your dad died in the hospital.” Tears immediately appeared in my eyes and I cried all day and all night. Going into the bath in the evening, cool water poured from the shower onto me, washing away my tears. I asked God why this was all, why he took from me the one who was everything to me. He truly was a Pope with a capital P. But not because he bought me gifts and toys, but because he gave me so much care and warmth, he always played with me, even when he came home from work tired, for me he was always full of strength and energy, not paying attention to his fatigue. He died due to an illness - varicose veins in the esophagus. Back in August he was admitted to the hospital. He lost consciousness and vomited blood. These are the most terrible memories of that time. But even in this state, he did not lose hope and remained strong until the last. I remember his body in a coffin in our apartment in the hall before going to the cemetery. He was wearing a beautiful black tuxedo and white shirt, with cold blue lips and white porcelain skin. It was my dad.

After 9 years, I can say that I don’t remember either the moment of the funeral or the symptoms of the disease. I only remember all the good things that were associated with him. I remember our games, some gifts. For example, my first rose, which was given to me for my birthday. It was one soft pink rose. My lovely.

I don’t know how my life would have turned out if not for this incident. I think it made me stronger. But, as they say, you wouldn’t recommend going through something like this to your enemy. Love your parents, appreciate the time spent together, be happy.

I was 7. 08/27/06 My father was traveling by car from Moscow, where he helped my brother settle in and settle into a hostel. The day before, my dad and I were happily chatting on the phone about how we would celebrate his birthday when he arrived. My mother and I cooked, wrapped the gift together, and thought about how we would congratulate. But the next morning, when I woke up, I ran to my parents’ room expecting to see my dad, but only my mom was there. And curtained mirrors. He crashed that same evening on a highway near the city. I didn’t understand then how this could be, because yesterday I talked to him on the phone, and now he’s gone. The funeral was on August 31st, there were a lot of people, my brother broke up and flew in by plane. The children who were taken to the funeral ran and laughed a lot, which, even then, gave rise to hatred and anger in me towards them. And the next day I went to first grade. I was observed by doctors for half a year and took sedatives. I was unlucky with the class and they laughed at me because of my tragedy. Now there is no pain like before. Time cures. But in fact, I miss this fatherly upbringing and sense of security, I miss it.

My dad was my god, but at the same time the one I feared and even hated at times. In the film "The Brothers Karamazov" actor Sergei Koltakov in the role of Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov is very similar to my father. Not by appearance or history, but by eccentricity and temper. When my parents divorced, he transferred his anger, his rage onto me, 9 years old. There were insults to me and my mother, and beatings, the worst of which was when he stuck a knife in my left hand. On my coming of age, in front of guests, he grabbed me by the hair, pulled my head back and rubbed dog feces on my face with the sole of his shoe. A few years later he almost killed me with a hammer. And I hated him and sometimes wanted him to die. But the point is that I continued to love him and saw with him the dad whom I idolized as a child, who was dearer to me than all the people on earth, even my mother and sisters. He never beat the younger ones, but I reminded him of my mother in appearance. Although he never raised a hand to her, he took out his bitterness on me

My father died about five years ago. And I associate this primarily with the destruction of faith in humanity. All this, of course, is subjective, but for me it is so.

On the day of his death, all my trust in people crumbled to smithereens, because if you were betrayed by someone close to you, then what can you expect from others?

As long as I can remember, he was always subject to some kind of destructive addiction, which makes no sense to write about, because it’s already clear. But this did not go beyond entertainment several times a week, that is, it was never the case that during a “bad period” he harmed others. He worked a good job and provided for himself with everything. But it's not that. And it’s not even that with this addiction he somehow ruined the lives of everyone around him, since everyone understood perfectly well how it would all end.

I didn't understand. I always believed that love for family would overcome the craze of the 90s. Typical hopes of a child who has not yet faced the cruel reality.

And now I remember the evening before his death, I remember how for the first time in my life I tried to find the strength to talk to him directly, if not to make him come to his senses (yeah, of course), then at least to find answers to my questions. But I couldn't do it.

And now, five years later, I don’t blame him for my spoiled expectations, since our expectations are only our expectations. I only blame him for the fact that I learned too early what real betrayal is and that in the future I will not be able to trust someone 100%.

It could have been worse, but that's little consolation.

Despite his divorce from his mother 16 years ago and a new family, he always supported us (and did not deprive everyone of his attention), did not spare himself, and met relatively often. Lately there had been problems at work and he was very worried about them. On the morning of the above date, he was not feeling very well, but he still continued to do his dacha chores. By evening it became really bad, but the ambulance didn’t have time. I wasn’t there, he died in front of his 9-year-old daughter, his wife and his mother. According to them - in agony. I only found out about this at one o'clock in the morning.

The car the couple were in crashed into a foreign car. This was due to unfavorable weather conditions. “A lot of snow has fallen these days. Snowdrifts a meter high lay on both sides of the road. Friends were sitting in front, we were in the back. Nastya lay down on my lap and fell asleep. Suddenly, a snowdrift explodes in front, and a black minivan flies out from under it, which drifted from the oncoming lane directly into our lane and crashes into a KamAZ. At a speed of 100-120 km/h, we fly into a black Nissan standing across the road,” the 50-year-old businessman shared with his subscribers.

