Search

The Wandering Widow

Observations, Tips and Reckless Truth Telling on the Road Through Grief

Open Search
Tag

Reckless Truth Telling

The Wandering Widow’s Grief Recovery Reading List

A Grief Recovery Project Post

As I was packing up my house and offloading most of my worldly possessions, I had the privilege of un-welcoming a new member to The W Club.  Since I couldn’t take them with me, I decided to give her the books that made the most impact on my grief recovery. As I was writing notes to her on how each one made a difference for me, I thought that others might like them too. All of these should be available through your local library if you don’t want to purchase them.

Books on grief and grieving are plentiful, just ask Amazon. Since I was already working with a phenomenal counselor, I found the books that helped me the most weren’t specifically grief related.  And they all came to me when I needed them most. Funny how that happens. Here are my Top 5, in the order they showed up in my life over the course of my first year of widowhood.

1. Carry On Warrior by Glennon Melton

Hi Lisa, Nowhere near what you are dealing with right now, but in my dark postpartum days I found a little light in some of this book. You are the definition of warrior my friend. Love you–E.

One of my besties sent this one to me when she knew I was struggling with talking about how I felt and in real danger of imploding.  Carry On Warrior encouraged me to become a Reckless Truth Teller.  An RTT keeps it real, forgoing the carefully curated image and social media profile. The idea is that we not only help ourselves, we help others by being REAL and authentic. The truth is, we have a lot of people in our lives who would like to help us, they just don’t know how. If we can’t share with them, they become just as helpless as we are. This book encouraged me to blog about my grief journey, in all its good and ugly bits, and not try to keep my grief to myself.

2. Broken Open by Elizabeth Lesser

“And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” –Anais Nin

Another sweet friend gave this one to me.  Have you heard of kintsugi or kintsukuroi? It’s the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with resin and gold to make it more beautiful than it was before. Broken Open encourages us to be accepting of what is, and allow ourselves to be okay with being broken. That by having been broken we are made stronger and more beautiful. This book resonated with me in a way none of the others did.  Every other page would find me exclaiming out loud, “Yes!”  I sobbed. I highlighted. I wrote notes in the margins. I fell in love with each quote Lesser included as if they were selected just for me. I realized that being broken open allowed me to grow and that our greatest tragedies can also be the catalyst for our most significant transformations.

3. When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron

“Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.”

I was struggling through the middle of an 8-week meditation challenge when this book showed up, a recommendation by another widow and I couldn’t wait to read it. This was the least emotional of the five books on this list, but the advice within was sound and incredibly helpful. The basic premise is that we create our pain and suffering through our expectations. That once we accept that death and suffering are inevitable parts of being alive, we can find true peace. It’s a bit dry, but I filtered all of that down to a very Buddhist version of Live Now.

4. Blessed Are The Weird by Jacob Nordby

“Lisa, this book is written by one of my close friends, and I think you will really enjoy it. It’s deep, it’s insightful, and I think you’ll find yourself nodding along throughout the book.” –M.

Another gift, this was intended to be inflight reading for my spring trip to Europe, but I didn’t get to it until after I was home. I started reading at a time when I was beginning to struggle to keep my newly rediscovered happiness, and questioning whether or not to continue blogging about my grief journey.  I’d been debating (or talking myself out of) starting a new creative project. Nordby’s passion and dedication to the creative weirdos inspired me to begin the new project and beg for a meeting. This book also started me down the path of walking away from everything I know in search of my Live Now adventure.

5. The Afterlife of Billy Fingers by Annie Kagan

“Keep listening for my voice, and always, always and forever remember my love.”

When Jacob Nordby, author of Blessed Are The Weird, and I met for coffee and a mutual sharing of our stories, he told me about this book. Jacob thought I’d like this one, and he was correct. Written by a woman who lost her older brother, this book chronicles her experiences of communicating with him as he shared his view of the afterlife. (FYI, I don’t care what your beliefs are, there is no room to tear apart someone else’s coping mechanisms). Since none of us has a way to travel there and report back, I found this book comforting and full of hope.   When you watch someone die a gruesome and violent death, the idea that the afterlife is peaceful is one that brings peace. And, as it appeared in my life close to the one-year deathiversary milestone, it also felt a little like Dan was saying the good-bye he wasn’t able to a year ago.

