How Vice President Joe Biden Dealt With Grief

On November 7, 1972 a relatively unknown lawyer named Joe Biden pulled off a big political upset. By just over 3,000 votes he defeated two-term incumbent U.S. Senator J. Caleb Boggs and, at age 30, became the sixth youngest Senator in U.S. history.

Despite the amazing victory, he almost never took the oath of office. On December 18, 1972 while Biden was in Washington D.C. looking at his new office, his wife, Neilia, took their three children shopping for a Christmas tree. They were involved in a fatal automobile accident. Neilia and his infant daughter, Naomi, were killed. His two sons, Hunter and Beau, were critically injured.

His life suddenly and unexpectedly changed, Biden suddenly found himself as a 30-year-old widower and single father. He also found himself filled with anger and doubt. In his memoir Promises to Keep Biden wrote, “I began to understand how despair led people to just cash it in; how suicide wasn’t just an option but a rational option … I felt God had played a horrible trick on me, and I was angry.”

A career in the U.S. Senate suddenly didn’t seem that important as being there for his two sons. He considered resigning before even taking the oath of office.  Beau recalled his father saying, “Delaware can get another senator, but my boys can’t get another father.”

Eventually other U.S. Senators like Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield and Massachusetts Senator Ted Kennedy convinced Biden to take the job the people of Delaware elected him to do. In January of 1973 he took the oath of office at his sons’ hospital bedside. However, because he still wanted to be there for his sons, he gave up his the home he and his late wife were planning to buy in Washington D.C. and commuted by train to and from his home - a practice he still continues.

Still, life wasn’t easy for the young Senator. At first he did the least amount of work required for his job. “My future was telescoped into putting one foot in front of the other … Washington, politics, the Senate had no hold on me,” Biden wrote. Senate staffers began placing bets on how long Biden would last.

No one would have blamed Biden for quitting. After all, he has lost half his family. But Biden didn’t quit. Despite his grief, Biden he hung on and slowly began rebuilding his shattered life.

It wasn’t until 1975, however, when Biden met Jill Jacobs that the pieces really fell into place. Falling in love again renewed Biden’s interest in life and politics. “It had given me the permission to be me again,” Biden wrote in his memoir. Two years later they married.

With his renewed passion, Biden continued what was to become a successful political career. He was re-elected five times to the Senate. He served as Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee from 1987-1995 and currently serves as Chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations.  In 2008, after a second failed attempt to become the Democrat’s presidential nominee, he was asked to be Sen. Barack Obama’s Vice Presidential running mate.

“Failure at some point in your life is inevitable but giving up is unforgivable,” Biden said during his Vice Presidential acceptance speech at the 2008 Democratic National Convention.

It’s impossible to say what would have happened to Biden if he had decided to give up.

But he didn’t.

For those who have lost a spouse, Joe Biden’s story is one of hope. If you continue to put one foot in front of the other, no matter how difficult it may be, there are better days ahead. Despite the challenges and obstacles he faced as a 30-year-old widower, Biden rebuilt his life and his family.

Each day we make the decision to push forward or give up. Each day that decision will bring us closer to rebuilding our lives or falling back into darkness. Though difficult, Biden chose to live again and reaped the rewards of his efforts.

How Senator Joe Biden Dealt with Grief

On November 7, 1972 a relatively unknown lawyer named Joe Biden pulled off a big political upset. By just over 3,000 votes he defeated two-term incumbent U.S. Senator J. Caleb Boggs and became the fifth youngest Senator in U.S. history.

Despite the amazing victory, he almost never took the oath of office. On December 18, 1972 while Biden was in Washington D.C. looking at his new office space, his wife, Neilia, took their three children shopping for a Christmas tree and was involved in a fatal automobile accident. Neilia and his infant daughter, Naomi, were killed. His two sons, Hunter and Beau, were critically injured.

His life suddenly and unexpectedly changed, Biden suddenly found himself as a 30-year-old widower and single father. He also found himself filled with anger and doubt. In his memoir Promises to Keep Biden wrote, “I began to understand how despair led people to just cash it in; how suicide wasn’t just an option but a rational option … I felt God had played a horrible trick on me, and I was angry.”

A career in the U.S. Senate suddenly didn’t seem that important as being there for his two sons. He considered resigning before even taking the oath of office.  Beau recalled his father saying, “Delaware can get another senator, but my boys can’t get another father.”

