As married people know, there’s no manual for how to be married. You meet someone, you fall in love, you decide you can’t live without this person and then – voila, you get married. Everyone figures out their own marriage, what works for them, what doesn’t, and then life throws curveballs at you in the form of children, parents’ involvement, financial woes (or highs), working at what can sometimes be a stressful job, etc., etc., etc.
There’s also no manual for how to be widowed. The person who promised to love you until death do you part has actually parted. For some people, it comes out of nowhere – a massive heart attack or a fatal car accident you never saw coming. For others, they grieved long before the actual death while they cared for their terminally ill spouse. With any luck, you have already grown old together before one of you is taken from the other. And yes, I know the word “old” is subjective, and at the ripe old age of 61, I might have been old to some people, but my Tony and I had certainly not grown old together as far as I was concerned when cardiac arrest took him.
As I’ve shared with you before, I was very ill with liver disease when he died, and my focus was on getting ready for the transplant surgery and just making it through every day while feeling so sick and weak all the time. I put the overwhelming grief in a box on a shelf in my mind so that I could handle it later. It took about a year for that grief to fully settle in. And even then, I could only take out the box for a short period of time before I had to put it back. It was just too much. And naturally, there were reminders everywhere, from photos of us at some event or exotic place, to a song that made me think of him, or to a smell that evoked a great meal we loved to cook together. You get the picture.
Eventually, the tidal wave of grief fully hit. Please keep in mind that the grieving process is different for every widow(er), and there is no timeline. You might be fine one day and a sobbing mess the next. It really, truly does come out of absolutely nowhere. I know other widows who lost their spouses several years ago and they still struggle. Would you believe that some of them have to listen to “friends” who tell them to get over it already? One lady was not actually married yet when her fiancé was killed in a car crash. So, of course, some insensitive boob told her that she’s not really a widow because they weren’t married, so she should “move on, already!” And as the lady herself put it, “My bed is just as empty as an actual widow.” True enough.
If you’ve experienced it or know someone who has, then you know that there are people who need to throw everything away as soon as possible because it’s just too hard to see it. Clothing is immediately donated, knick-knacks are regifted or recycled, and meaningful items are given away under the last will and testament much more quickly than they need to be. I also know a gentleman whose wife died a little less than five years ago, who told me that he might never donate her clothes because they smell like her, and it’s the last connection he has. I can completely understand that.
Oh, and then there are the ones who are judged harshly for dating again “too soon.” I belong to a widows and widowers group on the book of faces and a man just posted a comment that his wife died a year ago, but she had been dying for about two years prior to that, and her friends told him he shouldn’t even THINK about dating yet. What they don’t realize is that when you are a caregiver, you grieve every step of the way with your spouse. No one truly understands your grief except you. Who are they to dictate to a widower what he should or shouldn’t do? I was steamed reading that.
So, dear readers, try to understand when a loved one loses a spouse. It’s a loss like no other, and that person needs nothing but kindness from you. On behalf of widows (ers) everywhere, thank you.
Lisa Marchionda Fama is a retired attorney who has lived in Marblehead for seven years, loves this town, and hopes she never leaves. Visit her blog at TheSoberWidow.com.
