10 Dating Tips for Widows and Widowers

Dating again after the death of a spouse can be an awkward experience. It can bring out feelings of guilt and betrayal for the person dating again. It can also bring out feelings of confusion and concern from friends, family, and those who were close to the deceased spouse.

If you’ve lost a spouse and are looking to date again, here are 10 tips to make sure you’re able to successfully navigate the dating waters.

1. When you decide to date again is up to you

There’s no specific time period that one should wait before dating again. Grieving and the process of moving on is something that’s unique to each person. Some people take years, others weeks, and then there are those who choose never to date again. Whatever you do, don’t let others tell you you’re moving too fast or waiting too long. Make sure it’s something you’re really ready to try before taking that step.

I started dating five months after my late wife died. Too soon? There were some friends and family who thought so. But five months was when I felt ready to at least test the dating waters. And thought it took a few dates to get the hang of things, I have no regrets about dating that soon.

2. Make sure you’re dating for the right reasons

If you feel like dating again, take some time to understand why you want to date again. It’s not wrong to date because you’re lonely or desire some company. Single people date for those reasons too. However, if you’re dating because you think it is going to somehow fill the void or heal the pain that comes from losing a spouse, it’s not going to happen. However, dating does give you the opportunity to open your heart to another person and chance to experience the unique and exquisite joy that comes with falling in love again.

3. Feeling guilty is natural - at first

The first time I went to dinner with another woman, I felt like I was cheating on my late wife. As we entered the restaurant, I was filled with feelings of guilt and betrayal. Throughout our entire date I kept looking around to see if there was anyone in the restaurant I knew. I thought that if someone saw me out with another woman, the first thing they’d do is run and tell my dead wife what I was up to. It sounds silly, but I couldn’t shake that feeling the entire evening.  A week later I went out with someone else. The same feelings of guilt were there only they were less intense. It took about five dates before the feeling went away entirely and I could actually enjoy the company of the woman I was with without feeling guilty.

As you date, feelings of guilt should subside over time - especially when you find that special someone you might want to spend the rest of your life with. If the guilt’s not subsiding, you might not be ready to date again. Give dating a break and try dating again when you might be more up to the task.

4. It’s okay to talk about the deceased spouse - just don’t overdo it

Unless you’re good friends or have known your date previously, he or she is going to be naturally curious about your spouse and previous marriage. And it’s OK to talk about the spouse when you’re first dating someone. Answer questions he or she may have about your marriage but don’t spend all your time talking about the dead or how happy you were. After all your date is the one that’s here now. And who knows, he or she might make you incredibly happy for years to come. Constantly talking about the past may make it seem like you’re not ready to move on and start a new relationship. Showing that you care enough to get to know them can help reassure your date that you’re ready to start a new life with someone else.

5. Your date is not a therapist

Would you like going out with someone who constantly talked about issues she was having in her life? Dating isn’t a therapy session - it’s an opportunity to spend time with someone else and enjoy their company. If you find yourself dating just to talk about the pain in your heart, how much you miss your spouse, or tough times you’re going though, seek professional help. Spending $60 an hour on professional help will benefit you much more than spending $60 for dinner and a movie. Besides, your date will have a more memorable night if it’s about him or her than about everything you’re going through.

6. It’s okay to make mistakes when you’re finding your dating legs

When I started dating again, it had been seven years since I had gone out with anyone other than my wife. Because I had a certain comfort level with my first wife, I often found myself forgetting proper dating etiquette such as opening the car door or walking a date to her door when the date was over.

If you find yourself forgetting simple dating etiquette, don’t worry about it. Most dates would understand if they knew it had been a while since you dated. But don’t make the same mistake over and over. Learn from them and continue moving forward. You’ll be surprised how fast your dating legs return.

7. Defend your date

You may discover once the family and friends learn you’re dating again that they may not treat this new woman or man in your life very well. The treatment may come in the form of a cold shoulder at family activities or constantly talking about the deceased wife in front of the date. If you have family and friends who are doing this, they need to be told privately, but in a loving manner, that this behavior is not acceptable. If you wouldn’t let family or friends treat your spouse that way, why would you tolerate that behavior toward someone else - especially when your date could become your future spouse? Don’t be afraid to defend your date. If you can’t do that, then you have no business dating again.