So there you have it, my Top 5 favorite grief journey books. If you have one, not on this list, I’d love to hear about it.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce

BONUS BOOK:

You already know about my fondness for J.M. Storm’s writing. If his poems were songs, they would have been the soundtrack to the last year of my life. His book, In My Head was the only book to make the cut and make it in my suitcase for this adventure abroad.

1

What Not To Say-The Donald Trump Edition. An Open Letter to the President of the United States

A What Not To Say Post

For those of you who have cringed as you’ve realized how badly you put your foot in your mouth when speaking to a widow after reading one of my What Not To Say posts, you may feel a bit better about yourselves. You don’t have an entourage of speech writers and etiquette people who are supposed to help you avoid FUBAR situations like the one that hijacked my feed today. I wasn’t there. I don’t know what was said or in what context. But I know my blood was boiling for Mrs. Sgt. La David Johnson. Ma’am, I wish I could give you the biggest squeezy hug ever given and make it better. I know I can’t. And for that, I am truly sorry.

What I can do is continue to educate people on what not to say to avoid causing further pain to those grieving. So, here goes my official What Not To Say-Donald Trump Edition. An open letter to the President of the United States.

Dear Mr. President:

As a long-time military spouse, and now Widow, I’m in a unique position to help you.

It’s a f@#$%d up sacrifice that military families commit to. Proudly. I will never regret a second of the service I gave my country and know that Dan wouldn’t regret his either, even after he ended up with a messed up disease likely caused by his military service. Yes. We all know what the worst case scenario is. But you don’t EVER say that someone knew what they were signing up for, in any context. Period. No matter who you are or what title you currently hold.

Mr. President, the minute you hear your husband has died, you stop breathing. You stop existing as YOU and watch your entire universe shatter. At that moment, you are a raw wound, and all you need is unconditional love and support. Not platitudes, not rote condolences, just love and support.

Mr. President, my fellow widows and I have been on the receiving end of horribly hurtful comments made by well-meaning individuals who just didn’t know what to say. I have to believe that you didn’t intend to wound Mrs. Johnson further after she and her family just made the ultimate sacrifice, and as she is facing a new battle of her own, one of survival.

Mr. President, I’m not writing to tell you how badly you messed this up. I’m writing to offer my help. Those who have been entrusted to help you in these situations have clearly not been doing their job to the level that you are heeding their guidance. Unfortunately, rewind isn’t an option in real life. So here is a suggestion that you may want to put aside and remember as you sign orders sending our husbands, wives, sons, and daughters into harm’s way.

Mrs. Johnson. I can’t imagine what you are feeling right now. I know that nothing I can say will make any of it better or bring him back. And for that, I am truly sorry. I hold the men and women of our armed forces in the highest regard because they’ve taken on the mantle of protecting our freedoms at their own risk. A risk my own family hasn’t taken, and for that, I am forever grateful. When Sgt. Johnson put his life on the line, it was for all of us. And we all owe him a debt of gratitude. Our country owes you and your family for the sacrifices you have made and will continue to make going forward. Thank you is wholly inadequate, but I don’t have any other words to express the appreciation of our thankful nation.

Mr. President, you still have the opportunity to make this right with Mrs. Johnson. Call her. Tell her you screwed up. That in your role as President, this is the hardest thing you have to do. Not because you don’t want to do it, but because you wish it weren’t necessary. Tell her that it’s because you wish that all of them would come home to us. Ask her to forgive you for causing her pain due to your discomfort. Don’t make it a photo op, or press event. She may not want to hear it. Say it anyway. She may yell at you. Take it without arguing or getting defensive. Because when that call ends, you get to go back to your life and your intact family. She doesn’t.

Mr. President, part of me doubts you will ever even see this. Or if you do, that you won’t care. But if you do, please feel free to call me if you’d like to discuss this further or need any advice going forward.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

 

 

 

3

✔️ San Diego Comic-Con

A Wandering Widow Post

It’s funny how you can live somewhere and never do the things other people travel there for. I lived in San Diego for years, but never went to Comic-Con. A few years ago, during an especially funny episode of The Big Bang Theory, Dan and I decided that going to SDCC should be on our bucket list. Since we’re both kinda geeky, it sounded fun. Plus, how can you go wrong in San Diego? So my friend, an SDCC veteran, helped me get badges to the biggest geek party in town.

20170720_152440
You can never go wrong in San Diego.

And it was a party. It’s a good thing I’m retiring in a few days because I’ll need a week or two of naps to recover.