Realizing the inevitability of a collision, Shakhijanov did everything to save himself and Nastya. “In these two seconds before the collision, I grabbed Nastya’s head, which was lying in my lap, with my hands, and I myself, turning my back to the driver’s seat, pressed myself into it. I did this unconsciously, since my brain at those seconds was busy thinking about what was better: disability or death,” he continued.

The impact of the collision was so strong that the Nissan flew into the oncoming lane, where another car crashed into it. Fortunately, all those involved in the accident survived. And Lisova, when she woke up, at first didn’t even understand what had happened.

“The airbags deployed in all parts of the cabin, and there was a smell of gunpowder. After the blow, Nastya ended up on the floor, but I held her head tightly. Being unharmed, she stood up and asked what happened. The result: four cars and nine people took part in this meat grinder,” Mikhail noted.

Law enforcement officers who arrived at the scene of the accident were surprised that no one was seriously injured in this massacre, because, according to statistics, such accidents are often fatal.

“Our marriage was real: once and for life”

We were both witnesses at a friends wedding. They introduced us a few days before the celebration. Everyone gathered at the dacha, Misha arrived with a guitar, and when he started singing, I fell in love. In general, he was a military man, and music was his hobby. He had an amazing voice - I think I fell in love with him. Misha immediately began to look after me. If he gave flowers, then in buckets, if he did something, then always to the maximum. He was a man of large soul. We quickly realized that we were made for each other, and literally a month later he proposed to me.

I worked at a hotel and often had night shifts, so he insisted that I quit my job. But, to be honest, I was bored with work myself. A year after the wedding, our eldest son, Grigory, was born, and a year and 10 months later, our daughter Polina was born. They are now 10 and 8 years old.

We always dreamed of a big family. Our marriage was real: once and for life. We were made for each other and wanted to die on the same day. True, Misha always said that he would die earlier, but he did not warn that he would die so much. Since childhood, I had an image of an ideal family in my head. And then all my ideas about life collapsed at once.

"I knew this would happen"

This happened four years ago, after seven years of relationship. He was killed in Ukraine. He went there as a volunteer from the veterans' fund - he was transporting humanitarian aid to an orphanage in the Lugansk region. But I didn’t know about this: so that I wouldn’t worry, he said that he would accompany the cars only to Rostov. He warned that he would return in three days, but in some places there may be no connection. Since he was a military man, I got used to it and tried not to think about the bad. I was expecting him on Friday and invited guests to our home. On Wednesday I wrote to him to clarify whether he would definitely be able to be on time, and he confirmed. This was our last conversation. Misha never got in touch again.

On the night from Friday to Saturday, at about three o'clock in the morning, I woke up as if in an unconscious state.

I lay there and cried because I realized: he died. Then I calmed myself down and decided that these were some crazy thoughts, this simply couldn’t happen.

On Saturday we had to go to a friends christening, so I pushed away all the bad thoughts and started getting ready. Mishin’s best friend Kolya called me and offered me a ride. I put on a smart dress and did my hair. Kolya came in with his wife, she was in a tracksuit - I was a little surprised why she wasn’t dressed yet. And then they told me that Misha had passed away. I remember my scream at that moment. This will never get out of my head, all the neighbors heard how inhumanly I screamed. They offered me to take pills, but I refused: I wanted to understand what was happening. And I constantly repeated: “Kol, I knew. I knew this would happen."

It turned out that this happened on Thursday. The news wrote that there was an attempt on the life of the mayor of Pervomaisk, a city in the Lugansk region. There were four guys in the car, including my husband, and the mayor - they were all unarmed and without security. They were driving through neutral territory, but they were attacked and everyone else was attacked. Then they told me that the body was found near the car, Misha tried to run away.

I called my parents and they said that they would arrive from Nalchik on the next flight. The children were at Misha’s mother’s dacha. That evening I called my hairdresser and asked him to come and dye me black. At that time I was blonde with long hair. I just felt like I had to do it. She dropped everything, came at night and dyed me brunette. I remember how the neighbors came to support me and did not understand what was happening at all. They thought I was crazy: her husband died, and she dyed her hair. Only later did I realize that this was my form of mourning. I was born and raised in Kabardino-Balkaria, and there, if someone died, everyone dressed in mourning and wore black for at least 40 days. In Moscow, this is not generally accepted, so when I walked around with a bandage, people looked at me askance, I felt uneasy. When I first saw my husband in the coffin, he didn’t look like himself at all. I looked and cried, but inside there was hope that this was all a big mistake and he would come back.

We were able to bury Misha only on the ninth day. For a very long time it was not possible to bring the body due to some problems with documents. But my husband was a special person, he had many friends, thanks to them everything worked out for us. They later told me at the cemetery that they would always help with the children and would never leave me.

At first there was only anger and resentment inside me. I blamed people, countries, governments. But at some point I realized that these conflicts had nothing to do with my personal grief, and I closed this topic forever.

