Letting go of grief trash, Holding onto real treasure

 I find now that I've gone round the first year bend (pun intended) and have entered into year 2 of Widowhood, that I often feel more intense emotions than I did in the beginning. Was I really that emotionally numb back then? Could be. The mind often shuts off part of our psyche to protect us when things are too painful. However, my desire to avoid the world has, at times, become more stronger and has demanded I obey. 

As a certified Life Coach and 30 + year social services professional who is well versed in Mental Health issues and Healthy Living tips, it often seems hard to take my own advice, even when I know what is best. Is it healthy to isolate all the time? No. Is it healthy to isolate sometimes? Yes. Listening to our own infallible inner guides-our intuition-we know when we need a moment to rest, to breathe, to HEAL. So, while it didn't feel good to need to avoid people, places and things that would demand too much social interaction, too little personal space and way too much conversation than I had energy for, I stayed home. I didn't go to the events I planned and looked forward to. I readily agreed to stay a bit late at work, again, and told myself that it was just another part of the job. No one else stayed late, but at least I didn't have to face those positive, supportive, nonjudgmental and fun people in that Dance fitness class I found. Ew...

I came home, ate dinner, watched boring tv or read a book and wished I'd gone to the class. I looked around at the clutter I am slowly making my way through and got depressed again. It seems overwhelming to look at all the books my Sean loved so much and not know what the hell to do with them. Throwing them away or blindly sending them off to Goodwill seems wrong somehow. And so I look around and sink further into what I define as 'Widow Paralysis'; the inability to move physically but mentally you are running laps and beating yourself up with all the 'shoulds' you can bring up and feel guilty or ashamed of not accomplishing.

Gosh, we can be so ridiculously hard on ourselves...

After doing that for a week or two (or three or four...), I was looking in a kitchen cabinet and looked at a can that I've been staring at for years. I took it out, checked the date and realized it hadn't expired yet.  Then I felt pulled to reach in for another and saw that it was expired. Twenty minutes later, I suddenly found I had not only pulled out all the expired foods, but also sorted a bag of donations for the food pantry at work. The foods were all things Sean liked, that I bought just for him. I didn't eat any of them because of my diabetic/ Keto/ low-carb food restrictions. I finally stopped because I thought there was nothing left to throw out, but there was one last thing.

One of the few things Sean could drink regularly due to his kidney failure was cranberry juice. For the past year, I have been staring at the half empty bottle. I've tried to pour it out before and felt horrible as soon as I picked it up, and so I returned the bottle to the bottom of the refrigerator door. Over the past year, it's been a daily reminder that I was hanging onto something that, quite simply, would not bring him back to me. As I finished with the cabinet, I held onto the last bit of motivation for the task I had. I reached into the refrigerator, grabbed the bottle, walked over to the sink and emptied the remaining contents. And then it was done. The juice bottle was empty and Sean was....is....still dead. But I felt the slightest bit stronger because I let go of something I attached false meaning to, and now I could heal just a bit more. 

I still love him, and will always love him. Sean's love for me and the time we had was a gift and my treasure. Hanging on to a silly bit of trash, blocked some of my ability to remember that. 

Life of a Childfree Widow

 

I have always lived my life as Childfree by Choice. I should clarify what that means to ME. It means that I have never wanted to breed (get pregnant or biologically give birth), raise, foster or adopt a child of any age. It was never something that held the slightest interest for me. I don’t hate children, some are quite adorable (in their own way), but I prefer to spend my time with ADULTS as often as possible.  Or animals; cats, dogs, etc. often bring me to a level of happiness I can’t even measure. I could easily swap and do animals instead of adults. But I digress…

Ironically, much of my career has centered around helping children and families who live in poverty, abuse/neglect, trauma, homelessness, addiction, and other life events which have made them even more vulnerable than they already are. My belief and values are that NO ONE should have to live with those painful conditions, and so, I work where the need is greatest. However, I don’t take it home with me.

