My entry into widowhood began in 2002 when our family was enjoying a long-awaited summer vacation in Hawaii and my husband Steve noticed he was having trouble swallowing. It wasn’t just that it was hard to swallow, but it actually hurt. He promised to get it checked out when we returned home. But neither of us expected the first two words that came out of the doctor’s mouth when he returned for his lab results: “It’s cancer.”
What? How could this be? Just a few weeks earlier Steve had been surfing, snorkeling, hiking all over Kauai. Now the doctor was telling us that Steve had a relatively rare form of cancer, but that there were treatments they’d start immediately and we’d hope for the best.
Unfortunately, despite intense chemo and the most advanced radiation treatment available, three months after the diagnosis, when they went in for surgery to just clean up any remaining cancer cells, the surgeon discovered that it had spread throughout his entire abdominal cavity, wrapped itself around his heart, and was inoperable. Instead of trying to remove the cancer, the surgeon then spent the next nine hours crafting an alternative esophagus, so that during Steve’s remaining time on earth he’d at least be able to swallow, something he hadn’t been able to do for the last few months.
By the time the surgeon finally walked into the waiting room, I was the only person remaining. He slowly shook his head… and answered my unasked question: “Three to six months.”
Up until that point, I’d remained steadfastly optimistic, knowing deep in my bones that Steve was strong, that he was going to beat this. Yes, he was very sick but he was going to bounce back, just as he had done when he’d had a detached retina, a collapsed lung, a shattered elbow, or any number of other acute crises that took him to the emergency room at least once a year.
I never could have imagined the staggering pain I’d feel when I heard that doctor announce the results of the surgery: I felt as if someone had plunged a dagger deep into my heart.
From that point, the pain only got worse. As Steve began his slow recovery from surgery, I tried to remain upbeat for him, but my heart was weeping. I’d drive back and forth to the hospital, and my route took me past a long series of cemeteries, which would further remind me of Steve’s impending fate. After being with him all day at the hospital, I would drive home, trying to figure out how to go on, how to stay focused on the present, while my beautiful husband was still here, rather than jumping into all the uncertainties of the future.
I felt so alone during that time, and the pain — of knowing that I’d soon be losing my best friend, my companion for more than half my life, my sweetheart — was tearing me up inside. I couldn’t allow myself to believe it, even though my heart knew otherwise. One night, the tears wouldn’t stop, and I found myself 20 miles north of my freeway exit before I even realized where I was…
Through it all, I tried to hold it together for our daughters, who were 16 and 18 at the time, so that even though their Daddy was sick, they’d have someone strong they could still lean against.
Exactly three months after the surgery, on February 19, 2003, Steve died, at home, with me and our two daughters at his side.
I thought I’d experienced pain before. Wrong. It was just a light precursor to what I felt after he died. The pain was so intense, I thought I would die too.
But I had a problem: I had no idea how to deal with all the feelings I was having… I’d grown up in a wonderful, tight-knit family. Like many Americans, the only permissible feelings were “Don’t make a scene” and “Do you want something to cry about?” If we had a sour face, we were to turn that frown upside down, into a smile. And if we really did have something to cry about, we were to do it in private, so as not to disturb anyone.
And I felt like crying all the time. Even though, yes, there was an initial period of numbness, as that rapidly wore off, the pain threatened to overwhelm me:
I felt lonely.
I felt bereft.
I felt abandoned.
I felt angry (at Steve, for leaving me; at the doctors, for not curing him; at God, for letting this all happen… the list goes on!).
I felt sad.
I felt guilty (why hadn’t I insisted on alternative therapies? why hadn’t I let Steve know how much I appreciated him?).
I felt exhausted.
I felt isolated.
Oh, the list of feelings I experienced so intensely could go on and on. (And I’m sure yours could too!) The reality is that even five years later, I continue to experience these feelings at times, sometimes with the same ferocious intensity as if Steve had just died moments earlier, and sometimes through a layer of healing that takes the sting out.
What I’ve learned: All these (and many more) feelings are normal when we have suffered a profound loss. The key to healing is to not deny what we’re feeling, nor try to hide it in privacy. I’ve found that I needed (and still need) to embrace those feelings as they arise, to really acknowledge them, give them the respect they are due. I was feeling that way because I loved so deeply. And to honor that love, I needed to really feel what was coming up, even if those feelings were incredibly uncomfortable.
What feelings did you experience when your spouse died? How are you dealing with those feelings? And, how have those feelings changed in the time since the death? I’d like 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 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.
Thank you for writing this. I felt, at least a little bit, not so alone today.
