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
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