Eventually other U.S. Senators like Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield and Massachusetts Senator Ted Kennedy convinced Biden to take the job the people of Delaware elected him to do. In January of 1973 he took the oath of office at his sons’ hospital bedside. However, because he still wanted to be there for his sons, he gave up his the home he and his late wife were planning to buy in Washington D.C. and commuted by train to and from his home - a practice he still continues.

Still, life wasn’t easy for the young Senator. At first he did the least amount of work required for his job. “My future was telescoped into putting one foot in front of the other … Washington, politics, the Senate had no hold on me,” Biden wrote. Senate staffers began placing bets on how long Biden would last.

No one would have blamed Biden for quitting. After all, he has lost half his family. But Biden didn’t quite. Despite his grief, Biden he hung on and slowly began rebuilding his shattered life.

It wasn’t until 1975, however, when Biden met Jill Jacobs. Falling in love again renewed Biden’s interest in life and politics. “It had given me the permission to be me again,” Biden wrote in his memoir. Two years later they married.

With his renewed passion, Biden continued what was to become a successful political career. He was re-elected five times to the Senate. He served as Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee from 1987-1995 and currently serves as Chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations.  In 2008, after a second failed attempt to become the Democrat’s presidential nominee, he was asked to be Sen. Barack Obama’s Vice Presidential running mate.

“Failure at some point in your life is inevitable but giving up is unforgivable,” Biden said during his Vice Presidential acceptance speech at the 2008 Democratic National Convention.

It’s impossible to say what would have happened to Biden if he had decided to give up.

But he didn’t.

For those who have lost a spouse, Joe Biden’s story is one of hope. If you continue to put one foot in front of the other, no matter how difficult it may be, there are better days ahead. Despite the challenges and obstacles he faced as a 30-year-old widower, Biden rebuilt his life and his family.

Each day we make the decision to push forward or give up. Each day that decision will bring us closer to rebuilding our lives or falling back into darkness. Though difficult, Biden chose to live and reaped the rewards of his efforts.

You have the same choice to make.

Don’t blow it.

“The Pain Was So Intense” — Dealing with the Emotions of Spouse Loss

My entry into widowhood began in 2002 when our family was enjoying a long-awaited summer vacation in Hawaii and my husband Steve noticed he was having trouble swallowing.  It wasn’t just that it was hard to swallow, but it actually hurt.  He promised to get it checked out when we returned home.  But neither of us expected the first two words that came out of the doctor’s mouth when he returned for his lab results:  “It’s cancer.” 

What?  How could this be?  Just a few weeks earlier Steve had been surfing, snorkeling, hiking all over Kauai.  Now the doctor was telling us that Steve had a relatively rare form of cancer, but that there were treatments they’d start immediately and we’d hope for the best. 

Unfortunately, despite intense chemo and the most advanced radiation treatment available, three months after the diagnosis, when they went in for surgery to just clean up any remaining cancer cells, the surgeon discovered that it had spread throughout his entire abdominal cavity, wrapped itself around his heart, and was inoperable.  Instead of trying to remove the cancer, the surgeon then spent the next nine hours crafting an alternative esophagus, so that during Steve’s remaining time on earth he’d at least be able to swallow, something he hadn’t been able to do for the last few months. 

By the time the surgeon finally walked into the waiting room, I was the only person remaining.  He slowly shook his head… and answered my unasked question:  “Three to six months.” 

Up until that point, I’d remained steadfastly optimistic, knowing deep in my bones that Steve was strong, that he was going to beat this.  Yes, he was very sick but he was going to bounce back, just as he had done when he’d had a detached retina, a collapsed lung, a shattered elbow, or any number of other acute crises that took him to the emergency room at least once a year. 

I never could have imagined the staggering pain I’d feel when I heard that doctor announce the results of the surgery:  I felt as if someone had plunged a dagger deep into my heart. 

From that point, the pain only got worse.  As Steve began his slow recovery from surgery, I tried to remain upbeat for him, but my heart was weeping.  I’d drive back and forth to the hospital, and my route took me past a long series of cemeteries, which would further remind me of Steve’s impending fate.  After being with him all day at the hospital, I would drive home, trying to figure out how to go on, how to stay focused on the present, while my beautiful husband was still here, rather than jumping into all the uncertainties of the future. 

