KathyG

DoubleJo, If you've read my thread about lack of support from family members, you know I share your frustration with people who don't support us in grief when we expect them to, and who tune out when we desperately need a listener. If my husband's death has taught me anything, it's that you can't take anyone or anything at face value. Some people are just bad news, period. Others are such good role players (the "mask" thing Bob mentions) that it's hard to tell if they're really kind and caring, or they're clueless or insensitive jerks. Sometimes, we see that really good people don't listen or respond to us because they don't know what to say or do or death makes them uncomfortable. But I've also found that some sensitive people who are naturally kind and sympathetic hesitate to help, or offer limited or lukewarm responses, because in the past, being emotionally open with someone else left them exposed and badly hurt. And they're afraid to risk being hurt again. Bottom line, there are all kinds of reasons people don't stand up for those in mourning. Some reasons are move valid than others.

Kay, I'm sorry you and your friend have suffered this loss and I pray God will grant you strength, enduring faith, and peace. It's a blessing for Virgie that she has you to help and support her, because she really needs someone who cares at this awful time. And I praise your courage in being there for her; in addition to the painful memories it resurrects for you, it's also causing you fresh pain. Yet, you didn't hesitate to make yourself available as a source of support. That's the kind of thing real friends do for each other. My heart and my best wishes go out to you and Jim's family. KathyG

Hey, everyone, Thank you all for your insights and words of comfort. I know now that the lack of family support I experienced isn't unique, and that helps me understand my relatives' behavior better. But I'm not angry with them and I don't think they're bad people who intentionally wanted to hurt me. I'm just disappointed and sad because I thought that if anyone could look past their discomfort with the subject of death and support a bereaved me, it would be my family. There are plenty of dysfunctional families out there, but my relatives have always been particularly close-knit. They rallied around me when my first (unhappy) marriage fell apart. That's why their response to the loss of my second husband seems so jarring. Bill was wonderful to me and good to everyone in the family - dying was the only hurtful thing he ever did, and he didn't choose to leave us. But you know, family members aren't the only people who try to avoid dealing with death. For 10 years, I've known someone I considered a good friend; seven years ago, her husband was killed in an accident. When Bill died, I looked to her for advice and help in coping, but she hasn't been there for me. I concluded that maybe she's just a fair weather friend (they do exist), or maybe she's afraid that helping me might cause her to re-experience her own pain. Vindictiveness is not my style. But my feelings toward those who let me down have definitely cooled. I probably won't cut any of them out of my life, but the best thing for me now is to spend the most time with the people who express sympathy and support - like all of you have.

This last week, I've been disappointed and depressed, but also cheered, by friends' and family members' responses to two significant milestones - the six-month anniversary of my husband's death (May 21st) and the first observance of his birthday (May 27th) without him. I went from Phoenix back to my hometown, Pittsburgh, to visit my sister and attend a 60th wedding anniversary party for my uncle and aunt. It was hard for me to go; I couldn't help feeling some resentment that they've had 60 years together while Bill and I were given only 11 years to share our lives. But I went because I was genuinely happy for them, I love them dearly and my aunt has always been a second mother to me. I handled my self OK, didn't cry and even managed to get up and dance a little. Except for my sister, I hadn't seen any of the relatives who came to the party for at least three years or more. They hadn't attended Bill's memorial service because Arizona and Pennsylvania are so distant from each other. So I was expecting them to at least offer their sympathies when we met again after so long. But only my aunt was willing to talk about Bill. No one else noted the six-month milestone or said, "I'm sorry," or "This must be a rough time for you." Everyone else who had known Bill acted like he never existed, and when I mentioned his name they couldn't wait to change the subject. I was hurt and disappointed; I expected so much more from my family - though maybe that was naive of me. I wasn't very strong on Memorial Day when my sister and I took flowers to my parents' gravesite. It was the first time since my mother died in 2005 that I had visited the site, so even though I knew her name was inscribed on that bronze plaque, I wasn't prepared for the effect it had. I sobbbed for hours, as much as (or more) for Bill as for the losses of my mother and dad. But I was proud that I met the challenge of Bill's birthday without a meltdown. The 27th was the date when I flew home, and that helped. Shortly after I arrived back home, my niece and a good friend of mine both called to welcome me back and ask how my trip went and how well I was holding up. It made me feel so good to know that someone else cared. Why do so many of the people whom you'd expect to be the most sympathetic, often provide the least amount of support?