I don’t think my mom ever accepted it. My dad never pitched a fit over it, but he was always the more tolerant of my differences within our family. Try as I might, I couldn’t distract mom by having her accept my cats as substitute grandchildren. I was college educated, had friends, hobbies and interests, but she wanted babies and no matter the guilt trips, I never boarded that vessel. Childfree was and is my choice and I stuck with it.

When I met Sean, I was up front from the start. I was in my early 40s, but it was a trend back then for women, desperate to not let the metaphorical parade pass them by or to fill an empty nest, to struggle and try to get pregnant after their ovaries ‘best-used-by date’ and go horribly into debt paying for IVF treatments.  I did not, then or ever, want to have children. I wanted a true partner-a companion, a travel-buddy, lover, conversationalist, comedian, supporter-who would focus on me, on US, and what we each wanted, so that we could then be happy together. We found each other and, despite naysayers and skeptics alike, we made it work, without the overwhelming distraction of kids. For 16 years we ROCKED it; loving each other and our crazy cats, until Sean died on January 13, 2024.     

Since Sean died, I have been asked, ‘What will you do now?’ ‘Aren’t you lonely?’ ‘What will you do now with all your time?’, ‘Aren’t you afraid of being alone?’ and of course, ‘Who will look after you now that he’s gone?’  Same person who has always looked after me; ME.

I miss my darling hubby more than words can properly express, but I’m not regretting the decision not to add children to the mix. I’ve never wanted them and despite near overwhelming societal and familial pressure, stayed true to myself and my values. Sean and I often discussed the various folks we knew who had kids because they thought they had to and while rightly prioritizing little people who could not take care of themselves without their parents, often lost sight of the person they loved in the first place. Sean and I never wanted that for ourselves-individually and as a couple. We stuck to our decision to love and honor each other-no regrets.

Sean and I also talked about why I am so good at my job, working with the folks I assisted and how I, as a Childfree woman, could possibly help parents. I’m good at what I do, because of the values I live by; loving myself first and foremost. I was blessed to have a loving partner who shared my values, but I wouldn’t have compromised my Childfree stance for him. Now that he is gone, that hasn’t changed. There is nurturing in the work I do, from one human being to another. I can still help people recognize the value in knowing their worth and how living true to themselves makes them better women, men, workers, friends, partners and yes, parents.

My love for my husband will ALWAYS be the love I have for him. I don’t feel the need to fill the void he has left with someone else who may ‘need’ me. I need me. My cats need me. The world needs me; just a childfree widow. I am also blessed to have loving friends who get me, as I am.  In this world, you ARE enough and your contribution to this life is amazing, whomever you choose or don’t choose to share your space with. Losing my partner, my darling Sean and not having children does not make me LESS than. It makes me who I’ve always been. Just me…and that is just right.

Forced March to 'Move On' and Denial Culture

 

One thing I find that regularly brings up anger in me is the extreme push to have widows, 'move on', 'get over it', or 'stop hanging on'. A recent comment regarding my 7-month mark since losing my beloved Sean, was met with: "Turn the page. You're still here." A relationship that lasted over 16 years, and after 7 months, they advised I just 'turn the page'. Thoughtless...

If I say I'm having a tough day because I'm grieving, I'm still met with cringing faces. The discomfort is near tangible when I mention an anniversary, a memory, or a milestone. Except for close friends, or those in the grief groups I belong to, I've noticed NO ONE asks, 'How are you today?' I regularly ask all those I come in contact with this question. It's compassionate, courteous, and just trying to be a decent human being. 

The bigger question is: WHY do we keep being pushed, guilted or coerced into 'moving on'? Grief lives where LOVE lives. Love does not die. One of my favorite quotes says it best:

"Death ends a life, not  a relationship. All the love  you created is still there. All the memories are still there. You live on-in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here." -Morrie Schwartz

Is this MY grief, or does it belong to whatever audience I'm with when I need or choose to express it? Are we obligated to make other comfortable with grief based on their current comfort with death, love,  sadness and loss? Here my healing begins, and my anger starts to rise...

