Will I Ever Find Me Again? — New Roles After the Death of a Spouse

In response to “From a Plea for Help,” Julie Z. wrote:  My husband died about 1.5 years ago, I continue to cry daily. He was everything to me. I am so tired of being so alone. I miss him so very much. Why did someone so wonderful need to go? I pray so very much, that the wonderful memories we made together will make me smile, not cry. I miss everything about him. I miss him, the wonderful marriage we shared and I miss, who I was when I was with him. He completed me. Will I ever find me again? How do I go on without him? I wanted to grow old with him.

Beverly McManus, Grief Companion, responds:  Before I answer your questions, please let me offer my most sincere condolences on the death of your dear husband. You have been through one of the hardest things a person can endure, and I hope that you know that just by reaching out, you’re already taking healthy steps to heal from this enormous loss. 

It takes a long time to figure out who we are without our spouses.  Whether we have warning of their death or not, we cannot even remotely comprehend all the losses we’ll experience that accompany our spouse’s death.  In the instant when his or her heart stops beating, we have lost our life companion, we have lost the stability that comes with being in a marriage, in some cases we have lost our financial footing.  But I think one of the most profound of these losses is the loss of our identity-we’re not just losing a wife or husband, but also all those roles that went with it.  For so many years, we have been part of a couple.  And now, the question looms:  Who am I without my spouse? 

Even though I have always thought of myself as quite strong as an individual, internally, I know that my reference point for much of my own self-definition had been Steve.  Since his death, I have had to figure out who I am without him, and to determine what adventures I want to accomplish, how I like to spend my time, what makes me happy, and who I feel happy with.  It’s very tricky to assimilate all the grief and at the same time, figure out the answer to “What next?”  And making it especially tricky is the ambiguous timeline of our healing process. 

Of course, each grief journey has its own timeline and path, but there are a few milestones and stepping stones that are universal, and this very big step of figuring out who we are is one that can’t be rushed. 

What I’ve discovered: 

• For me, one of the toughest new roles to handle was parenting.  Steve had always been so close to our daughters, and was very active in their lives.  Now, I felt I had to step up and be both mom and dad, something I felt so unequipped to do.  We had different parenting styles-Steve had grown up in a much more relaxed and lenient family than mine, and I tended to be more hard line in terms of decisions and rules.  While he was alive, we had been conciliatory influences on each other, mellowing out the extremes and always presenting a united union to our daughters.  I know our daughters missed having their “old softy” dad who could often be convinced by his oh-so-persuasive and charming girls.  Instead, now they had only mom, and many times, I felt I needed to stand firm and make some decisions they didn’t necessarily like at the time.  Then guilt would kick in, and I’d reverse myself, thinking, “If Steve were here, he’d let them do XYZ.”  Over time, I realized I didn’t have to automatically assume Steve’s “Dad” role - I could just be myself, doing the best I knew how. 
• Making decisions on my own was initially extremely hard for me.  I’d always had a partner with whom I could float ideas, hash things out, and reach conclusions.  Without someone to lean against, I felt so alone and vulnerable.  Even though in the business world I felt confident about my decision making, with regard to home, cars, and family, I felt so uncertain.  What if I made a mistake?  What if I made the wrong decision?  Over time, I realized that although I no longer had Steve to turn to, I did have a small group of trustworthy advisors who were generously willing to share their opinions and provide reassurances that even if I did make a mistake, the world wouldn’t come to an end.  I also have learned to trust my own judgment, and to tap into a deep well of experiences, as well as trust my guts as to whether something “felt right.”  I also take heed of Gen. George S. Patton’s remark, “Better a good decision now than a perfect decision 10 minutes too late.”
• Figuring out my new role apart from Steve also meant identifying my own tastes and preferences.  For many years, I’d been searching for a certain unique brass tray table, and a year after Steve died, in a stroke of serendipity, my daughter and I happened to find the exact table I’d been seeking for so long at a Persian Rug store.  I was thrilled to bring it home - it was something uniquely my own taste.  As I set it up in the living room, to my dismay, I realized that it clashed with everything else in the room and, worst of all, did not lend itself to the furniture layout of the room.  At that point, I realized that it was time to make some changes if I wanted the table to work.  Little did I know that that lovely antique table would be the catalyst for a major overhaul of my entire living and dining rooms! 

  And little did I realize that with the purchase of the table, I was embarking on a major exploration of my own tastes and desires.  Because we always conferred about nearly every major decision in our home and family, many of our choices resulted in compromises.  It was quite an adventure, and actually quite a bit of fun to realize that even though there was still some useful life left in our old furniture, I did not have to use it if it didn’t make me happy.  I decided to replace the extra-long sofa with four very comfortable upholstered chairs that gathered in a circle around the new coffee table.  Well, the chairs made the carpet seem dingy, so I decided that we’d replace it, and we were thrilled to discover beautiful hardwood floors underneath the dated wall-to-wall carpeting. 

