Life Will Never Be the Same — But You Can Get Through This

In response to “How Do I Cope After the Death of My Husband?” Arlene writes:  I lost my husband a week ago today, I buried him yesterday. One minute I am numb the next I am crying my eyes out.  I love and miss my best friend….I just don’t know what to do….I can’t forget his eyes as they were taking him in the ambulance, they were pleading with me and I couldn’t help him….I can’t close my eyes without seeing his pleading eyes to help him, he knew he was dying, it was a massive heart attack and he died in the ambulance in front of my house. I am staying with my sons, and can’t go home….what do I do?

 

Beverly Chantalle McManus, Grief Companion responds:  Arlene, first of all, I’m so sorry to hear of your loss.  You are experiencing one of the hardest things any human can be asked to face, and it’s important to know that you’re not alone…  you are surrounded by a circle of love and support from me and others, who, like you and me, have lived through the shock and tragedy of spouse loss.  What you are experiencing is a very normal aspect of grief - the shock, the numbness, the horror… all blended together and leaving you feeling shattered and like your life will never be the same.  You have embarked on a grief journey, one with its own unique stepping stones and time line. 

Yes, your life will never be the same again, but the reality is that you can get through this.  Even though it’s hard to believe now, you will be able to survive this.  For me, the key was to try to stay in the present moment, and not forecast myself too far into the future, which seemed so scary and foreboding.  Initially, I focused only on breathing… if I could just keep breathing, I knew I’d be okay.  Then I focused on making it through each hour… it seemed that with every hour, there was another reminder of all I had lost - I’d wake up and look for that sweet face on the pillow next to me.  I’d pick up the phone and begin calling him.  I’d start thinking about what to cook for dinner.  And then the reality would hit:  He’s not here.  But as I got through each hour, eventually found I could make it through the entire day. 

Not without tears, mind you.  Tears are a very important part of your grief journey.  When we cry, we release a cascade of beneficial hormones and chemicals that affect every cell of our body, in a positive, healing way.  We cry as long as we need to, and we know we no longer need to only when the tears stop falling.  And afterwards, even if for a transitory moment, we feel a tiny bit better.  When you feel the tears coming, let them fall.  You’re crying because you’re in pain and your heart is broken.  As you cry, as you really feel and embrace all the emotions you are experiencing, you will gradually begin to heal.  

Right now, you are very raw… this is a major life trauma, and the experience will always be with you.  I’m glad to hear that you’re staying with your sons now, and hope they are providing some strength you can lean against during this hard time.  At some point - and only you will know when - you will feel like you can return to your home.  You will enter, and feel the absence of that very important person in your life.  But even though one very important heart has stopped beating doesn’t mean that your heart will stop loving.  You will see your home in a new light, and the love you shared there will be a comfort for you.  Memories will flood you, at times bringing tears, but also with them a healing presence. 

I’d like to ask you to consider a couple of things, and hope these will provide a bit of comfort in the days ahead: 

As you close your eyes and see your husband’s pleading eyes in front of you, I’d like you to remember the love those eyes have expressed to you, and ask you to consider thinking of him pleading with you so that you will know that even though he may be gone, he will always love you, forever. 

I also would like to ask you to continue to stay in touch, and let me know how you’re doing.  Perhaps when you’re ready, consider finding a grief support group or workshop where you can share your story, and find comfort and support from others.  Above all, please do not feel alone.  Know that we are walking this grief journey with you, and most importantly, know that within you is the strength to carry you through this hard time. 

 

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.

 

(c) 2008 Beverly Chantalle McManus

My Life: Seven Years Later

November tenth is a day that creeps up on me now.

It wasn’t always this way.

In past years it was a day heavy with memories, emotions, and unanswered questions.

Now it’s a day just like any other.

This year it wasn’t until after lunch that I looked at the calendar in my office and noted the date. Suddenly, I realized what day it was. I pushed my laptop to the side and looked out the window at the green grass and sunshine. In seconds the memory of hearing a gunshot from our bedroom and finding my late wife’s lifeless body flashed through my mind followed by a tinge of the raw terror that flowed through my body that afternoon.

But it lasted only a moment.

Then, just as fast, my mind flashed through the seven years of my life since that afternoon. Marrying Marathon Girl. The birth of two sons and a daughter. Buying a house. Having my first book published.

And I found myself smiling.

Smiling at the choices I made that put me on the path to a new life. Smiling at the thought that with this tragedy came an opportunity to start and a chance to become a better and stronger person. Smiling that I conquered grief, misery, and depression.

With happy thoughts in my head, I returned to work.

After work there were no side trips to the cemetery or participation in any kind of commemoration on my late wife’s death. Instead I went home and ate dinner with the family, played with my kids then helped put them to bed, fixed a bathroom sink for Marathon Girl, and wrote a chapter for my next novel before going to bed.

It was a busy day full of all the people and things that make up my new, happy life.

I wouldn’t have spent it any other way.