If you accept me, you accept all of me. For those uncomfortable with MY grief in my own way and time to deal with it, then we have just established a BOUNDARY. And what is most important to know is, as Gandalf said, "You shall not pass." Healing means I reclaim what works for me-my self care, my ideas, thoughts, and beliefs as a widow-and that can only work if I establish what I feel is best for me. I will not codependently put your thoughts, feelings, beliefs, or wants above my own.

When I feel stuck, I will trust those closest who I already know have my true best interests at heart. I will seek professional advice or lean on the support of like-minded folks also dealing with their own grief. But at the end of the day, I will not change what does not need changing. I do not and will not pretend to not miss the man I spent so much of my life with who I still love so very much.

In our current societies, we are obsessed with 'good timing' and 'no bad days'. We strive to never have a real life experiences; no loss, no anger, no frustration, no sadness. We are supposed to run away from those feelings and it's no wonder that so many turn to drugs, alcohol, shopping, eating, etc. as a way to flee from those parts of the human experience. Our 'Denial Culture' acts as if just not thinking about something makes it hurt less, or not at all. We actually have entire industries dedicated to forgetting all our troubles, pretending movies are real, and living as if we all are famous, successful, rich, etc.  Denial Culture can't deal with grief, the same way it doesn't play well with poverty, loss, pain, sadness, etc. 

Set a healthy boundary with the world and don't be a part of the Denial Culture. Your grief journey represents your life and the love you have for the special people in your world. When you're ready to take a step out of grief, go ahead. If you need to run back into hiding for a bit after that, go ahead. Do you want to talk about your loved one with someone or say their name out loud? Do it! Do you need to limit conversations with people who cringe or disrespect you with constant nudges toward toxic positivity? This is your life and YOUR grief. You decide what comes next. It's always YOUR choice.

Happy Anniversary, Sean-8/21/

10

Grieving on a Pagan path and alternative spiritual practices

I joined a local Griefshare support group exactly one week after Sean died. I had done a brief Google search, knowing that I needed some place to go to process my loss with others who understood. I was overwhelmed and needed a safe place to talk about DEATH.  I didn't want to do a therapy group; I already had a therapist and didn't want to double dip in the therapy pool. 

So, I looked online and found they were held in local churches. I'd been to a variety of 12-step groups since I was in my mid-20s and initially attended Al-anon as a way to understand my then-fiancé and support him in his recovery. After that, I was a support for friends and clients who wanted to go the AA, NA, ACoA, GA, CoDA and others. I found the focus to work on yourself was a perfect fit for me and my practice of self-awareness. Despite being baptized Roman Catholic (and absolutely lapsed in practice in my family), I was able to tolerate the 12-Step message of a 'Higher Power' and 'God as you understand God...' as I experienced varying degrees of spiritual emphasis, depending upon what meeting I was going to and where it was being held.

However, I am NOT a Christian.  If I have to label myself and my spiritual beliefs, I would say that I am an Eclectic Witch/Wiccan/ Pagan.  The more meetings I attended of Griefshare, the more uncomfortable I felt. I had to listen to group members bash homosexuals and experienced viscera cringes when I disagreed with a lesson related to a bible verse or Christian belief, especially as it related to my own spiritual practice.While the website spoke of not pushing the Christian religion on anyone and just focusing on grief, the constant references to Bible passages, homework about turning to Jesus, admitting we're angry, resentful, etc and turning it over to Jesus in order to truly find healing was not working for me. I stuck it out as long as I could; two 13-week sessions and I finally had enough and decided I would not go back. 

So where does a grieving Witch go? How do Pagans grieve? Sean began our relationship as a devout Atheist, but after 16 years together and numerous conversations about my path and practice, I'd say he was more Agnostic at the end of his life.  Death is a part of life and for those walking Pagan pathways, it's a natural part to be connected to the cycle of life that way. Many of us honor our Ancestors as part of our regular practice. Having lost all of my immediate family since 2012, I've honored the memories of my mom, dad, brother and nephew and now, my beloved husband joins their side of the rituals. 