XOXO,

The Wandering Widow

P.S. In case you’re thinking I’m a huge jerk for taking a vacation right before I retire, this bucket list trip was on the books before I made that life altering decision. Live Now.

Here are my Top 5 Comic-con Takeaways:

1. You can definitely do it as an SDCC virgin, but having someone help you learn the ropes is easier. Fortunately, there are a lot of SDCC blogs that can guide you along. Read them. Learn from them. When you are advised to bring a refillable water bottle, snacks, sunscreen, and backup batteries for your phone, do it. And be prepared to walk a lot! We averaged around 20,000 steps a day, and that was with a LOT of breaks at San Diego’s finest eateries and drinkeries. (Breakfast on the patio at Mary Jane’s gives you a lot of people watching and celeb spotting opportunities. And Whiskey Girl has my stamp of approval for any time of the day).

I’d add a small umbrella (for shade) to the list for those long outdoor lines. It was unusually humid and I didn’t reapply sunscreen frequently enough, so brought home a lovely stripey sunburn.  I can’t imagine how hot it was for those in full costume and makeup. I bow down to their dedication and commitment to their characters. And the cosplay didn’t disappoint. 

2. Don’t wait until AFTER you have your badges to book your hotel. Rookie mistake! We ended up paying a premium for a divey motel. I was told that most San Diego businesses close to the convention center make over 30% of their annual revenue during Comic Con. I don’t doubt it. Price gouging is the name of the game. It was still worth it, just be prepared and budget accordingly.

The entire Gas Lamp District gets into the Con spirit.
This was the only protest sign fit for print. It’s sad that these people can’t find something better to do with their time.
San Diego PD got into the spirit of Con too. Talk about a hard working bunch They kept the peace and smiles and seemed like they were having as much fun as we were.

3. Don’t stress if you don’t get badges for every day. Enough events are happening around the convention center that you will have plenty to do. I found that some of my favorites were offsite and didn’t require badges at all.  Bladerunner 2049 was my favorite, and not just because of the Johnnie Walker whiskey bar at the end.

 One of the things I loved best was that the whole town gets involved, taking it from mere convention to super festival.  Hotels, trains, and trams were all wrapped and decorated appropriately.  And there were lots of themed marches and displays supporting shows or movies.  We participated in Nerdist’s Wonder Woman March but also got to enjoy History Channel’s Viking funeral march and Outlander’s exciting outdoor entertainment.

Outlander was well sponsored, and kilts were everywhere.
I couldn’t find kilted yoga when I was in Scotland, but found it at Comic-Con.
My favorite landmark for off=site events. Thanks Cartoon Network.
Love how the whole town gets into the spirit.
First ever Nerdist Wonder Woman March through the Gaslamp District. Loved all the interpretations, ages and that men participated too.. (Photo credit to Nerdist.)
The Bladerunner 2049 Experience (powered by Johnnie Walker) was the big winner for the off-site events.

4. Keep your patience and a sense of humor. Everyone else is just as excited to be there as you are, lines are inevitable. Make new friends. And don’t be put off by the 2-3 hour waits…the lines move faster than whatever the end-of-the-line-keeper tells you.

If it’s your first time, be prepared for sensory overload. It was worse than Vegas for me, and I couldn’t figure out what to look at with all that color, lights and noise everywhere.

20170720_163304

5. Enjoy yourself. SDCC was amazing, but the best part was being able to spend time with friends.

I loved that everyone connected with the Con was respectful and still able to have a good time. I lost track of how many languages I heard spoken–this is truly an international event. It is also family friendly, and it warmed my heart to see so many parents bringing their kids. But folks, please leave your dogs at home as this is an anxiety ridden event for Fido. 

I can’t wait for next year!

0

How Did I Get Here?

A Wondering Widow Post

It’s surreal. How did I get here? How can it possibly have been a whole year? How can it have been 365 days since that horrible morning when I watched Dan die? How have I survived 8760 hours of being broken wide open? Shattered? How can 525,600 minutes have passed without him in a single one? It doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem right.

And yet here we are, at his one-year deathiversary. I know some people hate that word. No judgment here if you are one of those who prefers angelversary. While I do like to look for the positive in every situation, I also refuse to sugar coat a turd. To-may-to, to-mah-to, we all cope in our own way. But I digress.

