My name is David Wishart (pronounced wish-art, on left in profile picture). My husband John Wishart (on right in picture) died recently and I've found myself suddenly completely alone, isolated, and without purpose. There is no routine for me to go back to. I'm here, a gay male widower, looking for any possible support group where I can be welcomed, feel comfortable, and talk with others who might identify with me.
On the morning of September 18th, 2017, I lost my dear sweet husband John Wishart to the cancer Multiple Myeloma. On October 7th, I buried John, honoring him and my promises. Largely on my own, I faced bigotry, and held both his graveside funeral and what John called an "honest reception" at our studio and home. I've been told over one hundred people came to say goodbye that day.
On the day he died I was abruptly left alone. We have a large dive and first to leave after I had bathed and dressed Johnny shortly after he died in my arms was John's sister, next his mother, followed by a hospice worker, and the hearse where I had carried and gently placed my sweet husband.
The hearse moved ten feet and stopped. The driver-funeral director got out and came to me, standing under the ceder trees in the very first rain of autumn. I was in tears and this compassionate man, having seen I was so suddenly being left alone, said "You are not going to be ok are you".
He stayed with me awhile longer and held me. He was very kind and I felt his words and actions to be sincere and coming from a place where he could really identify with me, with John, and with my loss.
I had promised John he'd never be left alone and he never was throughout his long five year fight and in fact we were never apart as we lived and worked together every moment of our twenty five years together. Keeping my promise I placed John in the crematorium, closed the heavy doors, and ignited the flames. I'm not special or exceptional, it's just what I believe anyone would do for one they love so deeply and completely. John and I are extremely lucky in love.
Only later during a conversation about our love with the kind caring funeral director he admitted to having started a new relationship and I wished him well. But I cautioned him that with true love comes the very real possibility of unimaginable loss. I mentioned that John and I had discussed this risk and we believe a life with love is so very much worth this and we could not have lived without loving and liking one another as completely and deeply as we do. I asked if he liked her as well as loved her to which the funeral director responded "I like and believe I love him". I was stunned but also moved he'd shared this with me.
When he had stopped the hearse and come to speak to me in the rain under those ceder trees his words, of all the many condolences I've received, felt most genuine leaving me feeling that at least one person seems to identify with me.
Our home is in The Columbia River Gorge. A windsurfing, kite boarding, SUP, kayaking, bicycling, snowboarding, you name it outdoor sports natural wonderland. There were never many gay men here or who enjoyed the kind of sports John and I enjoyed together. Also because this area is known for outdoor sports, during John's long cancer fight we lost many friends to sporting deaths. That, and our circle of travel growing ever smaller and more focused on drives from Hood River, to the Portland Veterans Hospital. We became just the two of us. It's not that we were antisocial, just circumstances beyond our control changed. Through it all, however, we had eachother and we were very happy. One of John's last thoughts was "I've always known I have a happy spirit".
I'm now alone for long stretches of time, no calls, no cards, no knocks on the door.
I've tried ever since the deafening quiet came after the work to organise John's funeral and memorial to find grief help and have failed.
I'm trying to keep going but so far it has been very difficult.
Any direction anyone might give to where I might find an appropriate group or chat group would be very much appreciated.
Below I've appended my beloved husband's obituary so that you may understand us more. That's John on the right holding my hand draped over his shoulder.