In the early days of my spiritual explorations, I was taught about only the Roman and Greek deities, despite feeling less connected to them than to others since then. I research many death deities and ritual practices from various cultures and practices around the world. I have worked with Santa Muerte (Latin America) for at least a decade when She made herself known to me. She has been a great guide, especially after I lost my father. Friends have directed me toward Hecate, as She is part of their personal pantheons and considered, not just a Death Goddess, but the Goddess of Witches. I have gained much insight and comfort from looking at different cultural practices and beliefs to honor the dead and the Deities associated with Death:

Hades (Greek), Anubis (Egyptian), Eshu (Yoruba), Osiris (Egyptian), Crom Cruach (Celtic), Shiva (Hindu), Hel (Germanic), The Morrigan (Celtic), Hecate (Greek), Yanwang (Chinese), Persephone (Greek), Arawn (Welsh), Pana (Inuit), Maquetauire Guayaba (Taino), Baron Samedi (Haiti), Wakan Tanka (Lakota Sioux), Ankou (Celtic), Yama (Hindu-Buddhist), Dis Pater (Roman), Odin (Norse), Milu (Polynesian), and so many more.

I have been finding healing and peace in learning how people throughout time and around the planet mourn the dead and honor the Ancestors. Their are practices that are common or Universal in various corners of the world. Sean wanted to be cremated and so he was. There is a candle on my altar for him and for my parents. I light it almost daily in honor of the loved ones no longer with me in this life. I also have time to speak and commune with them. I conduct prayers/spells at various times of year for healing, for memories, and for love of those beyond this world. The Pagan path helps me connect to the living and the world beyond the living. It helps me feel connected to the man I lost who was the most important person in the world to me. That connection and it's loss leads me to find support and I find it in LIFE. I find it in the people and places in the world through our shared experience with Death.

Whatever spiritual path or practice you follow, I hope it gives you peace if you are grieving. The Pagan path is helping me heal in ways that others have not. There are not enough spaces for people to have their spiritual beliefs respected if they are non-Christian, let alone respected with a subject matter that is as taboo or feared as Death. It's still sad that we have to consider anything other than Christian as 'alternative' religions or practices, when the Pagan path has infinitely more and older practices for Death and grief work.  We need to respect and make room for Death and grieving in all cultures. We are still not so far away from being cavemen throwing rocks at the Full Moon, as we are in letting ourselves grieve and honoring our dead in whatever way helps us heal. I find that by walking this older path of spiritual practice, I've begun healing the loss of a man I love so very much. In Griefshare, I was only too aware that I wasn't accepted for my beliefs and it made it harder to deal with my grief until I was away from them. In Paganism, my church is the world-seen and unseen-and in connecting with that, I am able to grieve my lost family and my love, Sean, in ways that let me get better, not bitter or beaten.

WISPs and incorrigible condolences

 Over my lifetime I've heard hundreds of stories from those who have been assaulted by impossible, incorrigible condolences from what I call, the WISPs--Well Intentioned Stupid People. 

I've read countless stories over the years, but never really believed how absolutely accurate they were until my Sean died on January 13, 2024. I'd gotten assorted quips and quotes from people when my parents passed, but the whoppers have come in with excessive regularity since January. 

Here are my recent experience of some of the WISPs greatest hits:

"At least he's not suffering anymore..." (um, yes...but what about ME?)

"Well, at least you won't be stressed taking care of him anymore." (Seriously? I only had ONE source of stress? I didn't know that...)

"At least you don't have kids." (That was by choice and has NOTHING to do with how I am grieving the loss of my HUSBAND...)

"It's good that you don't cry so much." (I cry ALL the time, ALL day long, but it clearly isn't safe in front of YOU.)

"You have so much free time now, you can do ANYTHING!" (I struggle most days with making myself do SOMETHING, because often there is NOTHING I want to do.)

"Wow-you should travel more." (Where? Why? To see people, places and things I still can't talk to my husband about anymore? I'll stay home, thanks...)