"Life goes on. Get over it." Oh, really? So this author finds public grief "offensive and creepy"? Chastising mourners and calling their sincere expressions of grief "performances" is what's really offensive, IMHO. I can't imagine what would lead this woman to write such mean-spirited drivel, unless she is accustomed to receiving harsh, compassionless criticism from the people in her life. If that's the case, I feel sorry for her. But if I can respect her dislike for communal mourning, then she can darn well respect our right to express our grief for our late loved ones as openly and for as long as we need to! A healthy society is not one that operates on the premise, "Keep your problems to yourself" or that, once someone dies, acts as if he or she never existed. If we don't care about what happens to those around us, then we can't expect them to care when adversity comes our way. I wonder if anyone will care or remember when the author of that column experiences a tragedy or passes on.

Singledad, Like most of us travelers on this road called loss (especially if our spouse left us suddenly with no warning), you're starting with the question, "Why did this happen?" Good question, but as Bob said, you can go crazy trying to figure out the answer. After the shock begins to subside, in a while you'll find yourself asking not "Why?" but "How?" as in: - How can I now get through this and go on with my life? - How can I learn through this experience and grow stronger? - How do I find out who I am now, or who I want to become? - How do I figure out what I need to leave behind, what from my old life I can take with me as I go forward, and how to distinguish between the two? I wish I could provide the answers for you, but the answers are different for everyone. While others here have shared with you some of their experience with loss, I hope you'll let me offer some things I've learned. - Sadness is the heart's way of honoring a lost loved one. You honor your spouse's soul by fully feeling your grief. - In grief, we can shift from feeling hopeful to abject depression, back and forth, for months. But each time this happens, we release some of the sadness and become a little stronger. The process is slow, but it works. - It helps to remind yourself that when you cry, and when you can't think clearly or concentrate on your job, you don't need to be fixed, because this is normal and nothing is wrong with you. - Don't let anyone set limits on when, how, or for how long you should grieve. It's your business and no one else's; take all the time you need. - You can never be the same person you were before losing your spouse. Change in you happens automatically. It takes time, though, to find your new self - and what you shared with your spouse will survive within that new self. - Even though death ended your spouse's life, it can't end your love. - It's important to realize all the secondary losses that happen because your spouse is gone, and to grieve for those losses and say goodbye to everything you lost. - Though we can't go back and prevent what happened, we can determine what to do with the rest of our lives. - When your spouse was alive, he or she made you as happy as you made him or her. If your spouse had a wonderful relationship with you, you also gave him or her the gift of experiencing a wonderful relationship. Your spouse helped you to know that you're capable of giving and receiving great love. - Remember that part of your lost spouse not only remains within you, but also had a large or small effect on the lives of others with whom she or he interacted.

DoubleJo and Lin, I mostly agree with your take on this. But in some cases, I think the people who invite us to call them (instead of just calling themselves) do that because: - Some folks prefer to be left alone when they're mourning. - They know some people find it difficult to ask for help, so they want to give us the opportunity to request help when we need it, not just when it's offered. I wish more people would do this: - Ask the bereaved person if they need anything right now. - Invite him or her to call whenever they need something in the future. - Tell the person they will check back in a few days or weeks if he or she hasn't contacted them. And then actually follow up.