  But as long as we were taking out the carpet, I realized we should also paint the walls - and it was such a joy to replace the bland “Navajo white” walls with a rich creamy maple sugar hue that picked up tones from the new table and chairs.  Next, I added a new oriental rug to tie all the colors together, and then decided to rip out the old brick hearth and replace it with cool sandstone.  Once the hearth was gone, I decided to paint the “rustic brick” fireplace façade a creamy white to match the baseboard and crown molding trims.  And of course, the windows needed new treatments.  And with those, the old dining room set looked shabby, so was replaced with something that could accommodate the large groups who often gathered at our table.  Basically the only thing that remained from our old layout was my beloved piano, which now had a regal home on the back wall of the living room.  It took almost a year to complete all the redecorating, and most of that time was spent exploring choices, and determining what I really loved.  Even now, every time I walk into the rooms I feel a thrill because of how it all works together so beautifully. 

• Making all the choices was fun, but this endeavor also included getting the work done, something that in the past, Steve would have handled.  I had to figure out that just because Steve would have actually tackled all the tasks himself, because he really loved doing handyman jobs, I did not need to also handle them all myself.  Instead, I brought in a floor refinisher to polish up our hardwood, a professional painter for the walls and ceilings, and a drapery service to help hang the new drapes.  The adventure left me feeling confident that I could handle just about anything around the house. 
• Figuring out how I like to spend my time was something I grappled with for quite some time.  It was so easy to bury myself in work, and by doing so, I didn’t have to address this question for a while.  But I have gradually been exploring options and activities that bring me joy.  In addition to the home decorating, I have rediscovered my passion for music, and these days, on weekends you can find me with my singing companions in front of the microphone singing old favorites at local karaoke venues.  It’s been quite fun to explore new places, and to make new friends along the way.  While we were in Hawaii on our last family vacation together, Steve had become entranced with Hawaiian music and bought a ukulele.  For the longest time, it sat on the shelf in my closet, and I’d earnestly urge Emily and Mary Ella to try to learn to play it.  But after a while, their lack of interest was apparent, and I realized that I could take lessons and learn to play it myself!  (This was quite startling at the time!)  I signed up for lessons with a local teacher, and it was so much fun, so I promised myself that once I mastered the uke, I’d take guitar lessons, since we had several of Steve’s guitars sitting around unused.  I soon concluded that there was no reason to wait - since I had time available, I decided to take both guitar and ukulele lessons, on alternating weeks, and have really enjoyed the satisfaction of learning something new and actually sounding halfway decent! 
• I think that this new sense of self-satisfaction was something I never expected as I explored new roles in my life without Steve.  Even though Steve and I had planned to grow old together, to travel, to be grandparents, and to enjoy life without the day-to-day demands of full-time parenting, entering this stage of my life alone has been a challenge.  Without him at my side, I’ve learned to find pleasure and fulfillment on my own.  I’ve had to revise some plans, discard some, and create some new goals for myself.  It has taken time, and it hasn’t come without the shedding of lots of tears as I have relinquished the dreams we’d had of shared tomorrows.  However, as my children have continued to grow, reach their own milestones, and become successfully “launched” into the adult world, I’ve realized a newfound freedom.  I can continue charting my course, and engaging in the activities that make me happy, with the people I enjoy.  Of course, I miss Steve and I especially miss the lack of ability to live out our dreams.  But in this new life, I’ve realized that I am enjoying figuring out who I am without him. 

Julie, I hope you will feel that you are not alone in your questions - you are facing a totally changed life path, and it can feel daunting.  Please let me assure you that you have made it through the worst.  And since you’ve survived, you should know that you have within you what it takes to keep moving forward and figure out the answers to your questions.  I wish you joy and hope as you explore your new roles without your husband, and hope you’ll stay in touch and let us know how you’re doing.

What new roles have you discovered in your new life without your spouse? How have you negotiated the often conflicting demands of each role? We’d love you to share your stories.

 

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

An Egg Today? Or a Hen Tomorrow? Our Choices in Grief

I’m a big believer in fortune cookies.  In fact, I’ve long thought that if read very loudly — so that everyone else in the restaurant can hear — the fortunes will come true!  I don’t know if there is any way to scientifically prove my theory, but I do like to test it each time we go out for Chinese food.  I loudly read the last fortune cookie I opened; however, it offered more of what I’d consider a proverb than an actual fortune:  “It is better to have a hen tomorrow than an egg today.”