© From personal archive

“The most important thing is not to deny children’s feelings”

At that time, my son was six and my daughter was four. I decided that they were too young to take them to the cemetery, and I have never regretted it. I still have his face before my eyes, which doesn’t look like him at all. I looked through the photographs for a long time in order to remove this picture from my head and remember him as he was. And the children certainly didn’t need to see their dad like that. I told them about a week later, when it was no longer possible to hide. They constantly asked when dad would finally return. It was very difficult to tell them: I understand that I am grateful to him for his love for me, grateful to fate that he was in my life. But it’s not clear how to explain this to children. They are still crying and missing. Especially my daughter, she often says: “Mommy, I want to go to daddy.”

Right after I told them, we went to the cemetery. I explained that there are different situations in life: sometimes dad leaves the family, and sometimes children are born without a dad. And they will have the strongest guardian angel all their lives. He will always protect them, and everything will be fine.

The first year we constantly went for walks to the cemetery on weekends. Everyone went to the park, and we went to the cemetery, but for us it was very important.

The most important thing is not to deny children's feelings. We constantly talk about dad so as not to lose memories. I prepared individual memorial albums for the children with photographs of them and their dad together. The son is very similar to Misha. I constantly recognize my husband in my son’s actions and facial expressions.

“I allowed myself to remove my mourning and stop suffering”

The first time was unbearable. I read Pushkin’s “Winter Evening” to myself as soon as I began to think about what I no longer had the strength to think about. She constantly repeated: “The storm covers the sky with darkness...” Prayers help some, but for me it was poetry.

Almost immediately after the funeral, we flew to Egypt with my friend and children. We hardly talked about death. There I realized that life goes on. And the children laughed and had fun. There is even a phenomenon in psychology where you go on trips to experience pain. Then I went to yoga, which also helped me a lot.

I was faced with the most important question: how to continue to live. There was no money; we had just paid off our debts for the apartment. And there were no reserves left. I didn’t work anywhere; at that moment my business was just starting to develop - a personal clothing brand. In December we opened a corner, and in January Misha died. Initially, it was not for money, but just a hobby, because I was tired of just taking care of children.

By the time of his death, we had recouped all the costs of the project, but it was not yet self-sustaining. It was very scary then. It seemed to me that I could survive anything if he was there. But without him, further life made no sense. I didn’t understand how I could live with this. They told me: “Olya, you must live for the sake of your children.” How can I live for my children without my husband? I couldn’t wrap my head around it at all. It’s good that my husband’s friends were nearby, who helped us financially, too. And they still help.

Then I started talking to a girl whose husband was in the same car. Our thoughts and feelings were so similar - it seemed to me that no one else understood me except her. We supported each other perfectly.

Last year I played Cinderella in a children's play. Then I was still a brunette, but I decided that Cinderella with dark hair was somehow wrong. Everyone thought that I changed my color for the role. In fact, at that moment I allowed myself to remove my mourning and stop suffering. I realized that I could change my life, I could be happy again.

“Everyone immediately puts responsibility on the woman”

One day I received a call from a friend whose husband had died. I heard her confused voice, it reminded me of my condition. Her main question was whether she could go on living. Then history repeated itself again and again. Everyone wanted to know if they could withstand this pain in a heart that was broken into pieces, if they could live with it, if they could smile again. Then I thought about creating my own blog. I understood that no one writes or talks about this. We are left alone with our misfortune. I was lucky, I had a lot of support, but some people don’t have it at all.

In society, it is believed that a widow has neither the right to grief nor the right to happiness. We can’t even be happy, because many people have an attitude in their heads: if I think about other men, it will be a betrayal towards my husband. At the same time, we do not have the right to simply sit - for several days, weeks, months - and grieve. Everyone immediately puts responsibility on the woman: she needs to run to work, feed her family, raise children.

For example, many questions arise with documents. My lawyer and I are now developing a checklist so that a woman can understand how she can get benefits. For example, I received a certificate as a widow of a combat veteran, and I am also entitled to some of the benefits - I didn’t know anything about this before. There are a lot of problems with inheritance, because the first line of heirs includes not only the wife and children, but also the husband’s parents. Conflicts often arise on this basis, and women simply do not understand how to behave.

© From personal archive

It is also very difficult for your loved ones to look at you and experience your grief. And they never know how to help. Sometimes they told me such crazy words that it was impossible to listen. I just buried my husband, and they tell me: “Ol, don’t worry, you’ll get married again, you’re young and beautiful.” My six-year-old son was told that he was now the only man in the family, his mother’s main support. How can you say that to a child who just lost his father? I threw myself at these advisers with hysterics. He is a child and should have remained a child. Although he has really matured a lot during this time - many people notice that he thinks like a person older than his years.

They also advised me to live for the sake of my children. This is wrong, children suffer when their mother neglects herself and lives for them. It may help you stop grieving at first, but it's not that good. A woman needs to grieve. Then I talked to a psychologist, and she told me that I didn’t finish crying. I didn’t give myself time to lie down and cry, to live and get through it all. We think: “No, there’s no need to cry, we have children, we need to live on for the sake of the children.”

