Widows & Widowers Support Group
This community is dedicated to those who have lost a husband, wife, or partner. Anything is open for discussion here, with the hope that we can focus on grief, bereavement, life after loss, and continuing on after a great loss.
I lost my mom in March, and my wife of 25+ years in July.
My friend Mario called me several times a day after she died. I am known for not picking up calls, and he called until I answered. A few times I went to his house and we ate takeout and watched tv and talked.
I met Mario when I was discharged from the Psych Hospital and decided it was unhealthy to go back to squatting in an apartment with my wife where she abused me physically and mentally. I fought with the hospital until they arranged for me to go to a Group Home where I thought I would have the stability to restart my work as a Web Developer and help my wife and kid financially.
I was eligible for a "Level C" group home, the least supervised, basically a 2 bedroom apartment with 4 men living there. There was some turnover, and few months later Mario moved in. He's a 60 y.o. grizzly Puerto Rican bear, 6'2", and eventually he confided to me he is gay. He's also an alcoholic, but not the kind that gets nasty and hurts people, he just enjoys his Palo Viejo and Pepsi, which he drinks all day in the quart plastic container you get with take out food.
I was intellectually starved, and Mario is pretty sophisticatedly self-educated in many subjects including religion and politics, and we bonded. The staff gave him trouble about his drinking, and in his typical self-destructive way he ran away and went to live in an abandoned building with friends. On New Year's Eve I provided the drinks for him and his friends. Meanwhile I introduced Mario to my friend who works at a program for Episcopal Charities that provides housing for people with mental illness who are hard-core homeless. A few weeks before his apartment was ready, they kicked someone out of the abandoned building for stealing, and he came back and torched it. Mario barely escaped, with burns. Then he moved into his apartment, and established a stable life there.
Mario always throws parties for my birthday, with Mexican food since I am 1/4 Mexican and my birthday is Cinco de Mayo. He can't help himself from helping people, he often has a "roommate" who is an illegal immigrant trying to save up money for an apartment. Sometimes these roommates don't work out, Mario lives in a rough world, but the agency gives him stability. He also has a long love-hate relationship with another former resident of the abandoned building, a Puerto Rican dyke who is mostly honorable, except when she isn't. I have suggested more than once that Mario should marry Blue.
Part of the reason I chose my apartment when I moved out of the group home is because it is a few blocks away from Mario's. I moved in with my wife, and for the last few years of her life we had a decent relationship without abuse. I often bring him a half-gallon of rum and a Pepsi, and some cheap Vaquero mini cigars that are cigarette substitutes among the mental health consumer community because they are cheaper - and more deadly - and sometimes some food. Sometimes I give him some cash to tide him over to his disability check. My wife was suspicious that Mario was "using" me but I know that when people arrive at his house, he is generous with his food and drink, so in a way I helped him help others.
My wife was jealous of my friendship with Mario, to the point that I started calling him my "2nd wife" and that term stuck.
Mario has Type 2 diabetes and until recently managed it with oral meds. In the past year, he started having to shoot insulin, he has had thyroid problems, and other medical problems. Two weeks ago he went to his doctor who thought he had hepatitis. He was admitted to the hospital where they discovered a bad internal infection and he was on antibiotics that were helping.
But he didn't like the phlebotomists (they are like vampires that appear before dawn and stick you with needles), they were hurting him and leaving bruises. I visited him and told him to talk to his doctor about his concerns. Instead, in typical Mario fashion, he called me to tell me he left AMA and was home, and he would follow up with his doctor. A few days later he told me he wasn't doing well, and asked me about the antibiotics that were left over from my wife. They were the same he was given in the hospital, so I gave them to him until he went to the doctor.
Then Mario stopped calling me. Every time I called him, it went straight to voicemail. Last night I went to his house, nobody answered the doorbell, and I called from the yard on the side. I saw a light go out in his apartment, so I figured he was alive at least. I planned to call his agency today, but my friend at the agency called me first, to tell me Mario is back in the hospital, and in pretty bad condition.
When my wife's body started shutting down, she also developed massive internal infections. I am afraid that is what is happening with Mario.
A third major loss in 6 months will be very hard to take. I actually care more for Mario than I did for my mother, but not as much as my wife, who despite our troubled relationship, was a smart and funny woman with sensibilities very similar to mine - like Mario - one reason she resented him, but they became friendly before she died.
