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 Vice President and Treasurer of the Board of Directors for the Open to Hope Foundation, 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.