Society forces us not to cry: you need to continue a normal life, raise children, meet with friends, pretend that you are strong and not at all sad. Because of this, many people get stuck in this mountain and cannot get out.

But if a woman wants her children to be happy, she should be happy. A sad mother with sad eyes is a misfortune for children.

I want to tell women how to accept grief and how to be aware of it. I want to convey that you need to live for today. Now I really have become happier and more cheerful than ever. I realized that I must now start fulfilling all my dreams and doing what I had in mind. And I teach this to children. Now we travel a lot, I play in a children's theater, and I started going to dances.

Of course this one blog- for women who have lost their husbands. But globally, I want to convey to everyone that they love life and appreciate what they have. I want women to be braver. If they want to go for strip plastic surgery, there is no need to be shy about it. For example, I went because I needed to throw out my sexuality that was inside somewhere. Nobody talks about this either.

“It’s impossible to survive this to the end”

A piece of my heart remained scorched, this pain is with me forever. I always miss him. It is impossible to fully survive this, but I was able to return to normal life. I have no resentment or anger, only a feeling of gratitude remains. I no longer ask why this happened to me. Everything I have now is because I had him. But by the way, I still can’t call myself a widow, this word offends me. I would like the status of a widow to stop causing sympathy and frightening our society. As soon as I tell new acquaintances that my husband has died, for some reason everyone thinks that I will start telling them sad stories from my life. I want women who find themselves in the same situation as me to know that there is also a place for joy in life “after”. That’s why the blog is called “No Tears.”

I sold my business at the end of last year, all this time we lived on money from sales. Now I'm looking for a new job. But everything is complicated by the fact that the children really need me - I don’t have assistants, and I can’t yet go to work with a standard schedule.

I probably already want a new relationship. But this requires a certain degree of readiness not only from me, but also from the children. My daughter thinks that the “new dad” is a betrayal. She once asked: “Mom, if you fall in love with someone, will it mean that you have stopped loving dad?” So now I try to talk with children about this topic. I want to be a happy woman who loves and is loved.

Alexander Yakovlev, 38 years old, father of three children:

My wife died suddenly. I was driving home from the funeral and got into an accident. All passengers died on the spot: Valentina, two adult children and a grandson. The dead children were not my blood relatives, but we were a family, I perceived them as my children. And my grandson too. The loss is so great that two years after this date, which divided my life into “before” and “after,” the wound has not healed.

We got married 14 years ago. Valentina was older than me; her first husband died. She was left alone with two children. Not everyone approved of our marriage; some well-wishers tried to dissuade me: “Why do you need this burden?” I did not listen to such advice and did not regret it: we lived in harmony for 12 years. Valentina worked as a teacher, she was at work all day, so I managed the housework. They envied my wife and said: “You’re not a man, but you got gold.” But I don't see anything special in this.

Life is easier in a large family than in a small one. All holidays are fun and friendly. It was a special time, the children prepared in advance: they learned poems and songs, prepared gifts, and came up with competitions. Now we continue the same thing: we celebrate birthdays, Christmas, New Year. We hold competitions and decorate the room with balloons. We just miss our relatives.

On weekdays, our house was also bustling with life. Our friends and youth were drawn to us. Every day we had an open house - not a day went by without someone stopping by. My wife and I never refused to help anyone. They left their problems and went to help other people.

It didn’t matter to me who was born first: a son or a daughter. Any child is precious. Son Nikita was born first, three years later - Ulyana, and three years later - the youngest, Nadyushka. While the family was complete, everyone was helped, the doors were open to all fellow villagers. When there were four of us left, there was no longer enough time; friends and neighbors rarely came by.

I happily do housework - everything is for the children. I am a chef by profession and love to cook.

We have two cows, I make cottage cheese, sour cream, and cheeses myself. For the winter I make 90 jars of one compote.

In addition to traditional drinks from strawberries, raspberries, and gooseberries, I make “Fanta”: a compote of apricots, lemon and orange. His children especially love him. The guys are happy to help cook. Nikita is baking pancakes. If I don’t have time, he’ll cook porridge or fry eggs. He dreams of becoming a chef. The girls don’t cook on their own yet: together we make pies and buns.

Our farm is not that big now. Previously, there were horses, turkeys, and guinea fowl. In addition to cows, we keep chickens, ducks, piglets, and rabbits. Care requires effort, and food requires money. My back hurts, I try not to overwork it so that I have enough strength to raise my children. Now we are also not fully planting the vegetable garden - we can’t cope. Previously, one potato planted more than 20 acres; now all plantings occupy ten acres. I plant what the kids love: cucumbers, tomatoes. We had a lot of our own strawberries - we made 20 liters of jam for the winter, froze 30 liters, made 15 jars of compote, and ate fresh ones to our heart's content. Our nadyushka is “berry”. I just get distracted and look, and she’s sitting in the strawberries. Like a thrush jumping through the bushes. She jumps up and pretends she wasn’t there.