I am 52. My husband was 59. He died 3 weeks and 4 days ago (Aug 22, 2008) after a very short 10 month battle with pancreatic cancer.
I got through the funeral, the burial and then came to Chicago to spend several weeks at my sisters. It was to be a time of rest, writing, sleeping, crying – being intentional about my grief. its been three weeks and I am now anxious to go back home (OH) but when I get there I get anxious about being there.
I’m feel, sad, angry, alone, abandoned, irritable, annoyed, hateful, numb, confused, nauseous. I want to yell at somebody but who? I want to hit something, but what?
There are moments I simply don’t feel I can breathe another breath. I write profusely – sometimes with no holds barred and other times I even censor my own writing because its so dark and hateful.
I keep a journal at http://www.carepages.com, where I also kept a journal for the 10 months of Alan’s fight. My page at carepages.com is “Continued Journey” It keeps me connected with friends and family.
In the end…..it seems there IS nothing to do but simply go through this process and hope I come out the other side healed, but I fear not whole.
Gailyn
Gaylin,
Just read your post of years ago only now, in 2016… It is my turn to go through what you experienced. Lost my healthy strong husband to colon cancer in August 2015 after 10 month battle… Learned a lot already. No idea what’s ahead, besides “one day, one hour at a time…”.
If you still read the posts here, is it possible for you to share how you are now?
Thank you so much.
Gailyn,
I am so very sorry to hear of your loss. No matter how much warning we may have, or how prepared we think we are, nothing can prepare us for the tidal wave of emotions that hits us when we lose our spouse. Perhaps the hardest thing to come to grips with is the knowledge that he is dead and is not coming back.
I’m glad to hear that you’ve been writing out your feelings… it can be incredibly healing and transforming. May I offer an observation? Even the dark and hateful writing is part of your story, and you may find that it offers a release and healing to get it all out. When I write in my grief journals, it is only for myself, and I have to admit that a lot of it is of the dark & hateful sort, because I find it hard to talk about this with others. Perhaps if find yourself censoring or editing your words, you may want to write them in an actual pen/paper journal, so you don’t feel so exposed?
I hope you’ll continue checking in and let me know how you’re doing. You are not alone in this pain and loss… I look forward to being a companion on your grief journey.
Beverly
I found your note while desperately searching for help getting through the devastation of losing my husband after 47 years. It was if you had been there with me driving back and forth to the hospital and the desolation of driving home alone and exhausted. I need to find a grief support group. I realize from reading your posting that I need help. Sometimes I don’t wAnt to keep breathing or moving or being. But you have given me a glimmer of hope that this awful agony will eventually subside. Thank you. God bless you.
Marcia,
First of all, I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your husband, after a 47-year marriage. But I’m so glad you reached out, and that you found hope. It’s important to know that you’re not alone in this, and I think your idea to find a support group is excellent. I attended one after Steve died, and it truly saved my life. There, I learned how to feel what I was feeling, and how to heal. With the pain you’re experiencing, I know it’s hard to believe it, but I promise that if you do your grief work, you will heal. Life will never be the same, but you can get through this, and gradually, you will feel stronger and be able to craft a new life without him.
I send you blessings of support and love, and hope you’ll stay in touch.
Beverly
I, too, appreciate you writing such an honest account. My recent experience of the death of my husband 5 months ago is so similar to yours. I have felt like giving up on God and I hate the doctors who didn’t help him. We dove into alternative medicine as an option. My husband was apparently very healthy, working part time and going to the gym. His doctor was happy with his cholesterol numbers and blood pressure.
The alternative medicine didn’t change the outcome – 7 months later, he died. I am afraid for tomorrow for it marks the 5 months and so I will give myself the day off just in case I’m a mess.
These first months I have had his watches resized for me, I wear his Cabo T-shirt and I selected his golf clubs to use instead of my crappier ones.
I haven’t had much luck with group, grief counselling. When I called for help (it was one month into my grief) I was told that I had to wait until more time had passed. I found Soaring Spirits online and contacted them, trying to find a pen pal. We’ll see what happens there,
I have his ashes in a box on the hearth and am trying to decide what to do with them. He was a vet and can be buried at the national cemetery – but I know his first choice would be to have his ashes scattered over one of the race tracks he raced at for 40 years. I’ve been intermittently trying to get permission from one of them but the truth is I’m not sure I can let him go just yet.
I’m crying but your article helped me feel not alone.