8. Realize that not everyone will understand why you’re dating again

There will always be someone who will not understand why you’ve chosen to date again. They may give you a hard time for dating again or have some silly romantic notion that widows and widowers shouldn’t fall in love again. Their opinions do not matter. All that matters is that you’re ready to date again. You don’t need to justify your actions to them or anyone else.

9. Take things slow

The death of a spouse means losing the intimate physical contact. After awhile we miss the kisses, having someone’s head resting on our shoulder, or the warm body next to us in bed. This lack of physical and emotional intimacy is enough to drive a lot of people into the dating scene. Don’t feel bad if you find yourself missing these things. It’s completely normal.

In the dating world wanting something that was part of our lives for years can become a ticking time bomb. It can force us into a serious relationship before we’re ready. The result: lots of broken hearts and emotional baggage.

If you find that you’re on a date and it’s going well, don’t be afraid to take things slowly. This isn’t always easy. Sometimes it’s hard not to throw ourselves at our date if things are going well because we want to be close to someone again. We want that warm body next to ours and have the words “I love you” whispered in our ears. But it can save you and your date a lot of emotional heartache if you wait to make sure what you’re doing is because you love the other person and not because you miss the intimacy that came with your late husband or wife.

10. Make your date feel like the center of the universe

It’s a basic dating rule but it’s often forgotten by widows and widowers. Because we already have someone special in our lives, sometimes we forget to make our date feel special too. Treat your date in such a way that he or she feels like she’s the center of your universe. He or she shouldn’t have to compete against a ghost - even if you only have one date with that person. As long you’re out together, he or she should be the center of your universe.

***

Even though dating can be awkward and difficult at times, it can also be a lot of fun. There’s no reason being a widow or widower should hold you back from enjoying a night out. Part of the reason we’re here is to live and enjoy life.  And dating is a great way to start living again.

Ideas for Widows or Widowers with Teenagers who are Grieving the Loss of their Parent

This week’s column was written by my 24-year-old daughter Emily.  I had asked her for suggestions for widows or widowers with teenagers who are grieving the loss of their parent, at the same time the surviving parent is grieving the loss of spouse.

My father died nearly six years ago of esophageal cancer, when I was 18 and in my first year of college.  Looking back on that time, I feel as though it happened both yesterday and decades ago.  Death acts as a supernova to memories; seconds stand crystal clear illumined while whole weeks are a blur.  I’m so grateful that I am blessed with my mom and sister in my life.  While we have all traveled our own individual grief journeys, I think that we have been invaluable fellow travelers, meeting on the road and warning about rocky passages ahead or sharing in warmth.  Honoring the individuality of each of our relationships to my dad has allowed us to share in the commonalities of losing someone each of us loved dearly.

Children and teenagers deal with their grief and emotions differently than adults.  This may seem odiously obvious when thinking of how teens confront contemporary issues - obsessing over objects of affection, hysteria over clothes, the desire to listen to the same song ten million times on family car trips - but is easy to forget when experiencing a child’s reaction to the death of a parent.  Seemingly dismissive or facetious attitudes often conceal a deep well of emotion.

I know that during the time my father was ill and after he died, I compartmentalized my feelings a great deal as a coping strategy. A teenager’s head and heart are not always connected, and although I received straight A’s that first semester in college, I found it nearly impossible to cry in front of people.  If I hadn’t possessed a cool exterior, it would have been impossible to carry on, to say goodbye to my Daddy after a weekend visit from college without ignoring the possibility this would be the last time I saw him. Perhaps because I seemed “fine” on the surface, extended family members were less inclined to offer the emotional support I so desperately needed, but didn’t know how to ask for.

An agreement to honor individual feelings is pivotal to weathering this difficult time.  Family members cannot judge each other on who seems to be the saddest.  Grief isn’t a contest, the only prize on the other side of the fog is survival, and any “new normal” will never exist if failure to thrive proves who loves the deceased the most.  Offer support to bereaved family members as if they were actually coping far less well than they seem to be, because in private they probably are worse than you can imagine.

For those supporting grieving children, I think that the worst thing a surviving parent can do is invoke the deceased parent’s name to control the child.  “If your mother was alive…” or “Your father would never allow…”  Besides being manipulative, these words alter the relationship of the child with the parent who is gone, and can’t speak for him or herself.