I plan to visit Mario in the hospital tomorrow. The agency told me he is still in the ER getting stabilized.
My friend Mario called me several times a day after she died. I am known for not picking up calls, and he called until I answered. A few times I went to his house and we ate takeout and watched tv and talked.
I met Mario when I was discharged from the Psych Hospital and decided it was unhealthy to go back to squatting in an apartment with my wife where she abused me physically and mentally. I fought with the hospital until they arranged for me to go to a Group Home where I thought I would have the stability to restart my work as a Web Developer and help my wife and kid financially.
I was eligible for a "Level C" group home, the least supervised, basically a 2 bedroom apartment with 4 men living there. There was some turnover, and few months later Mario moved in. He's a 60 y.o. grizzly Puerto Rican bear, 6'2", and eventually he confided to me he is gay. He's also an alcoholic, but not the kind that gets nasty and hurts people, he just enjoys his Palo Viejo and Pepsi, which he drinks all day in the quart plastic container you get with take out food.
I was intellectually starved, and Mario is pretty sophisticatedly self-educated in many subjects including religion and politics, and we bonded. The staff gave him trouble about his drinking, and in his typical self-destructive way he ran away and went to live in an abandoned building with friends. On New Year's Eve I provided the drinks for him and his friends. Meanwhile I introduced Mario to my friend who works at a program for Episcopal Charities that provides housing for people with mental illness who are hard-core homeless. A few weeks before his apartment was ready, they kicked someone out of the abandoned building for stealing, and he came back and torched it. Mario barely escaped, with burns. Then he moved into his apartment, and established a stable life there.
Mario always throws parties for my birthday, with Mexican food since I am 1/4 Mexican and my birthday is Cinco de Mayo. He can't help himself from helping people, he often has a "roommate" who is an illegal immigrant trying to save up money for an apartment. Sometimes these roommates don't work out, Mario lives in a rough world, but the agency gives him stability. He also has a long love-hate relationship with another former resident of the abandoned building, a Puerto Rican dyke who is mostly honorable, except when she isn't. I have suggested more than once that Mario should marry Blue.
Part of the reason I chose my apartment when I moved out of the group home is because it is a few blocks away from Mario's. I moved in with my wife, and for the last few years of her life we had a decent relationship without abuse. I often bring him a half-gallon of rum and a Pepsi, and some cheap Vaquero mini cigars that are cigarette substitutes among the mental health consumer community because they are cheaper - and more deadly - and sometimes some food. Sometimes I give him some cash to tide him over to his disability check. My wife was suspicious that Mario was "using" me but I know that when people arrive at his house, he is generous with his food and drink, so in a way I helped him help others.
My wife was jealous of my friendship with Mario, to the point that I started calling him my "2nd wife" and that term stuck.
Mario has Type 2 diabetes and until recently managed it with oral meds. In the past year, he started having to shoot insulin, he has had thyroid problems, and other medical problems. Two weeks ago he went to his doctor who thought he had hepatitis. He was admitted to the hospital where they discovered a bad internal infection and he was on antibiotics that were helping.
But he didn't like the phlebotomists (they are like vampires that appear before dawn and stick you with needles), they were hurting him and leaving bruises. I visited him and told him to talk to his doctor about his concerns. Instead, in typical Mario fashion, he called me to tell me he left AMA and was home, and he would follow up with his doctor. A few days later he told me he wasn't doing well, and asked me about the antibiotics that were left over from my wife. They were the same he was given in the hospital, so I gave them to him until he went to the doctor.
Then Mario stopped calling me. Every time I called him, it went straight to voicemail. Last night I went to his house, nobody answered the doorbell, and I called from the yard on the side. I saw a light go out in his apartment, so I figured he was alive at least. I planned to call his agency today, but my friend at the agency called me first, to tell me Mario is back in the hospital, and in pretty bad condition.
When my wife's body started shutting down, she also developed massive internal infections. I am afraid that is what is happening with Mario.
A third major loss in 6 months will be very hard to take. I actually care more for Mario than I did for my mother, but not as much as my wife, who despite our troubled relationship, was a smart and funny woman with sensibilities very similar to mine - like Mario - one reason she resented him, but they became friendly before she died.
I plan to visit Mario in the hospital tomorrow. The agency told me he is still in the ER getting stabilized.
Love and Hugs,
Martha