Janette, thank you for your note. I salute you for reaching out. First of all, I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. It sounds like you had a wonderful marriage. Like you, I wore my husband’s Hawaiian shirts after he died. It always felt like he was giving me a big hug when I wore them. I’m not sure where you’re located, but urge you to try to find another grief support group — sometimes they are hosted by churches, or by hospices or hospitals, or sometimes by Adult Education. Even if you join an online community, it is incredibly healing to know you’re not alone, that the feelings you’re experiencing are normal and to hear how others got through the pain and loneliness. I encourage you to take your time in making the decisions — the best advice I received after my husband’s death came from our mortuary: “It is not a bad thing to walk slowly at this time.” I used this often and never regretted delaying a decision or action, so that I could carefully consider all the options, and more importantly, let my heart and nervous system catch up with the reality. Take your time in deciding how you’d like to handle your husband’s ashes, and I’m certain you’ll do the exactly right thing. It’s hard to believe now, but I promise that if you do your grief work, if you really allow yourself to experience all the feelings that are arising, good and bad, and let the tears fall when they need to, you will heal, and will gradually feel better. You’ll day by day get stronger and begin figuring out your new life without your dear husband. I wish you all the best.
Janette, how r u? Just read your story. We are on almost the same timeline with you. My husband died in Aug. 2015 of cancer which came in stage 4 without any symptoms at all. Strong and healthy man before. I can relate to many of your facts. It’s still very devastating for me, but I kept and keep going for my 2 children, ages 20 and 22. I learned a lot after his death. It is still mostly “one day, one hour at a time…” The first year mark is coming. His ashes are home. No rush with making a desicion.
Hope you are hanging in there. If you still read the posts here, I would appreciate your response. Hugs and love to you.
It six months today, my husband is dead, he committed suicide after suffering six months of clinical depression. It’s a bleak rainy day, but the rose that we planted one year ago has a single blossom on it. It is also our 35th wedding anniversary. When we are sad, we want to hope. When we are happy, we just have expectations. Is it foolish to hope, when we can’t have what we want ? Is it foolish to hope that this single rose is a sign from my beautiful husband or from some type of a God? Or is it just random chance that this rose happens to bloom this today? What is better, or is it worse, to remember the happiness of our wedding day or to remember the last argument? All memories seem to hurt equally badly now.
Joanna,
I am not even two weeks in but I am looking for signs everywhere. In my opinion, what harm does it do to say that the rose blooming on your anniversary is from him? I have had several coincidences happen since my wonderful, beautiful husband died and I choose to believe that they are signs from him. Today I was talking to his side of the bed before I got up and the heater started blasting at a time when I said I felt so empty and cold. I have to believe that was him. It is very possible that the heater just came on at that exact time but there is no comfort in that. It does no harm and has a tiny, tiny bit of comfort to choose to see these things as signs from our husbands. I look forward to more signs and coincidences.
Thank you for your article. I lost my husband just 11 days ago. His service was day before yesterday. We were married for 39 years, and there is a large hole in my heart. I faithfully took care of him this last year, after he was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer. He passed at home, as I gently stroked his hand.
The last 6 months were full of emotions. Countless trips to chemo, dealing with chemo side affects and changes in eating and sleeping habits. I found myself sleeping with one eye open in case I needed to spring into action. Then there was three trips to the ER in one month and lengthy hospital stays. We live 100 miles from the hospital, so on days I didn’t sleep by his side there were hotels and friends to offer an overnight hostels. We held out hope each time we started a new chemo regimen………..4 different poisonous cocktails……….to no avail. We shouldn’t have been shocked when the oncologist broke the news that Tom’s time was now to be measured in days rather than months.Then come the words” It has been a pleasure working with you, but there is nothing more I can do” but we drove the two hours home in virtual silence. Each of us just trying to absorb the information and coming to terms in our own way. All I could verbalize was “I love you”.
In his last two weeks Tom’s condition deteriorated very quickly. Hospice set up a hospital bed in our family room so he wouldn’t feel isolated from family, and friends came to visit, pray and say their goodbyes. I slept in the family room on the couch next to his bed. I had been working half days, but in those final weeks I devoted full time to Tom, with very little sleep. The morning he passed I sprang up at about 4AM….I just knew the end was near….a premonition I believe. I held his hand and quietly spoke to him . At 8:21 AM his heart became quiet and he crossed.
I sat for 20 minutes, still holding his hand, saying my goodbyes. Then there were calls to make and people coming and going,…. Tom’s earthly shell carried away. People everywhere….phone calls and texts….facebook posts…. and then the funeral. It’s only been 2 days since the funeral. All is becoming quiet ……. too quiet. I have found it helpful to immerse myself into websites and feeds such as this to help me into the next phase of grief.
