Let’s All Take Advantage of the Widow! Dealing with Manipulative Family and Friends

Martha from Utah writes:  Your blog comments would have been of immense help the first couple of years after my husband’s death. We had been married for 45 years.  I can relate to all they say.  At this point in my adjustment (not recovery), reading what new widows have to say brings back a lot of the pain.  When it comes down to the nitty gritty, Time is the greatest healer.  It will be 4 years in February.  I have figured out I will either survive or die. 

Do any other widows complain about inheritance issues involving their children or step children?  This was my greatest burden.  Bob left all our money to me.  I had two children by a previous marriage and the two boys by Bob were furious.  After he died, they demanded a huge cut of Bob’s estate.  One even brought me a Power of Attorney form, and raised a ruckus when I wouldn’t sign.  I shook so badly that I couldn’t write-could hardly hold a fork or spoon.   The two kept at me until I thought I had Parkinson’s.  The doctor said it was nerves.  I lived on heavy sedation for almost a year, making only necessary trips to the grocery store and bank, then back to another pill and my recliner.  I don’t know how I managed to get off this hill and back home.  Two friends, one a retried IRS supervisor and the other an attorney, told me the boys would never leave me alone until I gave them each an enormous amount.  To save my sanity, that is what I finally had to do.  I’m glad Bob never knew how greedy his sons were-and are.  I lost 18 months of my life before I was allowed to grieve and recover.

 

Beverly Chantalle McManus, Grief & Loss Companion, responds:  Martha, thanks for sharing your experience.  I’m so sorry for your loss - after 45 years together, you must miss your husband very much.  And how sad that in addition to bearing the grief from losing your Bob, you had to endure the greed and hostility of the sons. 

I’m continually amazed at how often this scenario occurs - in different variations, but always with a common theme of hard-hearted family members or friends who want to exploit your vulnerability, at a time when you’re already feeling shattered and abandoned.  Sometimes these actions create chasms that can never be bridged. 

And it’s not just friends and family members.  Some businesses are low enough to track obituaries and actually target widows and widowers with a wide range of investment schemes, shady purchases, and “deals of a lifetime.”  One of my friends said that shortly after her husband died, a delivery person arrived with a beautiful upholetered chair from a local furniture store, and presented her with the COD invoice, saying her husband had ordered it for her before his death, and wanted it to be delivered as a comfort to her when he was gone.  She was stunned, but knowing how thoughtful her husband had been, wrote a check to pay for the chair and delivery fee.  She later learned in the local paper that this same company was being investigated by the DA’s fraud unit for perpetrating this same stunt on hundreds of unsuspecting widows and widowers. 

What I’ve learned:  Perhaps because they know that some widows and widowers will receive a big lump-sum insurance payout, or just because predators can sense when someone is vulnerable and likely to make a wrong decision, we who are bereaved do in fact need to be aware and cautious whenever anyone, whether friend, family, or stranger, tries to part us from our resources.  And I’m not implying that all of these are fraudulent schemes, nor that our family and friends don’t have the best of intentions for us.  It’s just that losing a spouse makes us uncommonly vulnerable, and hence, we’re wise to be extra cautious.  As mentioned in an earlier blog, I found that some advice from our funeral director has been indispensable.  He said, “It is not a bad thing to walk slowly at this time,” and I frequently remind myself of this counsel when others make demands or strongly suggest I take a course of action that might be risky.  It never hurts to delay a decision until I’ve had time to carefully anaylyze it, and perhaps even get outside perspective from experts.

When I take time to think about the emotions and feelings that the greedy attempts at manipulation bring up, the primary feeling I have is anger.  The last thing we need when our hearts are broken is for others - particularly those who we think we should be able to trust - transform from “loving relative” into “attack mode” and come after us or our resources.  As Martha experienced, sometimes the price for freedom from their snares is simply to pay them off and then realize that they are not the people we assumed they are… giving us yet another thing to grieve.  I hope that Martha can now focus on her feelings and do her grief work unencumbered by the reprehensible behavior of Bob’s sons. 

 

Have you experienced greedy or manipulative others who’ve tried to take advantage of you?  What feelings did this experience bring up in you?  How has it affected your grieving?  I’d love to hear how you’ve handled this sticky but unfortunately not-uncommon scenario. 

 

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

 

© 2008 Beverly Chantalle McManus

Movies About Grief: We Are Marshall

It’s hard to find a movie that effectively deals with the subject of grief. Occasionally however, there’s one that really deals with the subject in a realistic way. The most recent movie that does an excellent job dealing with the subject is We Are Marshall.

We Are Marshall is about the tragic plane crash that killed the players and coaches of Marshal University in 1970. Though it’s hyped as a sports movie and the difficult task of rebuilding a college football team from scratch, We Are Marshall is really a movie about dealing with death and loss and how individuals and communities cope with the loss of loved ones. It’s a movie about those who choose to move on and those who want to let the past hold them back.