Hmmm…  My first thought was to question whether or not this old adage is true, and I realized that the answer had to be “It depends.”  If one is starving and about to expire from hunger, the egg today may be the saving morsel that gives the body strength to carry on, and find more eggs tomorrow.  However, if one has the resources to wait until the egg hatches and the chick matures, it offers the potential for exponentially more eggs in the future (if indeed the chick turns out to be female… but, I’m distracting myself!). 

As I pondered my fortune, I reflected on how this axiom might apply to the grieving process.  Each loss is unique, and each grief journey has its own timeline.  I’ve learned that grieving requires a tremendous amount of energy and time.  Of course, some folks are forced to drastically shorten their grief journey, for reasons for over which they have no control.  However, for me and most others who have survived the death of a spouse, there is no hurrying the grief journey.  It is one we must travel at our own pace, despite the pressure from some of those around us, who in their sincere efforts to be helpful, offer quick-fix solutions to end our grief and make the pain end as well: 

“Just find a new husband/wife!  Then your broken heart will heal!” 

Or, “Hey, you’ve been grieving long enough!  Time to get on with your life.  Close that door and just live in the present!”

Or even better/worse, “When are you going to start acting like yourself again? We’re tired of you being blue all the time!”

Hearing such “advice” makes me surmise that those who offer it are like the writer of my recent fortune.  It’s easy for others to think “Oh, it’s been long enough, he/she should just snap out of it.”  But they have no idea what we are going through, nor can they comprehend all the thousands of emotions we need to experience and process if we are to truly heal.

Honestly, at times, it is tempting to want to short-step all the pain involved and just act like nothing has happened, to simply paste on a happy face and go on with our lives as if there isn’t a gaping hole where the heart used to be. 

But what happens when we do that?  The pain doesn’t just miraculously disappear.  No, it gets buried, where it stays, but will not allow itself to be ignored.  Unfortunately for many of us, when buried and not processed, the pain of grief begins to wreck havoc in other areas of our lives.  Backaches, migraine headaches, shoulder spasms, ulcers, heartburn, depression, insomnia… all are stress related and can be directly caused by the pain of unprocessed grief. 

How do we process grief?  By doing our “grief work.” 

By this, I mean really feeling all the feelings we are experiencing, as painful and unfamiliar as they may be.  By leaning into the pain, and even wallowing in it at times, so that we are giving our broken heart its due respect.  Because the only reason it hurts so much is because we loved so much - there is a direct correlation between the amount of pain experienced in grief and the depth of the love we felt for the person who died.  (Does your heart break when someone you don’t like dies?  Not really.  It is only for those we love that the heart responds in such a profound way.) 

It is a true paradox:  the more we cry and allow ourselves to feel the pain, the faster and more completely we will heal.  Those who say, “You’ve cried enough already,” are mistakenly trying to short-circuit a very necessary healing process.  And only we can determine how long we need to cry.  (We know when it’s time to stop because we no longer feel like crying.)  The tears accompany a cascade of healing hormones that affect every cell in our bodies, and after a good cry, it is amazing how much better we feel. 

So, back to my fortune, which declared that it’s preferable to have a hen tomorrow than an egg today.  Upon further reflection, I realized that if we equate the egg to the momentary relief we find when prematurely end our grief journey and instead paste on the happy face, and relate the hen to our healed selves who have sacrificed the time and energy to do real grief work, then yes, it is true. 

Think about it, the egg offers just one serving.  It is short-lived.  And even though it may be momentarily satisfying, once eaten, that’s that.  On the other hand, the chicken can provide a meal for an entire family, and then the bones can become the stock for the next meal’s soup, and then gravy for chicken pot pie the following night.  In other words, the rewards are manifestly more abundant. 

And, as an added benefit to waiting for the hen tomorrow, as we do our grief work and begin to heal, we notice that those around us - especially our children - begin to heal too.  We can pass on a legacy of overcoming one of the worst things that can happen, and by example, teach them how to not only survive, but thrive.  However, if we sidestep our grief work (and in essence, quickly eat the egg), we transmit an unhealthy coping strategy to our family, which can continue for generations, and the unprocessed pain can manifest itself as physical and mental health problems for the rest of our lives. 

Your choice:  The chicken or the egg?

What have you experienced along your grief journey?  Are there times when you need to “act as if” everything was okay, even though you felt awful inside?  We’d love to hear how you handled this.  And, we’d love to know what you think is preferable:  the egg today, or the hen tomorrow? 

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

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.

