Every day is an important day to remember our family members and friends who have lost a husband or wife, but that's unrealistic and beyond anyone's scope. So, we have this special day to remind us to stay in touch with them and to remind them we love and/or care about them. To also remind them we remember the one they've lost. Oh, how important that is!
Because I can't pull words together today, here are some wonderful words from The Hope for Widows Foundation blog on this date back in 2020.
"Today on National Widow’s Day, do every widow you know a special favor. Talk about their dead spouse. Speak their name. As a widow one of the most painful things is to the think that others have forgotten your late spouse. Remember, that our lives were forever changed in a single moment. Our life as we knew it ended when our spouse died. The future we had planned vanished, never to happen. Our present became one of basic survival. We no longer felt whole, complete. A part of us died in that moment. And our loss should not and cannot be ignored. Our loss shaped us into who we are now. Someone new, someone who has lived in darkness and fought their way back to the light.
"Acknowledge our loss. Don’t ignore it, change the subject, or refuse to speak their name. These actions are hurtful, they make us feel alone. Like an outcast. Today of all days, honor a widow. Remember their life before death. Speak their spouse’s name. Honor a love so deep that even death cannot end it. "
As we move further into this blog, and the coming resources, it's abundantly important to let you know where I stand on grief. After all, it's the foundation of why we are here.
* All grief is valid.
* All grief should be acknowledged.
* All grief should be respected.
* Grief, in all of its forms, should not be scaled or compared against someone else's - by any measure.
* All grief should be faced and worked through.
All of that said, this blog isn't here to say, "Your grief doesn't count compared to mine." Not in any way.
This blog is here to say some grief is beyond any perception, or expectation, or experience we may have. It's here to share what I've learned so you might better understand the people you care about who are grieving in an exceptional manner, a manner you may not understand.
Or, maybe it's you who are grieving, and you don't understand!
I've been there! I am there, though in a more settled way that I once was.
Grief is survivable. We can even thrive again with our old friend, Grief.
Let's link arms in true support of those we care about!
Marsha
Sixteen years ago I was just weeks into widowhood. Such a massive shift between then and now!
Back then I was in the utter depths of grief and trying to find a way to keep us functioning and moving forward to whatever was ahead of us without our husband and dad.
It was the Christmas season, obviously. It didn't dawn on me my husband’s paycheck would be less because of his death date. Thankfully, his co-workers made sure we would have a good Christmas.
I remember the most epic, all-consuming, terrifying meltdown of all time. I don't remember what might have triggered it, but remember how it felt. The boys came running - terrified. They were so young still. I could barely catch a breath between sobs much less let them know I was okay, that I just had to get the grief out. Both boys held me while I cried and cried, and cried.
Note to those who are afraid tears will never stop if they let them flow: There will be a break. That initial cry IS limited. It won't last forever. And, somehow, you will get enough air not to suffocate no matter how fast and hard the sobs come. You will be utterly exhausted. You should definitely rehydrate! And, you should give yourself grace in all of it.
Gosh! Everything was so hard then.
Grief and peace slowly, almost imperceptibly, intertwine.
Here I am sixteen years later.
I'm glad I survived the . worst . grief, a grief not even imaginable. I can function more normally again - cancer treatment repercussions notwithstanding.
All of the thoughts and words on grief and loss written then and since are finally coming together on the website, though it is foundational until after the holidays. In time there will be free resources, videos, loads of blog posts, and maybe even a course or two. And eventually that book!
And, in spite of another hard year with too much death, we are having our first full blown Christmas since Mom died five years ago!!!
My husband's stocking is still hanging among the rest. It always will be.
Marsha
Christmas is a week away. A friend shared a post on Facebook this morning. I loved the message that was shared. In a nutshell, Jesus’ stepping down from Heaven wasn’t at all about giving us a reason to celebrate. “Jesus stepped down to pursue the broken and the hurting and the lost.”
That’s us, widowed friends and friends of widows. It’s a lot of other people, too, for sure. But, we can sure dig into what this young lady, Cassie, is sharing from her heart and her hurt.