We have a freezer, and I freeze the berries for the winter, little by little, so that there are enough vitamins for the whole winter. The house has stove heating; for the winter we buy 3 tons of coal and 3 carts of firewood. The house is not very warm, but we are renovating it on our own as much as possible: this year we covered it with insulation. You don’t have to carry water on yourself - they installed a water supply system.

Household expenses are large: buy food, prepare hay and fuel. And put it into the children’s checking accounts - if I don’t provide for the children, no one will help them. In addition to pensions, I receive a child benefit for my children - 1,400 rubles a month. I can’t get a job yet: I need to manage the household, take my youngest daughter to school - transfer her across the railway, cook, wash, iron. I make money selling milk, sour cream, cottage cheese, and cheese. In the morning, while the children are at school, I take groceries to the regional center - the city of Bolotnoye, where I have regular customers.

There are no problems with upbringing - the children understand that it’s hard for me

It’s not possible for everyone to gather together at the table during the day, but we always have dinner with the whole family - it’s a tradition. It was so under Valentin, and it remains so. In the evenings, Ulyana knits, Nadya draws. Children have different personalities. Nikita is hot-tempered, but quickly moves away. Ulyana is shy and silent. Nadyusha is compassionate and sympathetic.

All children are domestic, do not want to run outside, and are happy to stay at home. One day, a friend invited Nikita to his birthday. The son did not stay as a guest for long: he drank tea, ate cake and got ready to go home. They asked him to stay, suggested that he call his parents and warn him. But Nikita did not agree.

“I need to go home to milk the goat,” he explained.

Nikita and Nadezhda

The friend's parents were surprised. Nikita is younger than their son, but already knows how to milk a goat. My son knows how to milk cows and replaces me when necessary.

Children need an approach. A boy should be raised in strictness so that he grows up to be a man. He has an army ahead of him. I myself was in the army and I understand how difficult it will be for my son if he is brought up on tenderness. If he got into a fight, I won’t go deal with it. He must be able to stand up for himself. With girls you need tenderness and affection.

The children understand that it’s hard for me and try not to bother me. They do their homework on their own, wash the dishes, clean the house, weed the garden beds. Ulyana is in fifth grade and looks after both second-grader Nadezhda and eighth-grader Nikita. Like a true woman, she makes sure that her older brother walks neatly. He prepares clothes for his younger sister, makes sure she changes and hangs up her uniform dress neatly - the younger sister can get carried away and walk around the house in her uniform, take the cat in her arms.

There are quarrels between children, but they try not to show it to me. They quarrel, quickly make up, and it’s as if nothing happened. When I ask, they answer: “Everything is fine with us.” I constantly explain to Nikita that he must stand up for his sisters; no one will stand up for them except him.

I don’t know how it is in other families, but with us everything is done in harmony. There are no problems with education. Until the children finish their homework, they don’t come near the TV. There is no need to monitor them or control them - everyone understands themselves. In their free time they do whatever they want. We had a close-knit family before. Grief brought us even closer and united us. It’s very difficult to go through this, and you wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

There are no extra skills

I learned a variety of work in my parents' house. Mom did cross stitch. I got curious, tried it and learned. My aunt was spinning wool, I went to visit and watched. My older sister taught me how to knit mittens and socks. I spin, knit, and sew myself. I teach my daughters these sciences. I believe that everything will come in handy in life. There are no extra skills.

The family in which I grew up was large: parents and seven children. I'm fifth. My sister and I are similar: compassionate, we want to help everyone.

Our house is located next to the federal highway, and it has happened more than once when strangers knocked on the house and asked for help. They tried to keep everyone warm and fed.

Once six-year-old children asked for food, we called the police and held them in every possible way until the police arrived.

My skills are parenting; what they put into me is what came out. Therefore, I try to raise children the way my mother raised them. She never cursed, she tried to explain everything. Once she taught me how to lay out a manure bed for cucumbers. I tried it once and it didn’t work, the second time it didn’t work, I showed it again. I showed it several times until I understood. I follow her example. The girls didn’t manage to wash the dishes cleanly - I won’t reprimand them that they didn’t wash them well. I’d rather show you how it should have been done, or I’ll do it myself. Next time they'll wash it better.

I upset those who thought I would get drunk

The guardianship has no questions for me - they know what kind of person I am. The whole family took part in various events, went to concerts with the cultural center, and were local stars. In addition, I am a deputy of the Yegorov administration.

Yakovlevs. Alexander, Nikita, Ulyana, Nadezhda

I don’t think about marriage - not much time has passed since my wife’s death. It’s hard for me, and everything around me reminds me of how we lived, how we loved each other. This can't go away quickly. In addition, you need to find not only a soul mate for yourself, but also a mother for your children. I don't want them to feel bad. There are many cases shown on TV where parents hurt their adopted children and beat them.

Life goes on. Some people thought that grief would break me. Some even gloated, expecting that I would get drunk and my children would be taken away from me. But I set myself the goal of getting my children back on their feet. I upset those who thought I would get drunk. I got up to spite everyone. The children raised me. My goal in life is children.

It’s hard to watch when families fight, fight, and get divorced. They do not understand the value of a spouse and how difficult it is when the other half passes away. We must love and appreciate each other. This is life, and it is alone. I wish everyone in this world only happiness.