And the desire to be held back by some sense of mourning is tempting. The university considers canceling the football program but only the quick thinking of one of the surviving football players convinces the board of trustees to let the football program continue.

Then there’s Red Dawson (Matthew Fox), the only member of the coaching staff who wasn’t on the plane because he opted to drive home and make a recruiting stop on the way. He’s wracked by survivor’s guilt, the loss of his mentor Marshall’s head coach Rick Tolley (an un-credited roll by Robert Patrick) - and the fact that he personally recruited many of the players who died after promising their mothers he’d watch after them while they were on the team.

After the program is reinstated, Dawson is offered the head coach job. He turns it down and spends his time building a shed in his back yard. Returning to football - a game that he loves - is something he doesn’t have the heart or strength to do.

Jack Lengyel (Matthew McConaughey) takes the job that no coach in the country wants: building a football team from scratch in the shadow of dead players and coaches. Not only does he have to field a team, he has to help Dawson (who finally agrees to be an assistant coach for one final year) and the university president, other players, and members of the community to know that the best way to accept their loss and climb out from under the shadow of the dead is to play football.

In one emotional scene following the blowout loss to Morehead State, Dawson tells Lengyel that they aren’t honoring the dead because he thinks the team is playing poorly and losing. Lengyel fires back that the Marshall football program isn’t about winning right now but healing the community and the individuals who are still mourning over loved ones. He tells Dawson that building a football program, even one that’s only marginally successful is about giving the people a chance to rebuild their lives. He tells Dawson:

One day, not today, not tomorrow, not this season, probably not next season either but one day, you and I are gonna wake up and suddenly we’re gonna be like every other team in every other sport where winning is everything and nothing else matters. And when that day comes, well that’s…that’s when we’ll honor them [the dead players and coaches].

In another scene, the morning before Marshall’s home opener against Xavier, Lengyel takes his team to the resting spot of six unidentified players. He gives them an inspiring speech about the dead players and coaches but at the end proclaims, “The funerals end today!”

His message is clear: stop living in and thinking about the past. Instead start doing what you were put on Earth to do and start living again.

Despite the dark and sad feeling that penetrates the movie, we see how players, individuals, and the community cope with the loss of spouses, friends, and loved ones and begin moving on with their lives.

There’s an unopened case of beer that was to be used to console the players before 1970 teams’ win before the fateful crash, sitting untouched until a new player opens a can and is joined by others. We see the fiancé of one of the dead players take the advice of the should-have-been father-in-law and leave Hunington, West Virginia to move on with her life and not be held back by the past. And we see how the community celebrates the re-built team’s surprising victory against Xavier by staying on the field for hours after the game. Not everyone makes the decision to move on, however, and we see how their decisions to be held back by grief and memories contrast with those who move forward.

Losing a loved one can be difficult and We Are Marshall portrays that agony in very heart wrenching scenes. But it contains a message of hope and shows how an individual and community can move on after the tragic death of a loved one - even many loved ones - and become stronger in the process.

I Just Want this Pain to End … Now! – Carving Out the Time and Energy to Grieve

In response to Widows - Honor The Pain, No Need To “Suck It Up”, Suzy Aguilar writes, “My husband passed away on May 30, 2008 — yes 5 months ago.  I still feel numb and a big empty hole in my heart.  He was also my high school sweetheart.  I am 41, and he was 43 — we had 3 beautiful daughters, including a set of twins!  Reading these posts is making me realize I am not alone and only other widows can truly understand my pain, a pain nobody else will ever understand.  Thank you all for sharing your stories — it is making me see some light and realize that I am not going crazy!  I just wish at times I could be with him but I know my daughters need me - my oldest is 19 and the twins are 13 - they adore me so much, but I adored my husband so, so much!

Beverly Chantalle McManus, Grief Companion, responds:  Suzy, first of all, thank you for sharing your experience with us.  You are not alone - you have entered a world where only those who are already here understand what you’re going through.  My own husband Steve died five years ago, also at age 43, and I want to let you know that it does get better.  Your daughters are fortunate to have such a brave woman as their mom, and how you walk your grief journey will help them as they grieve the loss of their beloved dad. 

Sometimes for those suffering the intense pain that results when a spouse has died, it is helpful to know that what we are experiencing is normal, albeit extremely painful.  Especially initially, it is hard to believe, but it does help to know that ever so gradually, your memory and thought processes will return.  That the hole that is where your heart once resided will eventually heal.  And that, yes, you will be able to get through this. 

After Steve died, I felt like my brain was Swiss cheese for the longest time.  There were big holes in my memories, and total disconnects between memories and ideas, but gradually (and far more slowly that I wanted!), I began to feel like myself again.

