Taking Baby Steps on the Grief Journey

We’re right in the middle of baseball season. One of our family’s favorite pastimes was to attend the Giants games at the old Candlestick Park in San Francisco, where we’d shiver in the bleachers as we cheered on our team. I still picture Steve with his Giants’ cap, Giants’ sweatshirt, and baseball mitt in hand (just in case he was in a position to catch a wild ball that was hit into the stands). Our daughters and I were always more interested in the antics of the other fans, in finding that elusive malt vendor, and in just staying warm as the fog invariably rolled in over the edges of the stadium as the game wore on. The best part of the game was always the Seventh Inning Stretch, where we and the entire stadium would rise to our feet and sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at the top of our lungs.

It’s been six years since he died, and it’s been really hard to attend any ballgames without Steve — I think we’ve only been to a couple since then. He was so embedded in our experiences and memories of the games, and we found it extremely difficult to be there without him. In fact, we left well before the seventh inning, because the memories and lack of his presence with us were just too much to take.

Well, as I recently listened to the baseball stats announced on my favorite radio station, I realized that finally, I feel ready to return to the ballpark to enjoy a Giants game. And with that realization came a parallel one:  I’ve come a long way since Steve died, since those early days of grief when I felt that my life had been ripped apart. 

I vividly remember that searing pain I felt during the final stages of his illness and then even more so after he died, when the shock and numbness wore off. At that time, I had the horrifying thought that my life would always be this way, filled with pain, tears, and feelings I’d never even imagined were possible. It was such a dark time and I could believe that I would ever feel better again, that the hole in my heart would ever heal and that I would ever feel whole again.

Healing a broken heart doesn’t (and can’t) (and shouldn’t) happen in an instant. When a spouse dies, all those years of loving someone, sharing a life together, and sharing hopes and dreams for the future is torn away. It would in fact be unnatural if we could simply take a magic pill and feel instantly healed. I’ve discovered that a lot of patience, energy, and time are required to recover. But the good news is “Yes, we can heal.” Despite those initial feelings of hopelessness, as I’ve done my grief work, I’ve found that I can feel whole again. I can feel joy again.

For those who have lost a spouse, the grief journey is not a single event, but rather an ongoing process. It took a long time for me to realize that healing was not about hitting home runs, but rather getting singles.

By this I mean taking “baby steps,” and feeling good about our progress, however slow or tiny it seems at the time. A few years ago one of my friends who is also a widow started walking to relieve stress. This evolved to running, and finally she found herself working up to a half-marathon to raise funds for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. She said her initial goal was just to get outside and experience the sunshine, and as she built up strength and stamina, she gradually added small goals each day, to walk a bit further, then to run a bit longer. When she started, she says she could never have envisioned herself running in a half-marathon, and if she’d had that goal in mind at the outset, she likely would have given up because it seemed so unattainable. She says that goals are a good thing, but a dose of realism when starting out is even better.

I have come to think that the healing journey is like the running or like playing baseball. We survivors of spouse loss should not expect that by starting to jog, we will be ready to run in the next Olympic games, or to go from the minors to the major leagues and win MVP in the next All Star game. It’s all about the healing steps we take, and also about acknowledging our progress along the way.

At some points it feels like I’ve blinked my eyes and Steve disappeared, and in other cases, it feels like decades since he was here. Time is elastic, and calendars can be slippery. The process of healing takes a lot of work over time, but I found that if I began with the relatively easier tasks, starting small with the “low hanging fruit,” I was able to build up my own strength and endurance. At times I am actually quite amazed at how far I’ve come on the healing pathway.

Some of my baby steps that you might want to try:

• Writing in my grief journal. At first it was just some lists, but these evolved into deeper, more revelatory explorations of my evolving feelings. Now, I’ve filled a few journals, and plans to do even more. Amazing to re-read the early stuff!
• Exercising. After Steve died, I felt so stiff, exhausted, and sore all the time. But I started doing some simple yoga stretching. This has evolved to a full hour of high-energy Kundalini yoga each morning.
• Singing. Steve and I used to love to sing together, and after he died, I found my voice had completely dried up. I not only didn’t have the desire to sing, but I really couldn’t carry a tune to save my life, not even with well-loved church hymns. Then, a couple of years after Steve died, Santa delivered a karaoke machine and a few sing-along CDs. Initially only the girls enjoyed it, but they eventually convinced me to join the fun. At this point, I’ve turned into a karaoke junkie, and can sing better than ever, hitting high notes I only dreamed about in the past.
• Making connections. I felt really isolated after Steve died. Although my friends surrounded me with warmth and invitations, I felt so numb and cold inside, and more than anything so exposed and vulnerable. I really didn’t feel strong enough to be out, especially in large groups of people, but I knew it wasn’t healthy to stay holed up at home by myself. So I took a baby step and started by going to a movie with a friend from my grief workshop. Eventually I felt able to join in larger gatherings (hint: call a friend and ask if you can tag along so you’re not arriving alone). Now, I am pleased to say that I can handle most social gatherings. Do I miss Steve at my side? Of course. But at this point, I really do feel comfortable on my own. And - okay this is a news flash - I find myself actually open to the possibility of perhaps having someone new at my side in the future. Six years ago I could never have imagined feeling this way!

