“Widow’s Weeds” - Symbols of Mourning and the Profound Effect of Colors on Our Emotions

In the not-so-distant past, when an individual within a family died, there was a prescribed period of mourning, during which expectations of the bereaved family were lightened.  In fact, if the mourners did engage in excessive activities, including entertaining guests or attending social events, it was perceived as being disrespectful to the deceased.  There were also many conventions that symbolically told others that an individual or a family was in mourning, for example, the black wreath on the door, or, during WWII, the gold star in the window.  Clothing also symbolized grief, most notably the Victorian era’s “widow’s weeds,” the all-black wardrobe traditionally worn by a widow for a full year after the death of her husband.  

Many cultures continue with these conventions of grieving, and in some ways, I think that it would make life easier for those in grief if we hung on to a few of them, because it would convey to others that “No, we are not the same; life is profoundly different now.”  And in our hurry-up “just get over it” times, a prescribed period of mourning might be very welcome to some people, who feel rushed through their grieving by others.  ”It’s been six months already, time to move on,” someone told me after Steve died.  As if in just six months I could conceivably experience all the feelings and emotions of loss, let alone feel like I could just put it all behind me and paste a big smile on my face as I moved forward.

During the dark days that followed Steve’s death, I felt physically unable to perceive color.  Because my work wardrobe had always been centered around black as a key motif, I already had plenty of black clothes that I was just naturally drawn to, and it was not until a few months after Steve died, when a friend asked me if I ever intended to wear colors other than black again, that I realized that it had unconsciously become my exclusive wardrobe hue. 

As I did my grief work - deeply feeling all the emotions and pain that accompanied the death of my husband - I gradually began to heal.  And as I began to heal, colors slowly made their way back into my wardrobe. 

About a year after Steve died, I remember looking around my living room and recognizing how tired everything looked.  I felt energized and ready for a change, and it all started when I found an antique Moroccan brass tray table that I’d been seeking for years.  We brought it into the living room and it looked so very wrong… nothing worked with it, most especially the furniture layout. 

So I decided to get rid of our extra-long sofa, and replace it with four upholstered chairs that could be situated around the new coffee table.  Once the chairs arrived, I realized how tired the drapes and carpeting looked.  So we removed the wall-to-wall carpet, only to find gorgeous hardwood floors underneath.  A quick resurface (done by a professional floor guy) made them sparkle, and I decided we needed to paint the walls at the same time, selecting a warm maple tone that brought all the elements together. 

The old white front door looked downright bland next to all the new hues, so it got a vibrant red coat of paint.  And I realized our fireplace, which was faced with “used bricks” just didn’t work, so that received several coats of “moonlight white” paint, which totally transformed a former eyesore, making it almost invisible.  A richly woven Oriental rug tied all the pieces together, and new light fixtures and standing lamps added a rich glow. 

Gone were the placid, peaceful light-green tones of our previous living room, replaced by an exotic, deeply-hued palate that even still makes me happy every time I enter the room. 

What I’ve discovered:  Colors have a profound effect on us humans, even if subconsciously.  Our choice of colors can often indicate how we’re feeling on a given day, and if we are aware and awake to it, we can even alter our mood by selecting colors that bring on different feelings.  In the time since Steve died, I’ve added a lot of new colors to my wardrobe, and take great delight when friends say “I almost didn’t recognize you - I’m not used to seeing you wearing that color!”  As I did when redecorating my house, I’ve experimented with colors that I typically avoided in the past - and I’ve been pleasantly surprised with some of the new additions to my personal color palate.  I’ve also come to realize that there is a certain shade of green that I should never, ever wear! 

What colors make you happy?  Sad?  Defeated?  Radiant?  Please share your experience with colors and grief with us - we’d love to hear how colors have been part of your grief journey.

 

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.

© 2009 Beverly Chantalle McManus

Journaling My Grief Experience

My birthday took place a week after Steve died.  Although I did not feel like celebrating, my family members thoughtfully brought some gifts over, one of which was a journal.  At the time, I gave it little thought.  I was so consumed with grief, shock and pain, and the idea of sitting down to write couldn’t have been further from my mind.

However, a few months later, as I began to settle into my new life without Steve, I started panicking at times, because given how my entire memory bank now seemed to be completely fragmented, with huge chunks missing completely, as I began recalling memories of Steve I worried that if I didn’t write them down, I might forget them completely.

My first journal entries were lists of things I didn’t want to forget about Steve.  These covered the waterfront, from how he laughed when watching cartoons to the little poem he used to say when he found stray pennies.  I filled several pages of the journal with random entries as they occurred to me, purely stream of consciousness stuff.  I quickly decided this journal was for my eyes only, and thus I could fill it with whatever I chose to.