Children are already missing one parent at every moment, if a parent can’t be present for every occasion, joyous and miserable, why only bring the memory into already fretful conversations?  However on the other side of the coin, I’m always appreciative when people bring up my father in a positive way.  At my younger sister’s college graduation I was touched when family members said how proud my dad would have been of her, because it affirms all of the wonderful ways he was a tremendous gift and influence on our lives, rather than solely focusing on his absence.

I’ve often heard that after a huge loss, those grieving should try to not make any big decisions or changes in their lives for at least a year.  This is wonderful advice for adults, to not sell the house or run off to Vegas, but virtually impossible for teens or young adults.  In the year following my father’s death I moved twice, stopped speaking to virtually all of my long-time best friends, and decided to transfer to a college across the country.  While many of these changes were a natural part of becoming an adult, I wish that I had known then how much I was not really myself during that period.

People grieving should be given small business cards to act as an in-person answering machine, reading “I’m sorry, I’m not here right now, please come back in a year and I’ll try to be more pleasant,” more to remind oneself than to make excuses to other people.  As normal as melodrama in relationships is to younger people, it is beyond even the most well-meaning friends’ comprehension the deep, enduring sadness that is grieving.  We all know through receiving insensitive comments from the most mature adults that no one really understands until he or she has experienced a loss, but it would be tremendously helpful for a teacher, coach, or close family friend to explain to friends and classmates of a grieving child what has happened, and what a gift time and patience are.

Most importantly, remind the grieving child to be patient with him or herself, allow time to remember, and time to continue growing following a staggering loss.  “Bereaved” originally meant “to be deprived,” and while we who have experienced a loss will always be deprived of our loved one, eventually the sense of being deprived of oneself will depart if we can first be compassionate with ourselves.

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 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

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.

“Doesn’t God Listen?” — Coming To Grips With The Spiritual Aspects Of Spouse Loss

My prayers started the moment Steve was diagnosed with esophageal cancer:  “Please God, please, send a miracle.  Let him be in the 15% of those who statistically beat this cancer.  God, I beg you to restore Steve to health, please heal him completely, as you have so many times in the past.”   This and similar fervently issued prayers were to continue even up to the day Steve died, exactly six months later.

Those of us who have lost our spouses despite prayers such as these have experienced first-hand one part of how grief and loss affects us spiritually.  We can be left wondering, “Why him or her?”  “Why not me?”  “Doesn’t God listen?”  “Does this mean God doesn’t care?” 

Grief and loss affects us profoundly on a spiritual level, whether we are affiliated with any one religious organization, or if we are those who walk our own spiritual paths.  The loss of our spouse can leave us feeling isolated and disconnected from the larger universe, from the web in which humankind exists. 

I know that after Steve died, I doubted that there could even be a God who would permit such a thing to happen.  I’d grown up being taught that we have a Heavenly Father who loves us.  But if he loves us so much, why would he let Steve die?  And how could he let me experience so much pain?  

During the time of loss, some people feel immense satisfaction and comfort from the words of their scriptures or from their pastors, rabbis or ministers.  I didn’t.  I felt like I’d scream if even one more person told me, “Take comfort — he’s now in a better place.”  Or, worse, “Well at least you know you have an eternal family… it must feel good to know your family will always be together forever.” 

Put my head in a blender.  Press “Whirl.” 

I couldn’t even come up with a response when I was offered such bromides.  I’d just paste a benign smile on my face and nod.  And inside, seethe. 

But I couldn’t seethe too much, because I was also extremely thankful to be encircled by such a loving community of kind souls who surrounded us with love and support throughout Steve’s illness and after his death.  I realized they were simply trying to offer comfort in the only way they knew how. 

At that point, I didn’t really care about anything that might or might not happen after we were all gone from this earth… I missed Steve NOW.  I wanted him to still be ALIVE.  My daughters needed their Daddy to support them as they transitioned from their teens into adulthood.  I missed the presence of my best friend.  That person I could lean against.  My sounding board.  The other half of my memory bank! 

I felt abandoned by my God, and felt angry that my trust had been betrayed, and that I was forced to discover this at the lowest point in my life!  And because I was still in shock and so numb at that point, I couldn’t even recognize what I was feeling.  I just knew that I had never felt so alone in my life. 