There are of course unexpected tidal waves of emotion that wash away all else, but then eventually subside.  I have been told that these will continue throughout the rest of my life, although their frequency will diminish somewhat.  Looking back over the past few years, I can attest that it is true.  The memories remain, the loss remains, the tears remain, but the pain becomes easier to bear and gradually diminishes.   

Something that isn’t really mentioned often is that grief work requires a substantial output of time and energy.  Grief doesn’t just “happen” on its own. 

Sure, we can try to go about our lives, living as if there is not a gaping hole where our heart used to be, but eventually, the grief spills over, and can sometimes invade every corner of our lives.  Some of us try to avoid the grief, whether by being stoic, or, in some cases, by numbing the pain with alcohol, prescription medications or other substances, or even by becoming consumed by work or busy-ness. 

What I’ve learned: 

Something that has really helped my healing process and that I continue to find very helpful is to schedule time every day to grieve — I know it sounds odd, but the grief takes place regardless of whether we schedule it or not, and this helps to keep it from leaking into every minute of every day. If I suddenly have a lump in my throat or feel like falling apart at an inopportune time, I can deal with it if I know that I’ll have some quiet time to think about Steve later.  In the grief workshops I attended, it was suggested that I designate a special, private, comfy chair in our house as the Grief Space - a  dedicated place to think about the loss, look through photo albums, write in my grief journal, re-read the sympathy cards, listen to music.  I have learned to really lean into the grief, the tears, and the loss, and to embrace all those feelings that are brought forward, rather than trying to dismiss them or shut them away because they are arising at inappropriate times.  It also really helps to talk about it, to acknowledge the empty chair at the table, the empty space in my life.

Last fall, I attended a creativity retreat up in the California wine country.  One of the exercises was to decide what we were willing to give up in order to welcome new energy and ideas into our lives.  I decided I was ready to give up the pain I’d been carrying.  I stretched out on the grass and let all the pain I’d been holding flow out of me and back into the earth, where we were told it could be transformed into something else.  In that instant, I felt immense relief, and felt more like myself than I had for months and months.  Of course the losses still hurt, but by releasing that burden of pain, it freed up so much energy for me to channel into more productive areas.  The joy I experienced with that new-found freedom made me decide to repeat the exercise on a regular basis.  

If you, like most of us, are just wishing the pain would end, please know that you are not alone — you will pull through.  Surround yourself with people you love, read poems and listen to music you enjoy, watch funny movies, walk in nature to restore your energies.  Consider writing a letter to yourself, expressing your well deserved pride in the progress you have made in the time since your spouse’s death.  Think about how much you have changed since that time.  It is amazing.

How are you carving out time and energy to deal with your grief work?  Do you run into any obstacles on the pathway?  I’d love to hear from you…

 

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college. She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

 

© 2008 Beverly Chantalle McManus

Widow’s Friends Resist Her Moving On

Ann from Michigan writes: My husband of 23 years and my dad died within a week of each other. It was awful. We had a large circle of close friends who were great to me, but when I met another man, they were not happy and were always looking for faults with him and trying to tell me not to be with him. They don’t understand that I am just trying to move forward with life. I will always love my husband, but I know I must move on. I can’t go back to the way it was before March 2006. Some people have even broken off their friendship with me. Why can’t they understand and support me?

Abel Keogh, author of Room For Two, responds: Ann, I’m sorry for your loss but glad that you’re moving forward with your life.

Your friends’ reaction to your falling in love again is, unfortunately, common. Some of them are probably grieving over your late husband’s death. Others might have a hard time seeing you with someone else. Whatever the reason for their negative comments and remarks, don’t let them stop you from loving again and moving on. Hopefully, those who have difficulty seeing you with a new love will eventually see how happy you are and realize that falling in love again doesn’t mean rejecting your late husband.

I fell in love again within a year of my late wife’s death. It was very hard from some family and friends to see me with another woman. However, after they saw how happy I was and that our love was real, most of them came around and were very supportive when I eventually remarried. I remain close to most of them.

For those who have decided to end the friendship or continue to make disparaging remarks, don’t hold a grudge or be angry at them. Their actions and decisions are out of your control. Simply let them know that the door of friendship will remain open when they’re ready to return. As your relationship with this man blossoms, I believe many of them will eventually become supportive of your decision. They probably just need some time to let their emotions settle down and adjust to the idea of seeing you with someone else.

You’re a great example to others - including your friends - that despite losing a spouse, life does go on and that it is possible to be happy again. Keep pressing forward no matter what others say or do.

“(Not So) Happy Birthday!” Dealing with Birthdays, Anniversaries and Other Traumatic Dates

Whether it is the birthday of your spouse who has died, your wedding anniversary, or even the anniversary of the death, traumatic dates bring back so many memories, and also bring up so many feelings of loss and sadness.  But, they can also give us a chance to mark our progress of healing.