The doctors warned the wife: “Choose, either the child or you”

Andrey Iost, 46 years old, father of four children:

His wife Natalya fell ill with cancer, and after the birth of her daughter, nine months later, she died. During pregnancy, doctors warned and even said in plain text: choose, either the child or you. I think that she acted wisely - she gave life to the child.

I had to leave my job. It was necessary to take care of my daughter - Veronica was nine months old at the time. The older children Maxim and Katya quickly learned to be independent: they washed the dishes and looked after their sister.

I had no time to become limp – I had children in my arms. Whether you like it or not, you had to keep up.

While his wife was alive, he couldn’t find his shirt in the closet or his children’s things. It's like in all families. There are a lot of questions for mom, but only one for dad: “Where is mom?” Now I know everything: on which shelf, in which closet what is located. I began to understand what it was like to sit at home and look after children. It's easier to work in production. Housework is a lot of work, but no one notices it. And when you haven’t had time to clean up, then everyone can see it right away.

Maxim is not my own son - Natalya was a single mother. Shortly before leaving, my wife called a lawyer and confirmed that I was the father of the child. I accepted fatherhood. Therefore, I had no problems with adoption. The guardianship authorities, not knowing our circumstances, offered assistance in completing the documents, but it was not needed. It couldn't have been any other way. Maxim is a member of our family and should have stayed with us. He has had health problems since childhood - cerebral palsy; it is difficult for him to walk. Due to his limited capabilities, a defensive reaction is triggered - he may react nervously and flare up. But it goes away quickly. He is not mischievous and smart. At 14 years old, he thinks beyond his age as an adult.

Our school is nearby - a two-minute walk, but Maxim needs seven to ten minutes. In primary school everything was fine, he studied on one floor - on the first. From the fifth grade, running around the floors began. This caused complications on my legs. I had to switch to individual training. After the operation, he was transferred to home schooling. Soon there will be another one - a fourth. I hope that the upcoming operation will have a greater effect than the previous ones, because he has begun to take care of himself.

Maxim has complexes: everyone walks and runs, but he moves slowly. Thanks to the help of the school and charity events, we bought him a treadmill with the slowest speed, and he began to develop his legs. I support him in training, I say: “You need to carry a girl in your arms, but you can’t support yourself on your feet!” Maxim works out 5-6 times a day, and there are already good results: he slouches less, his back is straighter, and he has gained confidence.

I'm not afraid of work

When my wife died, I had to leave her parents’ apartment. We didn’t have our own home; we lived in a rented apartment. I once heard that the governor was receiving parents of children with disabilities, listening to them, and helping them. I made an appointment. At the meeting, he said that it was possible to make a parapet in our entrance or install other equipment. But for what? We live in a rented apartment. We could be asked to move out at any time. If they helped us with housing, that would be help.

After some time I received a letter. It reported that money had been allocated for the purchase of housing. Just at this time, the real estate market stagnated and prices began to fall. Suddenly a three-room apartment turned up, which was being sold urgently and was reduced in price. The house is located well - in the center of the microdistrict in Berdsk. Nearby is a school, a kindergarten, a store and a recreation center with many clubs and activities. Plus the first floor. My mother helped me a little with money, and we bought our own home.

The apartment was shabby, but I wasn’t afraid of work - the main thing is there are walls, I have hands.

We will do the repairs gradually. For the first renovation, they took out a loan, laid linoleum, installed plastic windows and glazed the loggia. Little by little, new furniture began to appear in the apartment; the kitchen set is currently being assembled. A rolling stone gathers no moss. If I hadn’t run, there wouldn’t have been housing.

Relationships are made up of little things

I knew Svetlana from the times when we worked together. Her husband died of cancer, and she was left alone with the child. We've been living together for 4 years. It so happened that for us the most important thing in life is children. Svetlana loves children very much. He gives everything to them. She wears old things for a long time. I literally force my wife to the store to buy her something new. I myself can also walk around in the same pants. My wife also almost forcefully takes me to the store to buy clothes. This is how we lead each other.

We live together with Svetlana. My mother also told me: all problems need to be solved with words, talk to each other more often. We cannot tolerate each other for the sake of the children. The children will grow up and run away, and you will be left alone, and there will be nothing to talk about. I learned this lesson. Every day small events happen that add up to something big. And relationships are made up of little things; big things follow on their own.

We gradually found a common language with Yegor, Svetlana’s son. He has a whiny character. When you start to find out something, you immediately burst into tears. Now he’s already used to it, he knows that I won’t scold in vain. Last year, the boys helped straighten the wire that was needed on the farm (for pegs for tomatoes). The work was not easy - the wire was tied in knots. Egor couldn't cope, got upset and wanted to quit his job. I told him: “Go and walk around, then come over and we’ll talk.” After a while, Egor calmed down, I calmly showed him how to straighten the wire, and did not leave his side until it started to work out. He was happy that he was able to do such serious work.