I felt so alone during that time, and the pain — of knowing that I’d soon be losing my best friend, my companion for more than half my life, my sweetheart — was tearing me up inside.  I couldn’t allow myself to believe it, even though my heart knew otherwise.  One night, the tears wouldn’t stop, and I found myself 20 miles north of my freeway exit before I even realized where I was…

Through it all, I tried to hold it together for our daughters, who were 16 and 18 at the time, so that even though their Daddy was sick, they’d have someone strong they could still lean against. 

Exactly three months after the surgery, on February 19, 2003, Steve died, at home, with me and our two daughters at his side. 

I thought I’d experienced pain before.  Wrong.  It was just a light precursor to what I felt after he died.  The pain was so intense, I thought I would die too. 

But I had a problem:  I had no idea how to deal with all the feelings I was having…  I’d grown up in a wonderful, tight-knit family.  Like many Americans, the only permissible feelings were “Don’t make a scene” and “Do you want something to cry about?”  If we had a sour face, we were to turn that frown upside down, into a smile.  And if we really did have something to cry about, we were to do it in private, so as not to disturb anyone.

But I felt like crying all the time.  And even though, yes, there was an initial period of numbness, as that rapidly wore off, the pain threatened to overwhelm me: 

I felt lonely. 

I felt bereft. 

I felt abandoned. 

I felt angry (at Steve, for leaving me; at the doctors, for not curing him; at God, for letting this all happen… the list goes on!). 

I felt sad. 

I felt guilty (why hadn’t I insisted on alternative therapies?  why hadn’t I let Steve know how much I appreciated him? ).

I felt exhausted.

I felt isolated. 

Oh, the list of feelings I experienced so intensely could go on and on.  (And I’m sure yours could too!)  The reality is that even five years later, I continue to experience these feelings at times, sometimes with the same ferocious intensity as if Steve had just died moments earlier, and sometimes through a layer of healing that takes the sting out. 

What I’ve learned:  All these (and many more) feelings are normal when we have suffered a profound loss.  The key to healing is to not deny what we’re feeling, nor try to hide it in privacy.  I’ve found that I needed (and still need) to embrace those feelings as they arise, to really acknowledge them, give them the respect they are due.  I was feeling that way because I loved so deeply.  And to honor that love, I needed to really feel what was coming up, even if those feelings were incredibly uncomfortable. 

What feelings did you experience when your spouse died?  How are you dealing with those feelings?  And, how have those feelings changed in the time since the death?  I’d like to hear about your experiences…

 

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

Life Is About Adapting to Change

The one thing that certain in this life, aside death and taxes, is change.

Businesses have to change to survive. Markets, attitudes, tastes, and buying habits of customers are constantly in flux. If a business doesn’t adapt to shifting market conditions and offer its customers what they want, it goes out of business.

At halftime, football teams must adapt their offence and defense based on what they’ve seen from the opposing team or else they’ll lose the game.

Our own lives are constantly in flux. Every day brings changes we have to deal with. Most of the changes we deal with on a daily basis are small and we find a way to deal with them. Burn dinner? We make something else or order takeout. Miss the bus to work? We wait for the next one or find another way to work.

Larger life changes, such as losing a spouse, are less common but take more time to adjust. After a husband or wife dies, we don’t show up to work the next day and act like things are normal. Instead we grieve and try and figure out how to rework our lives.

It’s not always easy.

Losing the single most important person in our lives is hard. We’ve become accustomed to their presence, habits, and mannerisms. They may have always been the one to balance the checkbook, read the kids a story at night, or cook dinner. Without that person, we have to learn (or re-learn) skills that we didn’t have to previously worry about.

However, if you don’t successfully adapt to the death of a husband or wife, your life is essentially over.

I’m not speaking literally. Sure, you may live for years or decades after your spouse moves on. But when you’re life is selfishly wrapped in grief and misery, you’re not really living. If you’re not doing things that bring happiness to yourself and others, then you’re simply taking up space.

If you want to be happy again, you need to make the conscious choice to change your life and then take the necessary steps to do that. Break out of your shell. Give of your time, talents, and abilities and make your corner of the world a better place. Forget your sadness and misery.

You’ve only have one life. You can waste it or make the most of the hand you’ve been dealt.

You can be like the business that changes to market conditions or the one that goes out of business.

You can be the football team that comes out stronger in the second half and wins the game or the one that gets crushed.

It’s your choice.

We’ve all been given the same 24 hours in a day. Whether you spend them in misery or happiness is up to you.