The last year has been a journey that often left me feeling like a refugee from my own life. I have at times been appalled at things people have said or done. I have also been overwhelmed with gratitude at the kindness of strangers. And I have fallen more deeply in love with my friends and family for whom I am incredibly blessed. Not only did they walk this path beside me, I’ve lost count of how many times they picked me up and carried me. And, truthfully, sometimes those brave souls had to drag me along kicking and screaming.

The old me died that day when Dan took his last breath. That was also the day I was reborn, like the phoenix rising from the ashes. In the last year, I’ve had to figure out who I am in this new reality. Here are a few things I’ve learned about the new Lisa. And you know what?  I kinda like her.

  • The new me has ninja level survivor bada$$ery. I’m stronger than I ever dreamed possible.  My proof? Laughter.  I can still laugh, even through the tears. Admittedly, sometimes it’s a Lt. Dan crazy kinda laughter, but laughter nonetheless. Even after nights like last night where I was a f@#$%&g bawling train wreck.
  • The new me is brave. Mostly.  I kept breathing when I didn’t want to. When I was too afraid to think about the future, I kept putting one foot in front of the other anyway. I may not have always looked up from my feet but persisted in the direction of the unknown. I now recognize that asking for help and being vulnerable are where real courage lies. If you knew the old Lisa, you’d know how significant this is. 
  • The new me pursues happiness and joy with abandon and without apology. 
  • Life is too short to put up with bull$hit. The new me has learned to walk away, purge, move on, forgive, and not look back.
  • I’m keeping it real. The new me is a card carrying member of the reckless truth teller club. Authentic has become one of those business buzzwords, but that doesn’t take the power out of our truths. To wrap my brain around my own grief, I share and hopefully help others in the process. No more carefully curated social media presence, no more worrying about what other people think. This girl DGAF about pretense. Like it? Great. Don’t like it? Reference previous “life is too short to put up with bull$shit” and move along. (Dan, inventor of DGAF, would be both proud and horrified).
  • The new me is obsessively grateful. I recognize that every second we are on this earth is a gift. No more sweatin’ the small stuff. No more 60 hour work weeks. No more waiting. No more I’ll call them later. It’s all about living now, loving now, laughing now and making sure those we love know how valued they are. 

To those of you who pop in to read my story, thank you. Thanks for showing up to bear witness to all the ugly and beautiful bits of my grief journey.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow

3

Letter to my 25 year old self

A Wondering Widow Post

Dear Lisa,

It’s 20 years from now, and amazing things are about to happen in your life.  I wish I could spare you the heartbreak and pain ahead, but can truthfully say it will forge you into a better you. And while it won’t feel like it, you will survive.  Here are some words of wisdom I wish you could hear:

1. Your goal to retire at 45 WILL happen, but you will pay an unbelievably horrible price to achieve it.  Don’t let that stop you from doing it.

2. Forever isn’t linear, it’s now. Forever is in every tiny moment. Don’t waste a single one. Stop working so damned much and invest those tiny moments in those you love and those that love you. Memories will always be worth more than things (trust me, at this exact moment you are selling everything you own). Take that trip. Take the class. Take a chance on love. Take the risk of living outside the plan, and outside what is expected of you. Sometimes happiness lies on the other side of playing it safe.

3. You have no control over anything but your attitude. I know your inner control freak won’t believe me until the universe decides it’s a lesson you WILL learn, and it will be in the hardest way possible.  It’s okay. It will be okay.

4. You are f@#$%^g awesome. I know you will spend years feeling insecure and not enough. You will hide those fears and lack of confidence in a hard shell that does you no favors.  Don’t be afraid. Believe in yourself. You are stronger than you could possibly know. 

5. It’s taken me our whole life for me to learn to love me.  Love you for you, and don’t wait so damned long to do it. 

XOXO,

Future You,  aka The Wandering Widow

0

Throwing Away Your Crap Doesn’t Mean I Didn’t Love You

Dan hated it when I called him a hoarder, but he had this thing about keeping EVERYTHING. (Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you a story about a box of rocks, enough baseball mitts to field a team, and every letter his mom and grandma ever sent him). As I was downsizing, lots of stuff went in the trash. Lots of stuff got donated. Lots of stuff had to be shredded (FYI the shred company will come to your house for a fee saving you a trip). Everything left over went in an estate sale.  But it’s really hard to filter through a lifetime of someone else’s treasures. How do you get past the gut instinct to keep every little thing as if he was going to come back and be mad at you for getting rid of it? How do you honor their memory and treasured items without living in a museum of the dearly departed? Seriously, I’m asking because I want to know. Despite all the work to downsize, I have boxes and boxes of his stuff in the garage of my new fresh start house.