What I’ve learned:  For many months, I carried enormous guilt that my faith had so totally disappeared, and when I learned while attending the grief workshops that this spiritual disconnection I felt is a very normal aspect of grief, I felt immense relief.  

I also have come to realize that the numbness that envelopes us upon the death of a spouse is actually a gift.  I think of it as a protective buffer that allows us to gradually come to terms with the loss, because if we fragile humans were forced to endure the full measure and enormity of the pain all at once, it would kill us.  Instead, I think God has provided us with a period where we feel the pain incrementally as we gradually awaken to the reality of the death.  For this, I am thankful. 

One thing that I heard in the workshop gives me a lot of comfort (and makes me smile):  “It’s okay to be mad at God.  He’s a big God.  He can take it!” 

As I continue walking my grief pathway, I can see how much I have grown spiritually since Steve’s death.  I began my journey as a person who had the unshaken faith of a child and had put 100% of my hope into God sending a miracle to heal Steve.  I transitioned through a period of seeming lack of faith to one where I can now see the miracles that surround me every day.  I have been slowly rebuilding my relationship with God, and now, five years since Steve’s death, feel confident that I can once again put my trust there.  I guess that I now understand that our prayers are always listened to, but that we just don’t always receive the answers we desire. 

And, in addition to feeling a reconnection with God, I also have experienced a sense of spiritual connection with Steve.  Just as I pray silently to God, I often find myself speaking silently (and sometimes even aloud) to Steve, asking questions, seeking affirmation for hard decisions, wanting him to know how much I miss him and how much I’ll always love him. 

I have felt his presence at my side, I have benefited from his support when feeling lost, and have been comforted knowing that even though his heart stopped beating physically, we are still connected on a heart level and I know he still loves me. 

How has the death of your spouse affected your spiritual life?  For some people, grief strengthens their faith.  For others, questions arise.  I’d love to hear how you’ve been doing in this area. 

 

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

“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

“His Death Shattered Me” — How Spouse Loss Affects Us Physically

When Steve died several years ago, I felt so lost… He’d been diagnosed six month earlier, but for each of those days, I kept expecting (and praying) that a miracle would happen, that he’d bounce back as he’d always done when he’d encountered acute health crises earlier, and that soon we’d be back on our path, living our dreams. His death shattered me - I felt as if I’d been jolted with thousands of amps of electricity, as if all the connections in my brain had been disconnected. My body felt like it was falling apart. I was convinced that my heart really was broken, and even went in to the emergency room because it hurt so much.

Grief manifests itself in so many aspects of our lives - emotionally, socially, spiritually, physically… and in many more ways. Perhaps most initially noticeable are the physical changes that occur when we lose someone we love.

I know grief profoundly affected my sleep (and have to admit that even now, I’m still not sleeping like I wish I was!). Steve was a snorer, and I found it so hard to fall asleep without what used to be so annoying, but what I now so missed. I also missed leaning against him while I slept, the warmth he provided my (always) cold feet, the reassurance of reaching over and feeling him there. I’ve heard others say perhaps the worst part is the waking up, and seeing that empty pillow. I agree.

What I’ve learned: I now turn on the radio to “snooze” (so it will automatically shut itself off) and listen to relaxing music as I fall asleep. It eases my mind out of its endless relays and helps my body relax. I also will admit that I sleep with a doll! She has a very sweet face, goes to bed quite willingly, and lies on the pillow right next to me, so I no longer have to see that empty pillow there. Some friends who have lost their spouses tell me they switched sides of the bed, so they are not looking at “his” or “her” empty place any more.

My appetite was also affected. I lost mine… completely. Although my stomach did experience the sense of hunger, nothing sounded “good.” Perhaps this was because I also completely lost my sense of taste. It wasn’t until about eight months after Steve died that it finally returned, and I still remember feeling what a miracle it was to actually taste something again!

What I’ve learned: With my daughters away at college, I found it depressing to eat at the dinner table by myself, so I pulled up a chair, slid out the little under-the-counter cutting board, added a placemat, and ate right in the kitchen. (And I will admit that yes, I did watch TV when I’m eating… Alex Trebek made a fine dinner companion!) I also discovered that cold cereal makes a quick and tasty dinner. And takeout Chinese isn’t too bad. I still haven’t completely regained my desire to cook big meals, and that’s fine.