After the random memories, I began making lists, starting with a list of things I really missed about Steve.  These were sometimes things I didn’t even realize he did, but which were so painfully apparent in his absence.  And sometimes these were things that were private and intimate, and that filled my heart with longing and my eyes with tears.  After doing the list of things I missed, I realized that as painful as it was to admit, there were certain things about Steve that I didn’t miss.  I decided to make a list of those, and in so doing, was able to gain some useful perspective on our life together.  And I realized that there were many things I’d failed to tell Steve, and so decided to make a list of these as well.  This list primarily focused on my gratitude for the wonderful guy Steve was.  But it also included some painful things that I wish I’d been able to discuss with him in person, at the time the incidents occurred.

These lists filled many pages of the journal and even now, several years after his death, I add to the lists.

After making lots of lists, I began writing letters to Steve, voicing my concerns, worries, and thrills, whether with our daughters, over work, concerning our house, or about other matters.  These were pretty rambling, and although sometimes I’d begin very focused on one topic, my thoughts would diverge into many other areas and I’d find that I’d filled many pages before I could stop writing.  These writings were very cathartic, and using them to focus on my inner life helped me retain balance in my outer life.

A few months after Steve’s death, I began attending a grief workshop, and we were asked to write our responses to reflection questions each week, and then to continue writing on that topic once we were home.  I found these topics (on issues like dealing with anger, guilt, loneliness, stress, and more) good jumping-off points for my journal writing, and after writing for a bit, I always felt a sense of release and well being.  Not that the writing was easy, mind you!  It was often accompanied by heart wrenching feelings, and lots of tears.  But the journal provided a forum to collect my thoughts, as well as a compassionate listener who withheld comments as I poured my soul onto the pages.

As my husband, Steve had also filled the role of companion and nursemaid to me during those thankfully rare times when I was under the weather.  As such, he always offered numerous suggestions of remedies or things to do that might help me to swiftly recover.  Following Steve’s death, I began having major anxiety attacks, because for the first time in my adult life, I was completely alone.  I worried about what would happen if I became gravely ill - what would I do?  I no longer had someone to remind me to take my vitamins when I was sick, or to drink extra water when I got a headache, or to meditate and breathe deeply when I was feeling stressed out.  I used some of the journal’s pages to make lists of helpful tips for dealing with certain scenarios, primarily health-related, such as how to handle a migraine, what to do when I felt like my knee was going out, and steps to take when I felt a dark depression descending over me.  I’ve referred to these lists many times over the past few years, and somehow, they help me feel connected to Steve, even though they were written a while after his death.

What I’ve learned:

• Initially I failed to date my entries, but soon realized that I wouldn’t be able to remember when certain things were added, so went back in and loosely dated the early stuff, and now I always date every new entry.
• Writing things down does curtail the squirrelly mind that often wants to take over, with all the “coulda-shoulda-woulda” thinking that accompanies the death of a spouse.  After writing down the scenarios and thinking behind certain decisions, I was able to quiet my mind from its ceaseless looping of speculations and questioning past decisions.  For example, I had been continually berating myself for not insisting that Steve seek out some kind of alternative healthcare regime to treat the cancer.  But then I’d remember, “Oh, but Steve didn’t have one iota of faith in such healthcare systems, and insisted on staying the course with his oncologist and surgeon.”
• I initially felt guilty because I didn’t write more often, but then realized I wrote as often as I needed to.  I also found myself writing little notes to Steve in the journal on the anniversaries of certain dates, as well as around holidays.  Journaling has helped me transition through the loneliness of those special days, feeling less isolated.
• Re-reading my journals, I’ve realized that often it was the very act of writing, of putting pen to paper, that was healing, many times more so than what I actually wrote about.  If you are wondering where or how to begin your grief journal, I’d like you to consider just writing a short piece on something not too emotionally charged.  You don’t need a fancy bound journal, nor one that is published specifically for grief (although these can be helpful).  Just grab some paper and a pen, and write about what the day is like today… and then let your pen be guided by your feelings and your memories and see where it takes you.

Looking back, I have discovered that my journals serve as a very useful benchmark for how much I’ve changed since Steve’s death.  At this point, I sometimes feel like a different person, and as I re-read some of my early entries, I realize that it is true, I AM a completely different person, and have grown enormously in the time since his departure from this life.  Journaling helps me stay close to him, yet also helps me see the tremendous growth and change that has taken place over time.

How has journaling helped you deal with the death of your spouse?  Do you journal at a specific time, or just when the need arises?  What tips do you have for others who are embarking on their grief journals?  We’d love to hear about your journaling experiences!  Do share!

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.

© 2009 Beverly Chantalle McManus