What baby steps have you taken on your grief journey? How have you changed since your spouse died? What do you consider the “singles” you’ve gotten in the ballpark? Have you had any home runs? We’d love to hear 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.

© 2009 Beverly Chantalle McManus

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

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

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

“He Loved those Slippers” – Dealing with the Belongings of Your Departed Spouse

The closet full of his shirts, ties, jackets and slacks.  His well worn slippers next to his side of the bed.  His wallet and eyeglasses.  His razor and toothbrush.  The tool chest in the garage.  His tennis racket.  His harmonica collection and guitars.  His treasured complete set of vintage Beatles imports on vinyl.  All those science fiction books that fill more than half of our bookcases.

What do we do with all the “stuff” that belonged to our spouse who has died?

So many people stand ready to quickly offer glib advice on this topic:  “Donate it all to charity.”  “Find a good home for each thing.”  “Just clear it away as soon as you can and move on.”  “Don’t do anything with it for one year.”

 Just as the grief for each loss has its own pathway and timeline, so too does the answer to the question “What am I going to do with his or her belongs?”

Dealing with Steve’s belongings was really hard for me.

Immediately after his death, perhaps the most pressing for me was dealing with all of his “durable medical goods,” including the hospital bed, the oxygen apparatus, the walker, the feeding tube pacer, and all the related items.  These were dismal reminders that he was gone and was not coming back, that all the treatments he so bravely underwent didn’t work.  Hospice had so kindly arranged to have all the stuff delivered, and it truly was a lifesaver during Steve’s final days.  However, after he died, it was left to me to figure out how to get it back.  We’d set up the hospital bed down in the den, so Steve could be comfortable watching TV, with easy access to a bathroom.  For days after he died, the now-empty bed lurked in the middle of the den, awaiting pick-up by the supplier, despite my many phone calls.  After several days fruitlessly awaiting their missed appointments, it was so depressing to see it that my daughters and I hoisted it out through the patio door and put it on our garden lawn.  I then called the supplier and said, “I think it’s supposed to rain tonight… ummm… if you want the bed, you might want to arrange to get it picked up this afternoon.”  One hour later they were there.

Steve had been on heavy-duty medications, and we’d just received a full month’s delivery shortly before he died.  These were really expensive items, some of them close to $600 per dose.  I called the pharmacy to see if they wanted the unopened packages back, and they said they couldn’t accept them, that I should just toss them.  I was reluctant to throw away medications that might possibly be of use to someone else, and called several free medical clinics.  Nobody was interested, and in the end, I tossed them.

The rest of Steve’s things remained where they had been left for several months.  I was unable to do anything.  The slippers sat next to the bed.  His toothbrush nestled next to mine.  I loved seeing his ties, so precisely arranged, in his closet.  I think it all gave me hope:  Maybe this was a bad dream, from which I’d soon awake and find all right with the world again!  On a more pragmatic level, I honestly didn’t have a clue what to do with all his stuff.

And I felt guilty that I had let so much time lapse without even touching it.  I just couldn’t.  One of my bereavement facilitators from the Grief Workshop advised me not to worry, that I’d know when to deal with it.  “How?” I asked.  Her answer was simple:  “When you are ready, you’ll be able to deal with it!”

She was right.  About six months after Steve died, I realized I was beginning to be ready.  I still could not do it all at once… every item seemed to be emotionally charged, like a ticking time bomb, just waiting to make me shatter into a long crying jag.  One of my friends told me to try drinking a glass of wine prior to dealing with it, to relax.  This wasn’t my style.  Instead my daughters blended me a frosty and potent strawberry daiquiri.  Liquid courage?  You bet!  I needed all the help I could get!