One of my W friends shared what she did. All of her husband’s clothes got piled in the guest room. She kept the things she wanted, then had their son pick out what he wanted. After that, his friends were invited to come by and pick out what they wanted. Whatever was left over was donated to a local charity. Genius! I immediately did the same thing. I was sometimes surprised by what Dan’s friends wanted to keep as mementos, but glad I let them choose what was meaningful to them. Everything else got donated without a shred of guilt. And in case you were wondering, watching crusty old Veterans crying as they picked through their dead buddy’s stuff was hard so I mostly hid out in the other room while they were looking.

Since we’d started a memorial scholarship in his honor, anything with monetary value that wasn’t a family heirloom was sold to fund the award. Guilt free. And thanks to Evel Knievel dolls action figures, his coin collection, Star Wars trading cards, his World War II Paratrooper rifle and a bunch of other junk stuff that will soon be sold, some kid is going to get to go to college. Who needs a museum with a legacy like that?

Tune in next week for what’s up with the ginormous funeral photos?

2

The Grief Mirror

This post is not trolling for sympathy. In fact, I hesitated quite a bit before posting it. In the end, I decided it was important to share my story in the hopes it might help someone else. Since we collectively fear grief, it’s hard to comprehend how consuming despair can be or what to do when someone we love is drowning in it.

Why is Grief so terrifying? Why do we turn away and shield our eyes and our hearts from the pain we see in the ones we love? Why do we push them to be more positive or delete a grief-related post just because it makes us feel uncomfortable? It’s a topic I think about often.

It was about four months after Dan died that I was sitting outside in the fall moonlight with a glass of wine and my besties when one of them looked at me and said, “I have to tell you that I’m mad at you.” I was a bit taken aback. Where the hell did that come from? How much wine did I drink? What did I do?

Let’s rewind a bit.

Losing Dan pulled the earth out from under my feet. In addition to the loss of my soul mate and love of my life, I had a front row seat to his agonizing battle and very gruesome end just months after losing my Dad to the ravages of another horrible disease. PTSD, Depression, and Anxiety are Grief’s annoying evil step-sisters who crash the party. To say I was struggling was an understatement. I suffered from nightmares every single night, reliving those horrible last few moments in every gory detail. Death like you see on TV and the movies would have been a blessing. Dan’s passing was not peaceful. I was later told that he didn’t suffer because he’d been in a coma for days. I call bull$%^t. How would anyone know whether or not he suffered? It’s not like you can verify this statement.

But I digress. I wasn’t sleeping without pharmaceutical help, and the sleep I did get was deeply troubled. I was miserable. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t function. I withdrew from the family and friends (the ones that stuck around after the funeral) that were trying to be there for me. I dodged my grief counselor. And I went to a very dark place. VULNERABLE MOMENT ALERT (as if anything in this blog isn’t): I became suicidal. I went from questioning how I was supposed to live without Dan, to not wanting to live without Dan, to praying to die, to thinking about how I could take matters into my own hands. I had reached the point where suicide seemed the only logical escape from the unbearable pain I was suffering. I repeat, it seemed LOGICAL, not EMOTIONAL. So logical I was dead calm (haha, inappropriate humor is a coping mechanism) and convinced that, in death, I would be with Dan again. I was fortunate to wake up one morning with the clarity that these thoughts weren’t me and that I needed some help to pull myself out of the downward spiral. Only a handful of people knew how bad it had become. The besties were in that group and got me the hell out of Dodge hoping that a change of scenery would do me some good. Sweet Baby Jesus at Christmas-time I love them so much.

They’ve been at my side through all of it.

Fast Forward back to besties and wine and moonlight. She was mad at me for even considering taking my life. And she was scared. She said that if grief could shake ME to the core, one of the strongest people she knew, what would it do to the rest of them? How on earth could anyone else survive a catastrophic loss?

I loved her for trusting me enough to share how she truly felt and that she looked at this broken mess and saw strength at all. And I realized at that moment one of the reasons we fear looking at other people’s grief is that we don’t want to look in that mirror and envision that loss for ourselves. And that’s okay. We can’t live in the joy of all that life has to offer if we’re too focused on losing it. And at the other end of the spectrum, there is another truth-that in recognizing loss is inevitable, we can free ourselves to enjoy the time that we have.