I own a photography business, so it’s back to work next week…..trying to grasp the idea of a new normal.
Thank you for your article, it has helped!
Jeanne, thank you for your note. I’m so sorry to hear about the death of your dear husband. I am glad you found Open to Hope, and send you wishes for healing and hope. Here, you can learn how others have figured out their new life without their loved one, and you can share your insights and pain. It certainly helps to know that you’re not alone. When you are a little stronger, I hope you’ll consider finding a grief workshop or healing circle in your area. Please take good care of yourself — having experienced a similar death, I can only imagine that you must be feeling exhausted. I know you need to take care of your business, but encourage you to allow yourself plenty of time to heal, to cry, to grieve at your own pace. Wishing you all the best on your grief journey!
Joanna, I’m so sorry about your husband. I treasure the signs that I receive that tell me that Steve is still thinking about me, watching over our family. Every time I hear a Frank Sinatra song, I smile, thinking that he is sending me a message of love and support. Memories are the stories we keep — and not all memories are good ones. But you are in charge of which you give center stage, that you can revisit and bring you joy, and those that you file in the archives, to be retrieved only when necessary. He is gone now, but as you do your grief work, and really feel all the feelings you’re experiencing, let the tears fall as they need to, you’ll begin to feel better, gradually and in waves. Keep looking for the roses, and when you’re ready, you will begin to create new memories in your new life. Wishing you all the best on your grief journey!
I feel lonely, torn apart abandon I do not know how to deal with this pain, this emptiness. I have to go to bed alone my children are married, few sleep not hungry. I feel numbness on my spiritual side not angry. lost him 2 months ago married 36 yrs. im sernior died 10 days after his heart attack, we lived alone the last 12 yrs since our little one married. He was everything, not many friends no parting only enjoying each other our own way. I cry all day do not want to talk to nobody but I try holding together in front of my children.
Thank you for your note. I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. It hurts so much because you loved so much. But I promise you that as you do your grief work — really feel what you’re feeling, allow the tears to fall when they need to, write and talk about what you’re going through — you will gradually heal and begin to feel better. It’s hard to believe through all the pain, but I encourage you to consider taking some tiny steps — every day, try to do one little thing that makes you feel good. Maybe it’s brushing your hair, or going for a walk, or perhaps getting a massage or listening to a song that makes you happy. Wishing you all the best on your grief journey!
Three weeks and 3 days ago I lost my beloved husband/best friend to fourth-stage small cell lung cancer. Nearly 38 years of marriage – what a wonderful life we had together – even the bad times were good because we were together. I drove him in our little motor home on his “bucket list” trip – to visit the Southwest – sightseeing and camping along the way. After seeing just some of the country we planned to visit in the southwest, and having settled in a private campground in southern Utah to explore the further, he said, “There’s really no place like home. Please take me home.” His health declined quickly and he passed in his sleep at home as he had wanted. Now I can’t stop crying. I’ll be doing okay and chatting with people or doing chores and just start up crying. I feel such deep, profound sadness. Although I get the farm chores done and interact with people, I feel like an empty shell of the person I used to be.
I am widowed only for 10,5 months. When deaths happened to many writers on this blog, I was taking life and everything else for granted. Now it’s my turn. Very painful. Thank you for sharing your experiences. I have 2 children, 20 and 22. Living for the now. Will I ever live for myself? I still hope.
My thing that I am only for 23 years in the US out of my 55. Do not feel exactly foreign , yet no high school or yonger years friends…. No my side family, just my husband’s, all distant geographically and most of them emotionally… Relying just on a couple of new friends – mostly the widows as myself. New world. Still very scary for me. Thank you for reading.
I feel guilt for surviving the stage III rectal cancer I was diagnosed with 4 months after my husband was diagnosed with stage III melanoma in 2013. His case was complicated as the doctors also discovered he had non-alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver and could not receive traditional chemo therapy. Doctors gave him 2-3 years max. It would take me nearly 2 years to go through all my surgeries and treatments to reach remission.
My husband was always the epitome of health. No one could keep up with his regime of work and sports. I used to joke with him that he would be the death of me if he didn’t slow down a bit. As the months went by and different treatments were no longer effective for him, we did the trips we always talked about, both with our kids and one just for us on our last anniversary, our 38th.
Thursday, two days before he was admitted for the last time, we, he and I, were laying 4 pallets of sod in the backyard. He loved a project, the end result and he was bound and determined to get this done for me. This was summer, we thought we had time until winter to have those talks about what to do and how to manage alone. He wasn’t ready to deal with it yet and I was giving him the time he needed. The oldest of our 4 kids was visiting for the weekend and as a RN was there to get us through filling out the DNR forms to have on hand if need be.