A really disconcerting aspect of how grief affected me physically was the loss of hair, vast quantities of it… Yikes! Was I going bald?!? When the rapid loss continued for several months, my doctor assured me that it was a normal after-effect of profound shock. And yes, (thankfully) it grew back in. I wish I could proudly proclaim that all the new hair was gorgeous, naturally blonde, and wavy, but alas, it was my regular color, with a few more grays thrown in for good measure!

What I’ve learned: Even if it was just lipstick, doing little things to take care of myself helped me feel like I was still a human being, still a person who was worthy of living. Even though I didn’t feel like it at all, putting on makeup every day did help me feel more like myself. I also learned that, as with all intense shocks, the body does need to take time to heal, to rebalance, to feel settled again. It’s important to treat ourselves with compassion during that time, to not beat ourselves up because we’re not able to keep the same pace we previously could effortlessly handle. Grief takes a lot of energy, and time, and if we allow ourselves to do the grief work, we will heal.

I think that every person who has survived the death of a spouse wonders, “Will I ever feel like normal again? And what’s normal, anyway?” The best answer I’ve heard is that although things will never be the same, we gradually do grow stronger, and better able to handle the pain, the loneliness, the multi-faceted spectrum of feelings we are experiencing. And with that growth, eventually we do feel like we are “ourselves” again.

How has grief affected you physically? I’ve heard so many stories about the strange and crazy and wonderful and absolutely normal physical aspects of grief, and would love to hear yours.

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.

A Companion on Your Grief Journey

I became a widow when Steve, my husband of 20 years, died from esophageal cancer. With one daughter in college and the other finishing up high school, along with a new, highly demanding job, I felt so unequipped to deal with all the emotions, feelings, and tangible aspects of grief.

When we lose someone we love, especially a spouse, whether it was expected (for example, after a long illness), or unexpected (such as after a tragic accident or sudden illness), there really doesn’t seem to be much of a roadmap we can follow to negotiate the twists and turns ahead.

I felt like I was dying. I was lost. A few months after he died I found myself wondering how I could go on. I was not equipped to do this by myself. Then, I saw a little announcement in the local paper about a grief support group at a nearby church¹, and called to see if I could attend.

The workshops were established to meet the needs of grieving people who need a safe, caring environment where they feel comfortable; where they aren’t judged, and where they can learn that their feelings of grief are normal. The support group was designed to get people out of isolation and allow them to grieve at their own pace.

Even though the workshop was already at capacity, fortunately for me, a space opened up and attending the workshops saved my life. There, I learned how to deal with all the unexpected and unwelcome feelings I had. I learned that what I was experiencing was normal. I learned that although we cannot compare grief and loss, and that each grief journey is unique, there are some stepping stones along the way that most of us will encounter.

Most importantly, I learned that I was not alone, something extremely important to know when we have lost that one most important person in our lives!

After attending the workshop as a participant, I was asked to consider joining the workshop team as a grief facilitator. Following extensive training and study, I have now been facilitating grief workshops and providing one-on-one counseling for five years, and in the course of this, my own grief journey, I’ve learned quite a bit that I’d love to share with others who have experienced profound loss. I will be on my healing journey for the rest of my life, and I would love to be your companion on your grief journey to healing.

I’ve heard widowhood described as one of those clubs nobody wants to be a member of. We certainly didn’t plan our lives this way… I know that I never dreamed that my 43-year-old husband would die, leaving me a widow. I don’t care what age you are… if you’re at this site and you’ve lost your spouse, you’re way too young to be here. But I hope that now that you are here, you will not feel alone. I hope that here, you will find a safe, caring place to grieve. I hope you’ll share your own grief experiences and I look forward to sharing mine with 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.

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[¹] The “Stepping Stones on your Grief Journey” workshop is offered by the Catholic Community of Pleasanton, California, and held at St. Elizabeth Seton. The non-denominational Grief Support Ministry program is lead by Fr. Padraig Greene, who is the Pastor for the region. Two eight-week workshops are offered each spring and fall, and in between are bi-monthly drop-in grief support sessions. For more info, Click Here

© 2008 Beverly Chantalle McManus

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