Benali, I've also turned to home fix-up projects since my husband died 6 months ago. I think it's a normal and understandable reaction when the person whose caretaker you've been dies. Because the caretaker tasks were part of your old identity, you become driven to find other tasks to fill that new void within yourself. I don't view the projects as tools to take our minds off grief. The grief is always present whether we're busy or not. But while we mourn and gradually start to make new lives, while we start coming to terms with our loss, we may as well tackle other work that needs to be done. It provides a sense of accomplishment at a time when we feel wounded, weak and helpless. And it helps us to build confidence in our ability to rebuild our lives: "If I can get the house in shape, then I can rebuild myself too." For me, the projects are also a kind of tribute to my husband. Most of the things I'm fixing or remodeling were projects we had either started or planned to do together. So completing the projects provides some closure. And if Bill is still watching me, I think he's pleased with what I've done so far.

Hi Wendy, John is right on when he says that pictures of our loved ones can bring us both sadness and joy, and hiding the pictures won't takw away our grief. It's not bad that Steve's pictures make you cry, because tears can help to release some of the pain you feel. That's why a good cry session usually makes people feel better. It hurts to cry, but it hurts in the same way that antiseptic stings when you put it on an open wound, or that a broken bone causes pain when you reset it - we have to go through pain to go forward and heal. At the same time, old pictures can also make us smile and remind us of happier times. I've also found that looking at old pictures of a loved one from the years before you met them helps you to realize all the things he or she experienced throughout his/her lifetime, and what shaped him or her the person you knew. Pictures also help keep us keep your loved ones image alive; you'll always have them in your heart, but photos are the only way we can see their sweet faces again until the day we're called to join them. For Bill's memorial service, I created a photo board that shows pictures of him from birth through last year. It shows him as a baby, a little boy playing cowboy, going to his prom, teaching in his classroom, playing with nieces and nephews, having Christmas with other family members, at our wedding, etc. Though Bill and I never met till we were both in our 40s, I love looking at those older photos because even though I didn't know him then, the pictures show me that the beautiful spirit inside him was always there. And it reminds me that his spirit still lives. I didn't store the photo board away after the funeral. It's mounted on the wall of a room I use as my office, where I can see it every day and remember. Some days, the images bring me tears but on good days, they make me realize how lucky I was to have him and his love.

This morning, I had an insight that helped me realize I've been making progress in recovering from my loss. Till now, I've been depressed and frustrated and worried that I'd remain that way for the rest of my life. It felt as if I had nothing to look forward to except ongoing sadness. But today, I realized that while I've been clearing out my house, getting rid of furniture, carpet and other things I no longer want or need, replacing worn-out furniture and adding things I wanted but didn't have -- that's exactly where I stand in recovering from loss. Revamping my house is exactly like revamping my life. I realize now that I'm not making much forward progress yet because I'm still getting rid of old emotional baggage. I've only begun to start figuring out which parts of my old life I want to keep, what I want to retain from my past life with my husband, and what hopes, dreams, and activities I'll want to include in my future. Both my house and my life are in the same state of transition. This is not terribly profound, and what came as an insight to me might seem obvious or no big deal to others. But this realizatoin made me much more aware that yes, I'm coping and growing. And that gives me hope.

Hi Goddess, Thanks for your concern and kind words of support. I do make it a point to get away from the house for at least a half hour every day. And I try to go out to lunch or dinner with friends once or more each week (availability depends on our work schedules). Someone else suggested that I fix up my back yard to make it more inviting to spend time there. The yard is small, fenced in, and contains only a concrete patio - the rest is all gravel and rocks. Bill and I always intended to glam it up someday, but we never had the chance. But with a few simple changes like a porch swing, table, maybe a fountain and some flowers, maybe that would help?

Almost two months ago, the sale of my employer's local headquarters building gave me the chance to continue working for the company from home. Telecommuting has some great benefits, but I'm also finding out there's a downside. The benefits: -- If I have sudden breakdowns or grief attacks during the day (which still happens often), I don't have to try to pretend I'm OK or hide my embarrassment, because no one is there to see or hear me cry and scream. -- I'm saving much money on gasoline, car maintenance, lunches, and clothing. -- My work hours are more flexible. As long as I put in enough work time, I can take breaks for errands, etc. during the day. -- I get to spend more time with my little furbaby (a lhasa-poo). The problem: -- My home is filled with reminders of my Bill. Most of the time, that comforts me and helps me feel closer to him. But in some ways, it makes my grief more overwhelming. When I went to a separate office building to work, it seemed to give me a few hours of relief from dwelling on my loss. At home, I can't escape my feelings so I grieve all the time. Overall, I think the pros of working from home outweigh the cons. But I need your help to figure out some better ways to prevent feeling overwhelmed by spending so much time there. I'll be grateful for any suggestions.