It is perfectly okay if our grief overwhelms our attempts to, or even our desire to, celebrate in the usual holiday ways. It’s even okay if our grief leaks out, or roars out, of nowhere in the middle of a celebration. Hopefully we are with the ones we love and who love us if and when that happens. Either way, people need to understand our reality, one they may well live themselves someday. If we don’t let them see the reality, if we don’t teach them, they’ll be as lost as we were - and maybe still are.
Psalm 34:18 tells us the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. How much more tangible could He be than to take on human form and walk among us?
We need to meet widows and others who are grieving where they are. It’s not incumbent upon us to “fix” them or to make them celebrate with us at our parties, at parades, at the ballet, or anywhere else, even at church. We cannot fix them. We cannot take their hurt away.
We CAN meet them where they are. We can invite and gently encourage them to join us. Just know, without a sliver of doubt, their grief will be coming with them. Please know that it is impossible to escape the grip of profound and traumatic grief. It has to loosen its grip on us in its own time, even at Christmas.
We can sit with them if they need to not celebrate. We can listen to them. We can demonstrate our care in bringing them cookies or a meal if they don’t want to celebrate. We can see if there are any little “honey do’s” that need to be taken care of.
Think of ways you show, or have been shown, care while you were sick or recovering from surgery. Translate that to your grieving friend who may or may not feel like celebrating the season now or in the weeks to come as we move through Christmas and New Year’s.
If you'd like to read Cassie's post, you can find it here over on Facebook.
Marsha
Not all widows are little old ladies with gray hair dressed in black.
I did have a perception that widows were “old” ladies, though, because both of my grandmothers had been widowed.
But, there I was in my mid-40’s, a mom with two grown children and two young sons at home. I was a widow. In my 40’s!!!
As I worked my way through the depths of the abyss that is a widow’s grief, I thought of my grandmas. Even now the thought of them and the lessons I’ve learned bring tears. Soft sobs sometimes bubble up just below the surface until I swallow them back down. If only I knew then what I know now.
My grandma, Bern, became a widow when I was twelve. She cared for my grandpa through his devastating battle with cancer. Grandpa was the first person I saw whose life was whittled away by cancer. He no longer looked like my grandpa. He couldn’t talk or get out of bed. Yet he lived on until his time finally came. I had never seen a dead body. At the funeral home my parents let me wait in the hallway. I couldn’t stay there, alone. I needed them. All this to say I was young and flailing in my first “up front” experience with grief. It didn’t occur to me my grandma was now a widow. I did watch her closely out of concern, but I didn’t know what else to do or say. I just listened to the adults around me and watched.
When my husband’s cancer made itself known, all I could think of was my grandma and her tender care of my grandpa. She was instantly my model of how I would care for my husband, but along with that came a few fears. Would I have to learn to give him shots of morphine? After all, hospice wasn’t around when my grandpa died. Thankfully, we had hospice when my turn came.
Grandma Liz became a widow when I was 24. Other losses had occurred between the deaths of my grandpas. I grieved just as hard for this grandpa as I did the other. I was aware of and watched my grandma in ways I couldn’t have at 12. I didn’t dare mention my grandpa around her for fear of upsetting her, or for reminding her of him. I also didn’t want my grief to weigh her down any more than she was already.
As I settled into the reality of my own widowhood my heart broke for my grandmas. I wish I could go back to them knowing what I now know. I would have talked with them differently. I would have listened differently, even to the silence. I would have talked with them about my wonderful grandpas IF they were open to that. More than anything, I would have let them, or encouraged them, to open up about my grandpas, about what they were experiencing, about what they were feeling at any time during the rest of their lives.
How much could Bern and Liz have helped others if they were "allowed" to grieve and share their reality? How could their open example have helped me when my time came?
It is a huge mistake for our society to shame widows by telling them to “get over it,” to “move on,” and countless other things we tell them when their experience in grieving their husbands doesn’t match our experience or perception of grieving.
We also need to stop and think about our responses to grief and how they will be perpetuated in our children.
I've got my pebbles, rocks, and a boulder or two ready to throw into the ocean to start those ripples and waves of change!
Bern and Liz’s granddaughter,
Marsha
