I’m a widower. I had a difficult time when my wife passed. Sadness. Guilt. Self-pity.
I was a mission president and wanted to finish our mission. I wanted closure. Instead, I was released. We had rented our house, so I didn’t have a home to return to. I had retired just before our mission call, so I didn’t have a job, either.
Homeless. Jobless. Bereft.
My children and grandchildren took me in. They made room for me. I rotated among my four children for a while. At first, we had fun together. But they had their lives. It seemed like mine was over.
Our renters eventually moved. I sold our house and went elsewhere. At a time when others my age who had retired were settling into a life well lived, it felt like I was starting over.
I went back to college, teaching this time. I remarried and moved again. We made new friends together. We share “bonus” children and grandchildren.
Life became good again. I’m one of the lucky ones.
I’m a member of a Facebook group of widows and widowers for people of my faith. There are 8,600 members. Some members post regularly. Others, like me, almost never. Those who post invariably say something about their loss, their loneliness, their ongoing grief.
I’m more private. But I stay a member of this group because, well, I’m a widower.
Grief, of course, comes in other ways besides the death of a spouse. Illness. Divorce. Unemployment. Wayward children. Unfulfilled dreams. These can all cause grief, even despair — especially if we come to sense things can never be the same again.
After major loss, it can be soul-stretching to go about navigating a new and unexpected world. The loneliness can be crushing for those who have lost a beloved spouse and now must live the rest of their lives on their own.
In the movie Ordinary People, Judd Hirsch plays the role of a therapist for a teenage boy who has experienced the loss of his brother, Buck. He shares a remarkable message in counseling the young man, saying: “Feelings are scary and sometimes they’re painful! And if you can’t feel pain then you’re not going to feel anything else either.”
We all grieve in our own way and on our own timetable. I know that, which makes me wonder if Elizabeth Kubler-Ross (who wrote about five stages of grief) was wrong. Maybe there isn’t a predictable cycle. But there are some useful patterns, themes and motifs that we can utilize based on others’ experience — customizing their experiences for our own use.
On the widow and widowers Facebook page, one woman commented that when her husband was in the ICU, she got a tattoo of her husband’s heart rhythm with Mickey Mouse on it. She always wanted to remember the good times they had at Disneyland. Others have found similar creative ways to memorialize their spouses.
Today, there are many new and different ways of grieving — and remembering. After all, grieving is both loss and recollection.
Our brains, it seems, are hard-wired to reflect the attachments that we have developed with spouses, friends and co-workers. If we genuinely care about them, we miss them when we are apart.
After death of a loved one, we may experience “grief triggers” that spontaneously — and sometimes unexpectedly — remind us of past times. Anniversaries, shared activities, or special music can all trigger grief even years after we think we’ve moved on or come to terms with past events.
Sometimes, as Hilary Weeks sings, we just need to cry. Tears can comfort us, help us grieve, then allow us to move on. This release allows us the grace to mourn, to remember, and to remind us that better days are still ahead.
Gravestones and family photos can also be a constant and visible reminder of a loved one or a past event. They help memorialize loved ones as well as provide stability moving forward. Like a ship’s ballast, they can help keep us upright and afloat.
I’ve observed people say they go to cemeteries these days more for serenity or scenery rather than visiting loved ones’ graves. With cremation rates rising — currently 23% in Utah, 49% in Idaho — cemeteries themselves seem to have less appeal than in the past.
Like me, others say they have mixed feelings about the grieving process itself. What’s normal? How long can a person take to grieve? How much is too long?
It seems that in the past there was more acceptance of a longer period of mourning than today. Friends say they’ve been told to move forward quickly and not to dwell on the past. One even said that he was told by well meaning family members after only a few weeks that he needed to “find closure” and “move on.”
Social media platforms like the Facebook group that I am a part of offer new ways to connect with others who might lend support, encouragement and empathy. Some participants find a common community through social media that can be unavailable with neighbors or friends.
Similar to an in-person mutual support group, these online connections can provide access to like minded people who can understand their pain, relate to their loss, and share in their loneliness. Organizations like GriefShare now provide courses and facilitation for online groups across the country.
Sometimes when we don’t know what to say, we don’t need to say anything at all. Our presence and our desire to help, manifest in some way, can be enormously reassuring and helpful. Here are some ways to offer solace without offering cliches or unintentionally offering unwelcome advice.
- “I’m here for you.”
- “I can’t imagine how hard this is, but I care about you.”
- “Take all the time you need — there’s no right way to feel.”
- “It’s OK to feel however you’re feeling.”
- “Whenever you want to talk, I’m available to listen.”
These “empathy openers” allow you to offer support without minimizing others’ grief or inadvertently stepping into attempts to “fix” things for them. In that regard, here are a few things to avoid:
- Toxic positivity (“They’re in a better place”).
- Rushing their grief (“You’ll feel better soon”).
- Direct comparisons (“I know exactly how you feel”).
- Direct advice … unless they specifically ask for it.
If we live long enough, we can expect to have a full measure of grief and sorrow, along with joy and contentment. Depending how we approach them, hardships can help us cherish good times. They can even wake us up to the good things that we have in our lives that we aren’t paying attention to in the first place.
We may not be able to fix anyone else’s grief, but surely we can support others however they grieve.