Oh Jackie, I know how agonizing these sudden grief attacks are and my heart goes out to you. First, remember that these grief attacks are a normal reaction to your loss and try to accept (though it's hard) that (a) you'll have many such attacks and ( you can't predict when they'll hit. Then each time a new grief attack occurs, remind yourself that each attack you weather is one more step towards healing and a stronger you. If you're trying to get something done when a grief attack hits, if possible break off what you're doing and for a few minutes, go to a quiet place where you can grieve, cry, whatever in private. Your task usually will still be there after you've vented your grief, but you'll feel stronger and more in control.

Kim, even if you feel out of place elsewhere, you DO fit in with the rest of us here. People who tell us we have to recover within a certain amount of time may feel they're sympathizing with us, but they aren't empathizing; they are sorry for us but they don't try to understand or feel our pain. A grief counselor (of all people!) who gives others a deadline to "get over" their loss seriously lacks common sense or compassion. Sometimes, though, a remark that's meant to be comforting can hurt. For example, a good friend of mine who lost a two-year-old daughter tried to tell me that I need to stop thinking so much about Bill because "you can't live in the past." I replied that no, we can't, but our late husbands and what we shared with them forever changed us. For anyone who has been in a wonderful marriage or relationship, one of the worst parts of surviving our loved one is being forced to accept an unwelcome possibility: the best years of our lives may be over. So how can we NOT miss what we had? We are neither the women we were before we met our spouses, nor the women we were while they lived. But the quality of our experiences as wives will definitely help shape the new identities we're trying to form. Our spouses will always be with us the rest of our days.

I just learned about a potential source of help with those home repairs that so many of us widows don't know how to do. According to my grief counselor, a group of men who belong to the church she attends started a volunteer group that will tackle handyman-type projects for senior citizens or widows who can't do those projects themselves. I don't know more than that except that this group is in Phoenix, but I can find out more. I suspect there might be similar volunteer groups in other towns or states as well. Another idea: I wonder if maybe Home Depot or Lowe's would be open to holding how-to fixit classes geared specifically to single women and widows? The stores already have such classes, but they're for the general public. It would be nice if they'd start a class that would specifically address the kinds of home repair or maintenance challenges we now need to face alone. Does anyone think this would be worth pursuing?

My guilt is a different kind. I was married twice. My first marriage lasted 23 years (only about 5 of which could be called happy.) My second husband, Bill, was the love of my life, but I got to spend only 11 years 4 months, and 11 days with him; each day better than the next. So where does the guilt come in? I can't stop wishing that if one of my husbands had to die, it had been spouse #1. When my first marriage ended in divorce, I felt like I had been let out of jail. With Bill gone, it feels like being in solitary confinement on Death Row.

Reading some of your stories, I realize how lucky I've been since Bill died that I haven't bombarded with well-intentioned but not always welcome advice. Mostly, my friends and family give me opinions only when I ask for them. I've found that the best way to deal with nuisance advice, when it's offered, is to thank the person and tell him or her "I'll really think about what you told me." Then, I go off and decide later if I want to act on their advice or not. What troubles me more is existing without really living. I understand that each person grieves and recovers and his or her own unique pace, and no one can predict when life will start to seem good again. But I get so discouraged and worn down by the constant feelings of sadness and loss, and I panic a little wondering if I'll feel this bad for the rest of my life. When someone tells me, "You have a lot of good years still ahead of you," or "You'll feel happiness again someday," it's hard for me to believe them, because there's no way to know if or when happier days will ever come for me. What if the best I can accomplish is to become neither happy nor sad, but permanently stuck in a neutral emotional limbo? I would hate to live that way.