Everything Seems So Unreal — Coping with Unexpected Death

Responding to Ten Things Every New Widow Should Know to Survive, Jean writes:  I just lost my husband on 2/23/09. He passed away at the airport before taking the trip to the East Coast for the new job training. That was his first day of the new job since he was laid off last Christmas. He would have been 40 this month and we have two twin girls. They will be 1 this month as well. I don’t know what to do when I am alone. Everything seems so unreal. His mom blames everything on me. That adds more pain. I miss him terriblely. He was my everything. I know I have to be storng but this is really hard to take. My babies are so young. They will never see him again and probably don’t remember him anymore. He was healthy. They couldn’t find the cause of the death so it makes me more angry and sad. After I read your article, I realized I am not alone and crazy. Thank you.

Beverly Chantalle McManus, Grief Companion, responds:    Dear Jean, first of all, please accept our heartfelt shared sorrow for your loss.  The death of your husband is so recent, and it’s no wonder you are feeling what you are feeling.  You are right:  you are not alone.  We are so glad you reached out. 

It is unfortunate that your mother-in-law is lashing out toward you at this hard time of shared loss.  Please do not internalize her anger, but instead, consider viewing it from the perspective of a mother who has lost her baby and feels helpless and needs to blame someone, anyone.  You are unfortunately bearing the brunt of her pain, but I hope you can somehow realize that you do not have to accept it.  She has the right to feel how she feels, and you have the right to know that her feelings have nothing to do with you.  If she is actively lashing out at you, consider limiting (or even ending) her exposure to you.  The last thing you need at this time is even more burdens to carry, especially unwarranted ones.

All deaths are hard to take, to understand, to accept.  But unexpected deaths, such as your husband’s, are especially hard, because you had no warning that when you kissed him goodbye that morning, you would never see him alive again.  It is a major shock to the system, and it is going to take some time for your system to come to grips with what happened, to deal with the loss and pain, and to begin the healing process.  Please be compassionate with yourself, and allow yourself time to feel what you’re feeling, time to process your emotions and memories, and time to take care of yourself.  As the mother of two babies, I realize it may seem like I’m advising the impossible, but perhaps you could take up the offers of some friends or family and accept their offers to help.  Consider asking them to take the babies for a few hours so you can have time to catch up with all your emotions. 

Your daughters will have very limited memories of their daddy, but you will be able to keep their memories alive with stories you share about him — stories about why you fell in love with him, funny things he did, about how excited he was to welcome twins into his family, about how he loved to take care of them.  Consider jotting down notes while they are fresh, so you can share them with the girls as they grow and begin to ask questions. 

One of the best pieces of advice I received after my husband died was to carve out a space in my home, and a specific time each day to grieve.  Knowing that my time for tears and grieving was “scheduled” enabled me to get through the day without the grief leaking into every aspect of the day.  There are many things you’ll need to do in the days ahead, and it will be hard to get through some of these tasks, but if you know that you have set aside time later to grieve, it will be easier to pull yourself together and get through it. 

Even though your mother-in-law is acting less than admirably, I hope you are feeling surrounded by love and support from other friends and relatives during this hard time.  Please stay in touch and let us know how you’re doing.

 

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

Widow’s Friends Disown Her for Having New Relationship

Anne writes: I lost my dad and husband within a week of each other three years ago, and life has been a battle. My dearest friends (a couple that my husband and I used to do everything with) won’t accept the fact I am seeing another man and have been for nearly two years. The husband told me the other day never to come back and see them. I have given them space and continue to love and support them, Please help. I am just so sad about it. I have tried talking to them but they won’t. I am also their daughter’s godmother and she is heart-broken her parents are doing this. Help me.

Abel Keogh, author of Room For Two, responds: I’m sorry for the loss of your father and husband, but I’m glad to hear you’ve found love again.

Getting through life requires navigating the changes life constantly throws at us. Some people steer around these obstacles - such as the death of a spouse or close friend - better than others.

I don’t know why you’re friends are having a hard time supporting your new relationship. Maybe they’re still grieving over your husband death. Maybe they’re having a hard time seeing you with someone else. Whatever the reason for their actions, you’re doing the right thing by giving them space. Don’t ever be angry at them when they act this way toward you and your new love. Continue to offer them your love and support and let them know you’re always ready to renew your friendship with them again when they’re ready to accept your decision to move on with life.

I wish there was some magical button you could push so that your friends could be happy for you and understand that your new relationship doesn’t mean you’re rejecting the love and feelings you have for your late husband. But since no such button exists, don’t let their words and actions stop you from loving and living again. Instead, enjoy the time with your new love and be grateful for such a wonderful blessing in your life.

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

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

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