"Well, he's not sick anymore so that should be a comfort." (It IS....but still, having my beloved healthy and ALIVE would be a better alternative...)

"You must be sleeping better...." (No, actually, I'm not. Most days I feel like an outright insomniac.)

"You're so brave." (Being a widow isn't a conscious choice I made. It was thrust on me and bravery has nothing to do with it...)

and of the most commonly abused phrases-

"I'm here if need someone to talk to..." (No, you're NOT... You haven't been and we both know you won't be! Fuck YOU! Fuck OFF! Get the Fuck OUT OF MY FACE!!

Ahem....that said, even in the middle of hearing these gross utterances, I understand that the people saying them are often struggling with trying to say something comforting to me. They are trying to be kind, positive, and hope they are motivating me toward a better life. So, screaming at them is probably not the best course of action to take-out loud, anyway. In my head, I rant and rave, "Shut up! Shut UP! Please just SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!", but in reality, I thank the WISP for their condolences and we both go on with our days.

Assholes are assholes and I try not to hang around those folks, anyway. But those phrases above were spoken by people I know who, at the very least, know me and like me a little.  I believe that in the awkward moment of recognizing the loss of another's loved one (which often mirrors a loss of our own), we desperately want to quell, not just the other person's sadness, but our own, too. It feels like twice the grief and requires a BIG statement, right? It's as if, "I'm so sorry for your loss..." just doesn't seem to be good enough? How ridiculously STUPID.....how insanely HUMAN....

I've also reflected on how many times I have undoubtedly been a WISP myself. I know I must have said something well-meaning but incredibly insensitive and stupid, from a desire to just ease someone's pain. I've learned a LOT over the years. 

My usual course of action is to button my lip and accept the condolences from where it was likely launched, not necessarily where it landed. I can scream about it later...

Secondary Losses and the Invisible Widow

In an online widow's group I belong to, someone recently asked a question about what 'Secondary Losses' the widows are facing after they lose their spouses, above and beyond the loss of their love and companions. For some, it is the frustrating loss of the handyman or Mr. Fix-It that their husband had been. For others, it could be the frightening loss of Financial Security or Income. 

For me, it has been the Loss of Identity.  Having spent the past 5+ years of our almost 14 year marriage taking care of my Sean, as his physical illness consumed him entirely, I was his primary caregiver. Yet after his death, I struggle with knowing what my purpose is and if I matter to anyone.

What I have encountered most in the loss of that identity was the loss of my circle for care, communication, and recognition of the stress and sacrifices I dealt with that came with being a caregiver for my Sean and still taking care of myself. 

 What does my Secondary Loss look and feel like? It was the loss of everyone involved in Sean's care, who had relied upon me to update them nearly on a daily basis of the details of his daily progress, in great detail. Most of our conversations were about our lives-Sean and Me-and the ups-and-downs, good days and not-so-good days that Sean and I faced together, in between treatments and visits to the doctor or hospital. 

The praise and kindness they heaped on me about my love, dedication to my marriage and strength for my husband, while Sean still lived, has become a complete void. The secondary loss of those communications, those people on our 'team', who now have no care for me or how I am doing, has left its own scars. 

I don't want to be a Drama Queen, but after speaking to other Widows, I know I am not exaggerating when I say-I was abandoned.  It took less than two weeks after his death for even the most involved people-the Dialysis team and the Home Health care-to go absolutely silent with no follow up for my needs or struggles. 

It hurts to think how invisible I became, how unimportant I am now to those who relied on me so much just over 4 months ago. The echo I suffer through from Sean's loss is deeper since all those attachments have removed themselves from me, as quickly as the tearing off of a bandage-without a care for my pain, which lingers every day. I am blessed with a few truly good, and loving friends, who have reached out and supported me, in many ways, consistently, since Sean's death. I love them very much, but I'm too aware that they have lives of their own that I don't want to make my grief a frequent guest. 