We never had time to do them. After a rushed trip to the hospital that Saturday morning where the Dr.s found a large tumor that was hemorrhaging on the brain…he passed 5 days later, July 30, 2015.
It will be 1 year since he passed in a few weeks, and I find I am dodging everyone. I am not coping with the thought of him being gone from me longer than that. I don’t know what my purpose in life is anymore and want to just go back in time. I never considered being a widow at 57. He was 58.
I got a job for the first time since our kids came along a few months after he passed, and found I couldn’t always concentrate and finish a task. My kids want me near them, but they have their own lives and somehow, I’ve got to find mine. Right now all I can say is that I hate my life and I even at times wish I hadn’t gone through the cancer treatments because I’m so alone. I’ve been active in my church, and I now also realize that I am a great masker and love to say ‘I’m doing good, thanks for asking!” Not true, I need a hug!
Not only are you alone after being with someone for nearly 40 years, but now I have to figure out who I am without him. I truly don’t know. I’ve always been a caretaker, and don’t know how to be a care-receiver.
Reading your stories helped me open up. Thank you for letting me share, empty my kleenex box and remember tomorrow is a new day and I will find something good in it!
My love died 3 weeks ago and I just feel this overwhelming unbearable pain will it go must I take medication
Hi Norma, I am so sorry for your loss, and I entirely get the level of anguish you would have been in when you wrote this – my darling husband died of cancer on November 4 2016. It is the most intense agony, isn’t it, you poor love?
I have elected to take medication, and having said that, I know that there is no magic pill for grief and the level of pain we feel. But it has certainly helped with anxiety, sleep, and possible depression. This makes even such bad pain more manageable if you don’t have to deal with other, clinical uglies. Talking to people – good friends and/or a grief counsellor is also a must.
I hope you’ve got good supports, Norma – I find the forum for loss of a spouse at http://forums.grieving.com/ helpful.
Take the very best care you can, and (((((hugs))))) if okay.
Louise xo
PS. Thankyou, Beverly – I am sorry for your loss too. Cancer is just such a thief.
I’m not sure if this post is still read, but I need to get this out! My husband died of cholangiocarcinoma that had metastasized to his liver and his bones and then his lungs! He was diagnosed January 27, 2017 and he was dead on April 11, 2017! He was my soul mate, my best friend and my lover! He has only been dead 2 months and 2 days but it feels like forever to me! I was with him in the hospital when he died and I laid with his dead body for hours after he died I just couldn’t let go! I still can’t! Every morning when I wake up I’m disappointed that I am still alive! Thoughts of Suicide are now always formost in my thoughts! I am not living, I’m not even sure that I am existing! I don’t know what to do! I miss him so much and I don’t want to be here anymore!
Thank you. My dad died on 18th October 2017, his memorial was 20th october. My husband started feeling ill on the 29th october. Many visits back and forth to the doctors, and drips, he seemed to be recovering. On the 19th April 2018 I got home and he was complaining about pins and needles coming up from his feet. We admitted him to the hospital on 20th April jubilant and hopeful that they would find out what was wrong and fix it. 24 days later, after 6 days in ICU he died. he had gone blind, deaf, paralysed, then multiple organ failure and sepsis. May I dont remember, June I was booked off most of the time, its july I am trying to work and move on, but I am constantly nauseaous, especially if I go to the shop, although I am seeing counsellors I don’t seem to be able to move on. my health and system have taken such abeating over the last 7 months and I vaccilate between wanting to carry on and to try and then wanting to go as well.
I don’t know how to move forward everything is in limbo. the death has not been reported to the department of justice, the letter of authority on the small estate has not been granted, we have not even received the autopsy report yet…. help me please
Oh my God! I can not believe that I did a search on Grief and Loss and it took me to your article Beverly.
My story is so much like yours. My husband of almost 34 years died on Feb. 19th of this year from cancer and was also named Steve. It was also a shock to me as my Steve was such a strong man. An excellent husband, father and grandfather. He was having a knee problem. Next we knew he needed surgery. Then we were told that it was cancer and spread throughout his whole body and stage four with only a few months to live. I met Steve and started dating when I was only 16. We had been together almost all of my life. It is so hard trying to live a daily life knowing he will not be coming home. He promised me he would fight this and never leave. I finally gave him permission to go as he was in so much pain. That was the hardest moment of my life.