Katya, Andrey, Egor, Maxim

In the future, when Maxim finishes school, we plan to move to Svetlana’s private house. It is easier to live in a house with a household. It is better to raise chicken yourself than to buy it in a store. There is no chemistry. The same thing with eggs, with vegetables. While the house is empty in the winter, in the summer we all move to fresh air.

I approach life with humor

At first it was difficult for the children to get used to each other. Time passed, and everything got better - we got used to it. I do not divide children into mine and others. Children - they are children. There are no particular difficulties in education. Anything can happen in a family, I solve problems depending on the situation: somewhere I’ll shake my finger, somewhere I’ll stroke the head. Boys are easier to raise than girls. All dads love girls, but it’s more difficult with them, they need a woman’s hand. As a child, I saw how my mother interacted with me and my younger sister. I explain it to the kids in the same way. I think there is no point in shouting. But it’s not enough to say. You need to explain and make sure you are understood correctly.

Andrey, Katya, Veronica

I work closely with social protection and guardianship authorities. At first, the representative came several times to check, made sure that the family was safe, and stopped visiting - she called. If problems arise, I ask for help. This usually applies to free trips to rehabilitation centers and dispensaries. Information about such opportunities is kept silent, and the population is not aware of them.

One child is selfish, two are eternal quarrels, three are already a family.

But giving birth is one thing, raising is another. Children are all different. Maxim is assertive and gets things done. Egor is a breeze. Forgets to remove the bike from the aisle. I reminded him several times - to no avail. Then he promised: next time you will go remove the bike in the middle of the night. It worked quickly!

Katya is a smart girl, but she gets distracted a lot in class and has difficulty concentrating. She is in fifth grade, and in fourth grade she surprised everyone. She was the only one in the class who got an A in her natural history test. Veronica is a favorite in the family. Wise beyond her age, she loves to talk about life. She is five years old - the most interesting age. He's making ropes out of Yegor, and he's also trying to get ropes out of Maxim. They sometimes quarrel with Katya over toys, but Katya takes care of her younger sister and calls her “my baby.”

Katya, Veronica, Egor

My stepfather taught me to do everything “the way.” I went to feed the pigs and immediately brought a bucket on the way back. There will be less work in the morning. This saves effort and makes life easier. I also teach my children. They don’t always agree, sometimes they show their teeth, but I think: if it’s right, it’s better to insist. Children have their own responsibilities, they clean their rooms, vacuum, wipe off dust, and put things in their places.

The brothers recently learned to cook. We were busy with housekeeping and suggested that they make their own soup. Explained how. Maxim was in charge, Egor was on hand. The whole family appreciated the buckwheat soup – it turned out incredibly tasty! The child needs to be shown the mechanism step by step, then it is easy for him to do it.

I would like the children to get in-demand professions. There is always a need for plumbers, auto mechanics, and computer technicians. But it doesn’t matter who they are, the main thing is to learn to do the best job. Professionals are always in demand, which means there will always be a penny in your pocket.

In the evenings we all have dinner together. On holidays we grill kebabs. Children's birthdays are sacred. The first of September is the day of condolences. Not so much children as parents are looking forward to summer(laughs).I approach life with humor. It brings holiday and new emotions into everyday life. Recently my wife asked me to buy a watermelon. When I returned, I quietly brought the watermelon into the kitchen and said that they weren’t in the store. Svetlana enters the kitchen and there is the long-awaited watermelon. My wife was happy and we laughed together. I am close to the words that I heard from Yevgeny Petrosyan: “I hasten to laugh at myself before others laugh at me.” It becomes easier to live with a joke.

As of 2009, my husband and I had lived together for 24 years. It was Saturday, I was supposed to get paid (which I did). On Sunday we planned to buy linoleum to re-lay in the hallway.

But in the evening, when I was driving home, my son called and told me to hurry home. I asked what happened, but he said that I would see for myself. When I arrived, I saw that my husband had a stroke. I called an ambulance and explained that the site was with my husband, but, nevertheless, the ambulance took 2 hours. Then there was the hospital, intensive care unit (he was in a coma), well, everything else that came with it.

At that moment I was in complete shock, especially since the doctor did not give me any hope of recovery. On Monday, under anesthesia, he underwent a brain tomography. It turned out that his right hemisphere was completely filled with blood; we were not even offered surgery. I didn’t know about this, that you can simply stop a brain hemorrhage with surgery. Okay - that's the past.

He got up and began to walk, although all the doctors unanimously said that with such indicators he should be a vegetable. Then there were 6 years of suffering in hospitals and VTEKs, where the doctors gave him group 2, like he was recovering. But this was not the case, he had severe brain damage, mood swings, aggression, then sweet treatment. The last time was at VTEK in August 2015. He was given a permanent 2nd group. Further, he was so aggressive that in the evenings he shouted at me: “May you die before the morning and so on in the same spirit.”

It's December 2015. It was December 9, I was driving home from work by minibus, and then I had a vision of what to do if he died, who to call, etc. I arrived, he was sitting near the stove (we live in a private house), he said to me: “If I could live until morning, it’s so good near the stove, I would die here.” I started swearing at him that I had nothing to bury him with and so that he would calm down. He replied that people would help. I had a nervous site of stress, he wanted to go to bed. I heated up the stove and also went to bed (I have to get up early). At half past four he started calling me, I jumped out and called an ambulance. He died at 04.50 am on December 10th in my arms. The ambulance arrived at 5:00.

