3) Welcome to Widowhood: Prior Experience Not Required
One afternoon, not long after John died, I had the following conversation with my therapist.
Me: I know I have a lot to get through one right after another. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, John’s birthday, Valentine’s. But what happens once March hits? I feel like the world will just stop and time will stand still.
My therapist: [shaking her head] That’s not going to happen. But remember, we’re focusing on taking just one day at a time.
I was overwhelmed by the thought of having to spend the rest of my life without John. In the beginning I’d wake up wondering how I would get through each day. Then eventually I started waking up wondering why I would get through each day. I was completely lost. Some people encouraged me to get back to normal. But there was no normal to get back to. The number on the scale kept dropping. I was frail and exhausted and worried that my body would just give out.
I needed more help and I needed it soon.
My therapist offered me two life changing recommendations.
To write a grief letter. I sent an email to my inner circle of family explaining how I was really doing and what they could specifically do to help me. (feed me!)
To join a grief support group.
I did some research and found two groups in my town that were starting in a few weeks.
Everyone else my age was either creating a bridal or a baby registry. But the only thing I was registering for was a grief group.
Based off its website, the Thursday night group appeared to be very Biblical. I was turned off by that since I felt so angry and abandoned by God. But since all I had to do to register was fill something out online, I went through with it.
I was by far the youngest person in that group. Even my time spent in Aquatic therapy for a knee injury couldn’t prepare me for this. But I quickly bonded with a widower there, who proudly wore his Korean War Vet hat each week.
The Sunday night group seemed like it had a lot to offer. The only problem was that in order to register I would have to call on the phone. I don’t even like to make phone calls to order pizza(thank you Slice app.) So to have to call and have a conversation about my most painful experience seemed impossible. I eventually worked up the courage to call.
I sobbed the entire conversation.
The reason we had to call was so the director could place us in the appropriate small group based on who we lost. (i.e. Sibling loss, Parent loss, Child loss, etc) When I was done speaking (if that), she said, “Sounds like you need to be put in the spousal loss group.”
“No, I don’t, that’s not, no,” was my response.
I assumed she couldn’t understand what I was saying through my tears. Maybe I should ask for her email address so I could write it all out. Instead I just reminded her that I wasn’t married.
“I know,” she replied. “But based on what you said, that's the type of loss you’re grieving.”
There you have it. Anyone can become a widow after they get married. But only I can become one before.
I was so apprehensive about going to a grief group to begin with. Now I worried that others would judge me for not waiting til marriage. (to become a widow)
I eventually expressed my concerns about not belonging to the others in my small group. The facilitator, an absolute angel, asked me, “Did you love him?”
“Yes,” I replied as tears ran down my face.
“Then you belong in this group.”
“You’re one of us,” added one of the widows.
The group gave me what I needed the most-the permission to grieve. These widows and I bonded over being young and childless. In the group I was able to express how I didn't have much of a past with him yet I mourn for what could have been in the future. And how much it broke my heart that John would never get to achieve all his dreams and goals for his own life. He was so talented. But now the world would never know him.
One week at the Sunday night group we were encouraged to take a class in something that we are interested in. Later that night there were guest speakers who talked about what they did to honor their loved ones. When we broke into our small groups my facilitator said to me, “Since John was a comedian maybe you can honor him by going to a comedy show.”
I shrugged and said, “Maybe.”
I didn’t want to go see other comedians.
But after that session I was extra determined to find a way to honor him. I still had the hope of performing myself one day, but wasn’t sure how I would make that happen.
When I went home that night I went through a pile of old mail. (I feel the same way about mail as I do phone calls.) I had recently received a pamphlet about local classes for adults. One library was offering a special presentation on the Beatles. I’ve always loved the Beatles and I figured I could handle just sitting in the back of a room where all I had to do was listen to someone talk about the Beatles. I went to the library’s website to register. There was already a very long waiting list.
I was disappointed, but I continued to search the library’s website checking out their other events. I saw they were offering an Intro to Memoir writing class. And then it clicked. Maybe if I could write about my time with John maybe that would be my way of keeping not only our love but John’s memory alive. This is how I could honor him. I signed up for the class.
That night as I sat in the library I knew that was exactly where I belonged. We were all different from each other but we had one thing in common: we all had a story inside of us.
The next session was a writing workshop scheduled for April with actual publishers. I was relieved I would have time over Spring Break to work on it. By the time I drove home that night I already had the prologue written in my head.
Thanks to weekly dinners with my family, both of my support groups, and now this writing workshop to look forward to, I was finally adjusting to life as a “widow”. These were my tools for survival. I was still in the middle of the storm but I was learning how to stay afloat.
I thought back to that conversation I had months earlier with my therapist.
Me: But what happens once March hits? I feel like the world will just stop and time will stand still.
My therapist: [shaking her head] That’s not going to happen.
But, as fate would have it, that’s exactly what happened.
