by Lori Dwyer on September 6, 2011 · 25 comments

I am so jealous, of everyone.

I dropped a friend of mine home a few days ago, and watched as she entered her house. Where her husband and children were waiting. The house lit and alive and warm.

The house I come home to is cold and dark as I bundle my children inside. It warms soon, with light and laughter. But it is up to me to do that.

I miss the feeling of coming home to safety and security, the home fires burning. Ever since January, all I’ve wanted to do is go home, where it’s safe, and escape all this pain for awhile.


I miss being married. It was never a huge thing for me- “It’s just a piece of paper.” It wasn’t until I got married myself that I realised it was so much more.

That was one of first things that hit me, about losing Tony- I was no longer someone’s wife. I was no longer one of those special women, so loved and adored that someone wanted them all to themselves.

I loved referring to Tony as ‘my husband’, and he loved calling me his wife. (“You know what I always remember him saying, about you? Laughing and saying ‘Fuck, I love my wife’”, says one of Tony’s friends). We loved the idea of being married, that actuality of it… we adored each other.


“I will spend the rest of my life, waiting to die, so I can see him again. I’ll never find anyone I love that much again.”

“I know,” says my best friend. “I know…. you were the best of mates, when you weren’t fighting.”

And we were. Even I do ever find someone else…. I think I may have lost my soul mate for good.


I phone to organise insurance for my new house. Finance? asks the women on the phone. No, I say, I will own it outright. Isn’t that fabulous, says the woman. She works for LifeLine, she tells me, and mortgage stress is so common, to be my age with a house to my own is just marvelous.

Lucky, maybe. But it certainly doesn’t feel that way.

Stuff the house. Fuck all of it.

I’ll trade it. For one more minute, one more second, laying in my husband’s arms.

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{ 25 comments… read them below or add one }

Annabellz September 14, 2011 at 2:44 am

… again i so appreciate your honesty. Gets me more in line to do that myself. My hope is it helps you more than it helps all of us to "hear" your words (and not necessarily what you say but that you say what is true and meaningful)…

I have that connection with my husband and I don't feel particularly fearful of losing him. In fact I feel less fearful overall knowing I would survive. I dont' ever want to experience that but I could survive.

Meanwhile I appreciate him more… I look at my 5 kids and adore them too but i realize what makes it all possible is the man who stands next to me every day as we forge on.


Anonymous September 8, 2011 at 10:35 am

This post brought tears to my eyes, as many of your other posts have too. If only people knew when they say how "lucky" you are -I imagine I wouldn't survive if I lost my husband. I put myself in your shoes and I think, fuck, life sucks. You are an inspiration, an amazing woman, who is only human and who doesn't have to pretend to be strong. You're incredible to keep fighting – for you and your children. Kath xx


Donna September 8, 2011 at 7:26 am

Life has a cruel way of making us realise that material things really dont matter. Once upon a time I'd had assumed being mortgage free would be amazing. Now I'll think of your words and focus on the things that truly count in my world.

Thinking of you always x


Bean’s Mummy September 8, 2011 at 7:21 am

Hi Lori. I think of you always and send you and your kids love…always. I saw The Age article online and your darlings' real names – gorgeous, made me feel a little closer to you somehow. Anyway, I just wanted to say I kinda, sorta, a little bit can relate (but obviously not to the enormity of it) to your feelings when the insurance woman said you were 'lucky to own your house'. Last Christmas I was suffering terribly with PND. I was only just holding it somewhat together – as it turns out I would seek meds & psych therapy 2 weeks later. Anyway, a woman in a baby change room was chatting to me – "Oh your first Christmas as a family, you must be over-the-moon!" she exclaimed. "Oh I remember OUR first Christmas, it was so exciting and special, OH you LUCKY thing – enjoy". Lovely things to say. Well-meant. FUCK, FUCK FUCK it hurt. Hugs. Bean's Mummy (Chris) xx


Erika September 7, 2011 at 10:01 pm

Hi Lori,

Have been a lurker for some time. Today is the first time I have felt I wanted to comment. It IS all about perspective and often we forget that. Sometimes we may say something quite innocently and either our heart drops and we know that in that instant what our words mean, and that they were in no way meant to be traumatic for the other person, or due to circumstances we have no idea of our words have (for the most part) innocently caused pain to another. My wish is that I had a chance to have a husband and be a mother. But it didn't happen. I don't think I'm particularly ugly, I don't have a personality disorder, and I'm not particularly career minded. I grieve something I never actually had and at the age of 49 that's not going to happen. I keep telling myself that that's stupid. I come home to an empty house every night, and I don't think I'll ever get used to that the way people say I should. But my comment is not about tit for tat, your husband died in circumstances I could not even begin to understand. Neither could I nor anyone understand your grief, it is about perspective. Totally. I hope this isn't taken the wrong way, it's not meant to be about one person's grief being worse than anothers. But it's totally about perspective. I suppose in a long winded way I just wanted to say I sorta get it – perspective I mean. Erika


Shellye September 7, 2011 at 9:06 pm

Praying for you and yours as you prepare for the big move. Hope things go smoothly.


jeanie September 7, 2011 at 4:48 pm

Hey there.