Where I have received the most support, surprisingly, has been from strangers. A woman whose number I got thrown at me in desperation through a VA social worker was the only one who helped guide me with passing along medical tools that Sean no longer needed and I wanted someone else to have instead of struggling without. She, too, was a Widow, and was kind, fierce, and supportive.  I joined a GriefShare group (more on that experience in the future) only one week after Sean died because I knew I would need help to get through this. 

To be in a room full of Widows/Widowers who 'get it', to be SEEN and HEARD, to see people NOD in agreement and WEEP with you, has been healing beyond measure. And yet, that is only once a week. The rest of the world moved on, while I have been stuck wondering where the color and sound went in my life. What happened to everyone who looked up when I came in and said, 'Hello-How are you doing today?' Those who knew me as Sean's wife, no longer look for or speak with me as Sean's Widow. To them, I am as much a memory as Sean is, despite the fact that I. AM. STILL. HERE. 

It's a new world and I am wandering, trying to find my tribe. I have 58+ years of experience on this planet and I'm self-sufficient. Yet I feel like I spend most days walking through shops, towns, events like I am the proverbial ghost. If I don't make the effort to say hello or strike up a small conversation, connection and existence does not find me. 

I am invisible to those who used to be so much a part of my days and the silence in my life-caused by the loss of my beloved Sean-is painful because it was NOT me who shut the door to THEM. They turned away and barely offered a perfunctory, 'So sorry for your loss' before they ghosted ME. Shouldn't there be be more? Shouldn't there be someone in these agencies to make sure the Widows left behind feel acknowledged and not invisible?

What comes next?

Life moves on. Not really sure how I am, though. I had to return to work a week after Sean died. So many people just didn't understand the need, and I didn't understand how they couldn't see that. Most days I feel like the circus has been to town and I was their special guest performer. I haven't put much thought into the day-to-day. Every morning I get up. I put one foot in front of the other. Breathe in. Breathe out. Get dressed and go to work. Come home. Watch tv. Talk to the cats. Go to bed. Rinse and repeat. I'm trying hard to find my purpose again. For years I was the main caregiver for my husband. Now, there is no need to rush home after work to relieve a home health aide. There is nothing preventing me from going in later so I can leave earlier. I can go to evening meetings or company events. There is no one waiting for me, except the cats and they usually are sleeping anyway. I find I've been more unnerved by the 'kindness' of strangers. The well-meaning but incredibly stupid things people say, probably because they don't know what to say. I wonder if I ever said these things to someone: "How are you holding up?" (said while they only have their head popped into my office) "You're so brave." "At least he's in a better place." "Was he saved before he died?" "You look great!" "I don't know how you're still standing." "It's God's plan." "Are you lonely?" "Well, at least you still have the cats." I have things to occupy my time, but I feel rudderless. What is my purpose? What do I 'want' to do? What do I 'like' to do? What happens to all the plans I had with Sean? What happens to the vacations we wanted to go on? The destinations we wanted to revisit together? We had theater shows we wanted to see and bands we wanted to hear perform in-person. We had movies we wanted to watch and books we wanted to read to each other. We had plans for birthdays, holidays and our anniversary. What happens to all of those, now that he's not with me? Do I still celebrate them alone? I'm not sure I can. Just the thought squeezes my heart and it's hard to breathe. I wanted to do so much....WE planned to do so much together. Even disabled, with Sean in a wheelchair, we were making plans on how to travel and make that work. Now he's gone and all those plans went to the grave with him. Even the day-to-day changes are confusing. I got a promotion at work. I'm not really sure how I feel about it, because I'm not really sure how I feel about anything. Is it a good thing? Yes...no....maybe. The one person who would have helped me make sense of it isn't here to be my sounding board, my confidante, my coach, my cheerleader and my best friend. I do have amazing friends who listen and love me...I'm blessed to have them. But they have lives of their own and mine can't become their full-time gig. I feel so unsure. Just stumbling around. My Widow's Fog is in effect daily, though I need to fake when I can't see through it. One day at a time. I barely register what is happening today. He's been gone 2.5 months and I still can't think how or what comes next.