I started with just his socks.  He seemed to have thousands of pairs… I never realized one guy could own so many!  He literally had three big drawers, crammed with socks, all organized according to color and type.  I filled up a large Hefty bag with them, and took them to the local thrift shop.

This was a big step for me.  One of the things that had been holding me back was the idea that I had to find the “perfect home” for each of Steve’s belongings.  I’d think, “Oh, my brother Ernest would love that jacket.”  “Bud would fit these pants.”  “Ben might enjoy those boots.”  But I just couldn’t seem to part with anything given that train of thought. 

Fortunately, at one point, an inspiration flashed into my mind:  I didn’t have to find the perfect owners; the new owners could find his stuff themselves, at the local thrift shop.  This may seem pretty basic, however, for those who are dealing with the broken heart of spouse loss, even basic decisions like these can be challenging!

After the socks, it became a little easier with each category I dealt with.  I next did the underwear.  Then his t-shirts.  (I kept all his vintage rock & roll t-shirts from the concerts he’d attended through the years - our daughters wanted them as keepsakes.)  (And I’ll add here, that prior to giving anything away, I let our daughters know that if they wanted to keep anything at all, they could.)  One of my friends actually had her husband’s t-shirts made into a patchwork quilt.  Another found a person who transforms golf shirts into teddy bears, and had one made for each of their children.

Steve had a mighty tie collection - he had received many of the ties as gifts from me or our daughters, and they held special memories of events he’d attended while wearing them.  I actually saved most of them, but gave several away to family and friends who I knew would appreciate them.

Of his personal items, I decided to keep his top left drawer intact, where he’d always stored his wallet and pocket stuff.  It’s still nice to occasionally poke through the contents, savoring the feeling of his well worn leather wallet, listening to the ticking of his wristwatch, trying on his eyeglasses.  I also couldn’t let go of his shaving kit.  I loved the smell of his aftershave and the way he’d so precisely arranged its contents.

For some reason, I got highly emotional dealing with Steve’s shoes - remembering his characteristic gait, how he’d dance, him running all over the tennis court, hiking in Yosemite, his wingtips running up the escalator to the BART platform, the cowboy boots he’d found on his cross-country odyssey with his best friend at age 18…. I tried to sort through all the shoes several times, but each brought a downpour of tears, so I decided to save these until the last.

Now, five years later, there are still many of Steve’s belongings throughout the house.  His vinyl record collection stands tall, intact, in the corner of the den.  His tennis racket hangs on its peg in the garage, ready for friends who are making up a foursome.  The tools have migrated from where he carefully stored them to their new homes, scattered around the house, as we’ve used them and neglected to follow his strict rules of rapidly returning them to their rightful place.  (We chuckle, knowing he’d be flipping out now about this, were he here!)  We’ve adopted his guitars, and actually even took lessons so we could learn to play them!  And Steve’s hundreds of books still fill the bookcases, even though I doubt that I or our daughters will ever read most of them.  Maybe someday I’ll be able to deal with them.

How will I know when?  When I can!

How are you dealing with all the belongings of your spouse? What feelings come up for you as you sift through what remains of this person you so loved?  I’d love 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.

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

For Widows Only-You Know You’re A Widow When

At the end of a good day you bust out crying for no particular reason.

At the end of a bad day you burst out laughing for no particular reason.

At the end of everyday, you crawl into bed and sleep on His side.

You refuse to throw away His toothbrush, His razor, His bar of soap. Because you think He’ll need them. Read more

LOSS: When the Heart Heals…A Widow’s Story

At this point, widowed for about 18 months, I met Hal the night I attended my last bereavement support group meeting. I was instantly attracted to his energy. We seemed to have a lot in common, both professionally and emotionally. I gave him my business card with the knowing feeling that he would call, but I had no idea if it would be in a week or a year. I hold a life’s philosophy that things happen when they should. Read more

LOSS and LOVE: Love Revisited…Helpful Do’s & Don’ts for the Widow/Widower Embracing New Love

Is it possible to mourn the loss of a beloved spouse and, while still grieving, to not only meet someone special, but fall in love and begin to build a new relationship?

Is it possible to mourn the loss of a beloved spouse and, while still grieving, to not only meet someone special, but fall in love and begin to build a new relationship that includes a commitment to sharing your lives? Can we overlap our loving and our grieving? The answer is a profound: YES! But, to smooth the path, keep these helpful Dos and Donts in mind: Read more

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