I remember that. Only it wasn't my husband that died, but my ex – and the envy of someone else having something that once you had and lost (however it was lost) is very raw, even 10 years on.

My biggest thing is knowing that there is no-one out there that shares my memories of the great love story that we had any more. I have my daughter, but on days like today (which is our "anniversary"), even though I have moved on and am now married with another child, I still have pangs.


Kel September 7, 2011 at 12:24 pm

Hugs – just hugs. x


Martha September 7, 2011 at 10:31 am

Just sending ((hugs)) and hoping they help get you through yet another day.


Melissa September 7, 2011 at 8:15 am

We are lucky, you're so right. Joel and I feel the same way about marriage. I know so many say it's just a piece of paper. But it is so much more to us. Always was. I've never taken it for granted, but you've made me cherish it just that little bit more. A reaffirmation.

And you're right. The house is all well and good, but without your husband, it'll just be a house for now. I pray some day it feels like more.


Lynda Halliger-Otvos September 7, 2011 at 8:01 am

Across the wide wide ocean, I think each day of you and the kids and send my strength to you and appreciate your raw honesty.


Amy xxoo September 7, 2011 at 7:08 am

Its throwaway comments like that last one, from people who dont know any different, that can niggle the most.
Chin up lori, and soldier on – we're all behind you…


A Daft Scots Lass September 6, 2011 at 11:22 pm

I know THAT to be the truth!


Mee2 September 6, 2011 at 10:23 pm

Hi. I just wanted to say thank you. I used to follow your bog religiously. I used to write my own blog fairly religiously.

I fell out of it for over a year due to my own anxiety, depression, fibromyalgia, on, and on, and on….

Lately everything has been bad. The depression. The Anxiety. The Pain. THE. PAIN! I don't know how to live like this.

Lately, I have found myself wanting to hurt myself. I have a lot of pills. It would be easy with a great big glass of water. No one would have to know.

But then I think about them. My family. What would they do without me? Who would protect my kids from this big, scary world? Who would make sure the dogs got let out 5 billion times a day? Who would make sure the husband had dinner to eat. God knows he can't cook for himself.

So then, I don't. I don't hurt myself. I ask my husband or my oldest child to put my pills up. My husband always asks why. I'm honest. The oldest child asks too…I have to lie.

I couldn't read everything that has happened to you since January. It makes me feel like I'm going to have an anxiety attack.

But that's good. And I thank you.

I thank you for making me think.

I will continue thanking you when I have to stop and think in the future.

I will come back to your blog and read the rest.

I feel your pain. But only from the opposite side. Almost.

I thank you for being so open and raw and honest.

I know my friends and family and all my loved ones would thank you too.


Miss Cinders September 6, 2011 at 9:29 pm

I never know what to say Lori :(

So I'll send hugs :) xxx


Kimmie September 6, 2011 at 9:27 pm

Lori I think I know how you feel.
In June I wrote this post…

Houses, money, stuff, at the end of the day for me they would mean nothing of I could not curl up next to Heartpoet at the end of each day.




Canadian in Glasgow September 6, 2011 at 9:18 pm

Luck is one of those horrible things that can be ironic as well as true. Yeah, it is lucky. And it's also the most unfucking lucky thing in the world.

Your new home…well, yes you have to be the one to light the fire for now….but the good news is you HAVE the ability to do it.

xoxo Holly


Curvaceous Queen September 6, 2011 at 9:15 pm

It's easy to say it's better to have loved blah blah but the truth is that it bites big time. I wish that you had the chance to create more moments


Suz @ Segovia and The I Love You Song September 6, 2011 at 9:09 pm

Shit, I wish I knew something useful to say Lori. All I can do is send you my love and support xx


MaidInAustralia September 6, 2011 at 8:56 pm

So shit that you can't wake up like that again. Hugs x


Amba @ Team Mummy September 6, 2011 at 8:53 pm

I don't know what to say, but still here reading away and wanted to send u a big hug, u are doing an amazing job and if u ever need anyone to talk to, i'd be honoured to help.


Fiona September 6, 2011 at 8:51 pm

Sometimes I wish I got the "married" thinf



Claire September 6, 2011 at 8:48 pm

Tonight I will hug my husband a little tighter, just because of the last line of this post. As always, you speak of such unbearable truth and feeling. Thankyou for sharing with us, and please know that there are so many people out there, who don't know you at all, but still think of you every day.


Crystal September 7, 2011 at 12:29 am

You know, my knee-jerk reaction was to agree with Terri up there – you were lucky that at least you had that for a while, even if you had to lose it in such a horrible, horrible way. I know I've never known that kind of a connection with anyone and I'd give my right arm to. It does make me wonder, though – if you have to lose it like you did, is it worth it? Is it worth it to know what it's like to love and be loved THAT MUCH if it's only going to be ripped away from you? Again, my knee-jerk reaction is "yes." But, I just don't know. I'm at the point where I'm starting to realize it's fruitless to try to find the answers. Just when you think you have one, you're shown another side, another angle that renders you wrong.

All of which is to say no human being should have to go through this, and I'm still so sorry that it happened to you. (((HUG)))


Toni September 6, 2011 at 8:56 pm

You WERE lucky, Lori — too many people go all their lives without knowing that connection.
With all my heart I wish he could come back to you.


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