So for my W’s who are in that dark place, it gets better. I promise. You will reach a point where the light breaks through and finds you. But we can’t always do it alone. When those who love you are throwing you a lifeline, reach out and grab it and hold on with all your might.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow

Suicidal thoughts are a serious matter. If you have them or think someone does, please get help.  Those closest to me had suspicions but were afraid to take action in case they were wrong. Old Lisa was “strong” and independent and apparently a scary bitch who would have freaked the F out on someone if they dared mention it. If I hadn’t woken up that morning with the epiphany that I was about to fall off the cliff, I probably wouldn’t be here today.

9

It Gets Better

Shortly after Dan died, Julie showed up at my door. She sat with me and assured me that, while I wouldn’t believe her now, things would get better. Julie was one of the few people who could get away with saying that without it being a useless platitude. She was a few months ahead of me in losing both husband and father.  She alone had the street cred to tell me to hang in there and promise that I’d want to live again.

And she was right. I didn’t believe her. I was drowning in grief and couldn’t comprehend anything different. I nodded, thanked her for coming, and prayed that someday I’d have it as pulled together as she did.

And she was right. It was long and painful but it did get better.

Today marks eight months since that horrible morning. 243 days on this grief journey. 5832 hours of recovery. And it is better. There are more good days than train wrecks. I find myself dreaming about the future again. Things I’d lost…my smile, laughter and hope have resurfaced.

So now it’s my turn to share. To all the new W’s out there, it does get better. I promise.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow

3

After the Funeral, Help Them Help You

This is an article I wrote for a recent Treasure Valley Hospice newsletter.  Special thanks to the wonderful women of The W Club who contributed their thoughts on the topic.

Starting the moment your loved one breathes their last, a flurry of activity takes place. Family and friends are notified, funeral plans kick into high gear and you are surrounded by people 24/7. You are in shock, even if it was expected.  You are surrounded in casseroles, flowers, stories and love.

Instead of a memorial we had a party for Dan at his brother’s bar. Everyone wore tie-dye because cancer hates tie dye. Music, funny speeches, pool, and LOTS of drinking in his honor. He would have approved.

And then the funeral happens. And then there is silence. The friends and family that were at your side disappear, returning to their own busy lives while you are left behind. This is normal, but painful. Even if you’ve been warned about it, it will be unexpected. Why do the people we need most disappear after the funeral? Some of them thrive on crisis, which is now over so they move on to the next adrenaline filled tragedy. Others have been strong for you and now need to deal with their own grief and pain, and will try to hide it from you to protect you.  Others find your pain too much to bear because they love you so much and don’t know what to do, so they turn away. In fear of saying the wrong thing they say nothing.  Silence.

Regardless of the reason, their disappearing act doesn’t reflect on you.  It doesn’t lower your worth, or mean they love you any less. We live in a grief phobic society.  We aren’t taught how to handle these situations. Our friends and family are desperate to help us, but usually don’t know how. Most people feel useful if you can give them busy work, an action job or task that needs done. Tasks like mowing the lawn, cleaning the kitchen, grocery shopping or even getting the oil changed in your car. If they ask, have a list ready (or show them this newsletter). And to those of you who want to help your W, if she can’t think of anything, just pick something you know needs doing and do it.  It will be appreciated.

W’s we can help them help us by simply communicating.  When they ask what we need, tell them the truth. Be honest, even if you don’t know the answer.  
After visiting with some of my fellow W’s, here are some examples we came up with:

  • Call or text me every day to let me know you haven’t forgotten me.  
  • Don’t disappear or stop asking me questions,  even if you think I’m being negative. Help me talk about him, and listen when I do.
  • Don’t let me become a recluse.  Keep inviting me out, even if I say “no” a lot.
  • I don’t know what I’m feeling or what I want.
  • I just need to be held or to talk and you don’t have to fix anything, just be here with me.
  • I just lost everything. Please don’t leave me too.
  • Don’t offer me solutions or advice, just give me time to pull through this with you at my side.
  • And most importantly don’t hide your grief from me.  I want to know you loved him as much as I did. It makes me feel less alone.

You really aren’t alone, even if it may feel that way.  So do yourself a favor and help them help you.

Help your W by being there.

3

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