While the ambulance was driving, I sat stupidly next to the body, my son met the ambulance. And then the TV started beeping (turned off). I had a panic, I now understand that when his soul left his body, he gave me a sign, but then I became scared. Then after the funeral, somewhere on the 9th day, I woke up screaming, he was calling me by name, just like the night he died. I jumped off and ran, naturally there was no one and nothing. We live next to the cemetery (5 min walk). Sometimes I hear him scream, he calls me by name. I asked people, it turns out it’s not just my name.

When I come to the cemetery, I always say hello to everyone, then I go up to his grave and talk to him. Why is life so unfair? I really miss him. The funny thing is that we got married on May 10, 1986, he had a stroke on December 10, 2009, and he died on December 10, 2015. When he became paralyzed, he was 47 years old, when he died, I was 47 years old. So don’t believe in fate and...



Comments (7 ) to the terrible story “The mysticism of numbers in the life and death of my husband”:

A very sad story, losing loved ones is always difficult, but you have a son, hang in there! There’s just one thing I can’t understand: why, when your husband had a stroke, your son didn’t call an ambulance, but called you.

Thanks for the sympathy.
My son arrived 10 minutes before me and, due to his youth, did not understand anything. I don’t understand why he moans and falls. He tried to put him on the bed, then he fell into a coma. Coma in stroke patients is a very terrible thing.

LANA, thank you for the story, it is really very interesting and life-giving! Firstly, please accept my sincere condolences on the death of your spouse; it is very difficult to come to terms with the passing of a person with whom you lived most of your life. And yes, unfortunately, our glorious medicine is far from up to par, and the story about the ambulance taking 2 hours and the rudeness and lack of attention from the doctors will surprise no one. If you look at history from a mystical point of view, then indeed, the number 10 runs through your husband’s entire life; by the way, the Mayan peoples believed that ten contains both the beginning and the end of the cycle of any development. For example, birth and death. In your case, this is also true, on the 10th you started a family, on the 10th he died. The only thing we must remember is that our life is very diverse and numbers have their role in it, but not a determining one, and only the person himself determines his destiny, through his deeds and actions.

Thank you for your condolences Yuri Vasilievich. All the best to you. I hope everything will be fine for me too. You just need to get through it all. Thanks again

LANA, as an addition, the site is mystical, so listen to what really worries me in the mystical plane. You write that you miss your husband very much, you miss him, sometimes you hear his call from the direction of the cemetery... all these may be signs of “necrotic attachment”, because one of its reasons is the reluctance to let go of a loved one after his death, constant thoughts and worries about him. Here are the main signs of necrobinding: weakness, pain in the legs, severe depression, thoughts of suicide, unusual dreams and visions, an obsessive feeling of someone’s presence nearby, changes in behavior, character, habits, sudden mood swings. Necro-binding is dangerous because a person is seriously drained of vitality, and illnesses, troubles, injuries fall on the person... There are many ways to remove necro-binding, but it seems to me that the simplest and most effective is self-control. In many ways, necrobinding is manifested by obsessive thoughts, an “alien” inner voice, and changes in behavior. By controlling these moments and not succumbing to the will of the deceased, you can weaken him and break off contact. And remember that life goes on, be active, walk more, do your favorite and interesting things, improve yourself, both physically and spiritually, and love life, because perhaps it is given to us only once, and nothing else will happen!

Thank you, Yuri Vasilievich for your support. Yes, indeed, for 2 and a half years every night I experienced his death, right down to the feelings that I had at the moment of his death. I closed my eyes and saw this whole scene before my eyes. I ate myself that I couldn’t save this time either, but I myself understood that not everything is in the hands of a person. This happens less often now, but it still happens. Sometimes I see him in completely ridiculous dreams. I think that he is trying (he loved me very much) to push me away or something, so that I won’t suffer so much. At least it seems so to me. I went to the cemetery very often, then I got very sick and it felt like I was bringing something from the cemetery. My neighbor scolded me and said that I need to go to the cemetery only on those days that exist for this. Now I rarely go to the cemetery. By the way, you are right, I began to get sick often, and now I have also broken my leg. I’m thinking about probably removing all his photos from the house, sometimes I get the impression that he’s watching me. This is a mystical site, so don’t judge me too harshly for just expressing my thoughts.

And also, about the fact that we have one life and will not have any more. When I was little and my grandmother (in those Soviet times it was taboo) told me about God. Then I couldn’t explain to her how this was happening, but I knew that this was not the end. She and I went to visit her friends and I said (I was about 5 years old) when this grandmother will die. She asked how I knew, and I just shrugged and said I didn’t know. I have never made a mistake. And when computers appeared, it dawned on me that we are just files and when our life ends, we fly to the server, and there we are already sorted according to our affairs. Who is normal, and who is a virus and is ready to be destroyed. I don’t know where I got this from, but it just came somehow. That's why I think there is no end to life.