Kay, What a tough and scary dilemma! You and John must be so worried. It is horrible that in this country, someone who needs a doctor right now can't go for fear of later being denied coverage for a pre-existing condition. I can't understand why your friends and family don't see any urgency or any reason for you to be concerned (especially after what you've already been through), and I'm so sorry they're not supporting you. The possibility of being denied coverage later is a real threat, but so is not investigating your husband's tiredness now, especially in light of his family history. Both options have risks, but if his illness is serious, treatment may be more successful and you may have more options if he sees a doctor now. Is there any way you can get John some kind of temporary health insurance that would cover him until he can get on his employer's health plan? Also, I don't know how long he has worked for his current employer, but you might want to take a closer look at their health plan's explanation of benefits. Most companies provide some kind of health coverage from the first day of employment, even if they make you wait awhile to officially join their health plan. (This is partly to protect themselves; for example, if an employee gets hurt on the job before he's allowed to join the health plan, the company doesn't want a lawsuit.) So depending on how the health plan rule book is worded, there's a chance that John might actually have some form of coverage now.

Shhh65, I'm truly sorry for your and your family's great loss. Losing a loved one is heartbreaking for anyone. But it's especially shattering when they die suddenly with no warning, because you're completely unprepared and may not have the chance to say goodbye. I lost my husband to a heart attack last November; though he had had a heart problem in the past, we didn't suspect anything was wrong because his last set of cardio tests looked fine. Be good to yourself, and take things one day (or even one hour) at a time. There's another piece of advice I want to pass along; I hope it helps. Last week, my grief counselor (a very wise lady) told me it's important not to let memories of the way a loved one died overshadow the good memories you have of them. She said it's more comforting if you can mentally "edit out" the disturbing memories and instead focus on scenes that represented your relationship and how you still feel about your loved one. Easier said than done, maybe. But worth a try. With sympathy and prayers, Kathy

This weekend is another of those "firsts" that come with the first year of grief, and it's hitting me very hard. Continuous grief attacks since Friday. It might seem silly to some of you, but the cause is...the NFL Draft. My Bill loved football, the Steelers in particular, and draft weekend was a huge deal to him. Weeks before, he'd study and compare the skills of all the college players and try to choose the guys who he wanted to see join the black & gold. He'd discuss all this with me, and we'd watch the draft on TV for hours until the Steelers had made all their picks. This year, I've been sitting here watching the draft alone. And it hurts like hell, and my face and eyes are puffy and red from constant crying. I don't know, maybe I should have gone out to a movie or dones something else to take my mind off the empty space beside me on the sofa. But I told myself I had to face this event (and in any case, I wanted to know who the Steelers drafated) -- so maybe next year, it won't hurt so much.

Welcome, Joe. I'm sorry for your great loss and the pain it's causing you. Please don't feel that you have to be in good spirits to post here. In fact, it'll help you most to come here when you feel worst so you can just let it all out. We've all been where you are, many of us also feel broken, and we'll listen and try to help as much as we can. Try not to worry too much about being out of synch with the rest of the world, because it's a normal and reasonable reaction to what you're going through. These are far from "normal" times , and recovery will probably be one of the toughest things you'll ever do. So it's OK to step back a little bit to process and understand all the new feelings and experiences that are happening to you now. It takes a long time to adjust to losing someone who was a major part of your life and to discover what you want the rest of your life to be like. My husband died five months ago, and I'm still very far from knowing who I am now or who and what I want to be going forward. Following Art's suggestion about counseling will help very much. Counselors listen to and sympathize with what you share with them; they won't turn away when you vent your feelings, and they'll help you identify and deal with all the changes your loss has forced on you. Your counselor will also encourage you and help you see where you're starting to recover when you don't feel like you've healed at all. I don't agree that self help books won't help you find solutions; I think their helpfulness depends on finding the books whose message speaks to you. Two books you might try: "Recovering from Losses in Life," by H. Norman Wright and "Finding Your Way through Grief: a Guide for the First Year," by Marty Tousley. Marty is the wonderful moderator for this site. I like the other book because it presents several exercises that can help you work through your feelings about loss. Probably the greatest lesson to learn when you've lost a loved one is that the only way to heal is to let yourself grieve and confront your grief straight on. Grief demands to be resolved; it becomes more intense and causes more pain if you try to ignore it.