These events mark not just another date on the calendar but they are significant milestones within our personal healing journey. Our lives are put on pause, at any stage of our grief journey; in order to honor our lost loved ones. Birthdays, anniversaries and those other traumatic dates each carry their own significance and weight within our hearts.

I’ve noticed that healing a broken heart goes in fits and starts — I’m miserable, then for a few days, all feels well, then a stray melody or memory triggers immense grief that feels almost like the original pain.  Even now, several years later, there is a part of me that can’t believe Steve is gone, or that just two years after he died, my own sweet Mama died.

My mom’s birthday is this week, and Steve’s birthday is coming up in October.  Unfortunately, scientists haven’t yet figured out a way for us to alter the calendar so we can just skip over these painful times.  The anniversaries inevitably take place.  The wrinkle is that the person we wish we were celebrating with is no longer here.

Especially for that first year after the death, the entire month of October was almost impossible to get through.  However, over time, I have learned that rather than feeling shell-shocked during the time surrounding these special dates, we can still celebrate.  My daughters and I have been discussing what we will do to mark the occasions this year.

For my mom’s birthday this year, my dad and siblings and their families are joining together for a birthday dinner to honor this special woman.  In the past, we’ve all met up at an apple farm for a picnic, something we know would have pleased our mom, whose one goal in life was to bring her children together as often as possible.

For Steve’s birthday, over the past couple of years, my daughters and I would go to Rudy’s, his favorite donut shop, and select the same assortment of favorites he used to pick up every morning on his way to work.  We then took them to the cemetery, and even though it sounds slightly morbid, we left the donuts on his grave, knowing they’d soon be enjoyed by the deer and birds that make the space their own.  So this year, since Steve really loved the theater, we’ve purchased tickets to a lively musical that we will enjoy, even though the joy is somewhat bittersweet knowing that he is not there to share it with us.

Sometimes it’s not our spouse’s special days that deliver an emotional blow.  Steve died the week before my own birthday, and that year he died, I wanted no part of any birthday festivities.  My extended family insisted on celebrating despite my protests, and it only made me angry.  How could they think I could even contemplate my own birthday when there was a giant crater where my heart used to be?  Even now, with the anniversary of his death and all the feelings it arouses so close to my birthday, I decided to just stop completely, and instead told folks to celebrate it if they so desired on my half-birthday, six months later.  I totally forgot about this until this August, when my sweet daughters surprised me with a wonderful birthday celebration at our favorite karaoke club, and serenaded me with a song they had been practicing, “The Wind Beneath My Wings.”  For the first time since Steve’s death, I felt like I had a happy birthday.

What I’ve Learned: These traumatic dates come whether we want them to or not.  The key to getting through them, and with hope, at some point transforming them into days of celebration and joy, is to plan ahead.  Thinking through how I might feel on that upcoming day prepares me for the emotional blast.  I’ve come up with some creative ways to celebrate the special days, such as baking his favorite cake, spritzing the room with his cologne, spending time with the photo albums while listening to “our songs,” writing about my feelings in my grief journal, and even buying an anniversary card for him.  These activities help me remember that even though he is not here physically, his memory will always be held in my heart, and I can cherish those special times we had together.

I think the anniversary of the death is far more traumatic and harder to cope with than any birthdays or anniversaries, because it marks a finality of life and the relationship you shared.  In some cases, it is the day that marks the last day you ever shared with this person.  In other cases, it marks the last day your loved one took the final breath, and perhaps you were not at his or her side when this happened.  Unlike the birthdays and anniversaries, for which during life there is an expectation that each year will be celebrated with an optimistic looking forward in life, the death day is for many of us the hardest because it invokes memories of the saddest times.  On the days that commemorate happy occasions, we wish we could all be together again.  But we don’t wish to share death days.  We just wish they had never taken place.

What I’ve Learned: The death day happens once in a lifetime for each person who walks this earth, and is harder for we survivors - it is a matter of what is shared and what we have left to hold on to.  On this day, I usually take the day off from work, knowing that I might be flooded with emotions.  When possible, I visit the cemetery, and always write a letter to Steve, letting him know how I’m doing, and how much I miss him.  After the first year, I realized that yes, I can get through this day.  And it is just one day.  I keep breathing, keep walking, and 24 hours later, I’m once again a survivor.

 

How do you deal with the “harder days”? Have the happier days become easier to cope with?  How do we cope with letting go and sharing these memories or feelings rather than holding them in?  Please share your experiences with me.

Beverly Chantalle McManus lives in Northern California with her two daughters, who have each now graduated from college.  She is a bereavement facilitator and core team member of the Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey Workshops, and a frequent speaker and writer on the topic of loss and grief. In addition to grief support, she is also a marketing executive for professional services firms.

© 2008 Beverly Chantalle McManus