The first time someone close to me died, it was my dad in 1981 and right around that time, George Harrison released " In the months after my dad's death, I played that song over and over to remind myself that I would get through my loss and someday, I'd feel better. The song goes like this: Sunrise doesn't last all morning A cloudburst doesn't last all day Seems my love is up and has left you with no warning It's not always going to be this grey All things must pass All things must pass away Sunset doesn't last all evening A mind can blow those clouds away After all this, my love is up and must be leaving It's not always going to be this grey All things must pass All things must pass away All things must pass None of life's strings can last So, I must be on my way And face another day Now the darkness only stays the nighttime In the morning it will fade away Daylight is good at arriving at the right time It's not always going to be this grey All things must pass All things must pass away All things must pass All things must pass away My dad's favorite song was "I Left My Heart in San Francisco," and to this day, a lump in my throat always comes back when I hear it. My mother didn't have a special song, but her favorite actress was Bette Davis. Every time one of her movies showed on TV, Mum and I watched it together. So now when a Bette Davis movie comes on, it's like receiving a message from my mother. My husband and I had very different musical tastes. I often told him he was born 30 years too late, because he loved big band music and Dean Martin was his favorite singer. Bill would send me into giggles by going around the house singing his high school fight song or "Everybody Loves Somebody" in a really weird crooner-type voice. He really enjoyed making me laugh. I had never heard before, but when my niece played it at Bill's memorial service, that's when I broke down. It's still very hard for me to listen to that song. But I play it anyway because I feel closer to Bill when I do.

Karen, if having your son move out of town isn't a workable option - maybe you and his caseworker could find him another apartment and get him moved into it without the drug people finding out his new address. I pray that you and your son will have divine help to come through this situation.

Marty, Thanks for your wise advice and the quotations from Sameet Kuman's book. I understand and am grateful for what you and he say. And I have accepted that my "shutdown spells" will continue to occur and I realize I need to ride them out, and they will pass. I know I need to pay attention to my grief, and I do. But I'd like to have better control over the shutdown spells because I don't know what to do when their timing creates problems in the rest of my life. For example, I had an extended shutdown spell just when I was struggling to complete an important project at work. There was much work to be done, and the deadline could not be postponed (the client needed their deliverables right away), and I almost didn't deliver on time because during my shutdown I was too paralyzed to do anything but cry! That's my dilemma - grief by itself is difficult enough to live with, but the stress intensifies when life and work make demands during my shutdown times. When things are that bad for me, telling myself to "suck it up" and press ahead isn't helpful - it's like trying to run a marathon an hour after open heart surgery.

Just wondering if this happens to anyone else... Since my husband died, I've grown used to having mood swings and waking up feeling pretty good one day and deeply depressed the next. I know these are normal grief reactions, and when one of the "rotten" days comes along it helps to tell myself it will pass. But then: even in the middle of a good day, sometimes suddenly the feelings of loss and hurt and abandonment overpower me with a force that's like a direct hit from a shotgun. And everything I was doing comes to a complete halt and I'm immobilized and can't do a thing, mentally or physically. Sometimes I'll recover in a few hours, especially after a good cry. But at other times, it may take a day or two before I can bounce back. I've had these extreme shutdown spells so many times now, you'd think I would have learned a little about how to cope with them, or at least have some forewarning that another spell is coming on so I could prepare. But I don't understand it - each time it happens, it's like the first time and I'm caught by surprise. Why am I not getting any better at predicting or handling these crises?