Part Two: Enduring Love, Loss, Legacy & Resilience
Once a popular belief, some mental health professionals argued there were definable stages of grief that people will move through as they learn to accept their loss. Other current literature suggests that grief is often felt in waves rather than stages, and certain aspects can endure but lessen in intensity over time. Feelings associated with grieving the loss of our spouses may include shock, denial, numbness, sadness, heartbreak, loneliness, confusion, a sense of being overwhelmed, sleeplessness, and periodic depression, among others. At the same time, we may experience a sense of gratitude, joy, happiness, hope, and acceptance. While some of these feelings are familiar to newer widows, we all grieve in our own ways based on our backgrounds, life experiences, marital closeness, and other variables.
The physical and emotional load of caregiving had taken a toll on me toward the end of Claude’s life. When he had his first heart attack a few days before he passed, I felt overwhelmed, exhausted, and numb. A few days later, when Claude passed, I immediately went into shock, and the numbness I had been experiencing intensified.
When the paramedics finally arrived after Claude took his last breath and then tried to resuscitate him, about an hour passed before they decided to load him into the ambulance and take him to the hospital. Rather than follow the ambulance to the hospital and hear the inevitable news that he was gone, I waited at home, magically wanting to believe we’d get a call from a doctor who’d say we could visit now because my husband was miraculously breathing again on his own. Of course, the call never came.
Because of my personality and life experiences, I initially dealt with my loss by keeping busy and refusing to deal with the emotional reality that my husband was not coming back. I was in denial. I made lists of tasks that needed to be handled and kept myself as distracted as possible for the first few weeks as a widow.
Throughout the day, I talked to Claude, telling him I wished he could come back to me and that I missed him beyond what I could handle. At night, I continued to talk with my dearest husband as I wrapped my arms around our sweet, old dog lying next to me. I prayed continually that Claude knew how much I loved him and that we’d see each other again. Periodically, I’d feel deep sadness and anguish. I also felt overwhelmed and afraid. Anger—lots of anger also surfaced early in my grieving process. At the same time, the support and kindness of family, friends, and neighbors helped give me strength to face each day, one after another.
Over time, I started becoming aware of periodic joy, wonder, and thanksgiving. In addition, I learned to replace some of my anxiety with a sense of personal empowerment. I also started expressing gratitude each day for the years we shared, and all that Claude meant to me—what a gift he was (and still is through his influence). And, unintentionally, I connected to an online widow’s group and realized widowhood is not a solo experience. We can help each other through the grieving process and moving forward. My soulmate will always be in my heart, and I continue to feel a longing ache when I think about him, but I am learning, thanks to many others, to move forward as well.
7
In Denial: Grief in Motion
I was on automatic pilot for the first few moments, hours, days, and weeks after Claude passed. I couldn’t process my feelings—I held them at bay as long as I could. In my mind, my soulmate couldn’t be gone—he wasn’t supposed to die. I kept as busy as I could, remaining in denial as long as possible.
The Mask
Before Claude passed, I had promised to take Ranger to his vet’s appointment, which was scheduled for the next day. I mechanically went through the process of taking the dog to his appointment and meeting with the vet. As I expected, the vet told me the dog needed to lose a lot of weight.
Claude and I had normally gone to the dog’s vet appointments together. When the vet regularly mentioned that our dog was overweight, we’d blame each other in an exaggerated, comic way for the doctor’s benefit. Pointing at me, Claude would say, “Paula is the one who overfeeds the dog.” Then I would say, “Well, Claude is the one who feeds the dog scraps from his plate. That’s why the dog is too fat!”
Because he wasn’t with me at this appointment, Ranger’s vet asked about Claude. Without registering any emotion, I said, “Claude died yesterday.”
The List: Calls, Appointments, and Arrangements
When I got home, I located the binder in which we kept our financial and personal records—everything from Social Security numbers to financial statements, bank account information, key contact names and numbers, passwords, birth certificates, our marriage license, our wills, Powers of Attorney, Advanced directives, and the information I needed for his cremation. Having all the needed information in a single binder was a lifesaver.
Claude’s son and daughter helped make initial calls to other family members and some of my husband’s friends from his teaching years. My sons and siblings made the other necessary calls, including ones to other family members and friends. I immediately started making necessary “widow’s duty” calls, including contacting the Social Security Administration. After notifying Social Security, I contacted his pension administrator and was told to send a copy of his death certificate as soon as I received it. Before I could make any more calls, I received a call from an organ donation organization. Claude was an organ donor. The person who called apologized for the timing but told me they needed some necessary information right away because they had to “harvest” any organs immediately. The person who contacted me said it would take about 45 minutes to answer questions. I told her she could have 30 minutes because that was all I could handle. She asked me everything from details about his overall health to questions about our sex life. While the questions may have been necessary, the timing compounded my overall feelings of distress. I continued to work through my list of necessary calls until I was so numb that I couldn’t function. The rest would have to wait until after the weekend.
I made lists of tasks I needed to handle. I knew I had more calls to make, but they would have to wait until Monday.
For comfort, I looked out toward the patio where the hummingbirds always fed in the mornings. I didn’t see any. I continued to look for them, but they weren’t there.
On Monday, I finished making the immediately necessary calls, including a call to our insurance agent about Claude’s modest life insurance policy and the mortuary to arrange for death certificates. Then, I set up appointments with my husband’s bank and with his financial administrator. I also called his country club and canceled his membership. The woman with whom I spoke told me she didn’t know who my husband was. I suddenly felt very angry—that was the first real emotion I had felt since Claude had passed. How could this woman not know him when they had less than 150 members? My husband had been a member for 16 years. I tried to control my emotions. After I got off the phone, I wrote a letter to the club board of directors that I later wished I hadn’t written.
By the end of the week, I had written an obituary for Claude and asked for feedback from his children before submitting it. Because I knew Claude’s legacy was very important to him (as it was to me), I also began working on a Celebration of Life event that would be held a few months later. After talking with his children, I reserved a gathering place Claude would appreciate—Champoeg State Park. I then began a two-month-long process of collecting stories from family and friends about Claude for a mini-booklet I was putting together for his memorial event.
I continued talking to Claude every evening and often throughout the day. When I talked to him, I felt like he was near.
Keeping busy, very busy, kept some of my grief at bay until I was ready to deal with it. I worked like a mad woman in the yard, mowing, thatching, trimming, painting the fence, and building a lovely, circular memorial garden for Claude. I had become ‘grief in motion.’ I also started going through sheds, getting rid of anything that needed to be discarded so I could take things to the dump while I still had Claude’s pick-up; his grandson wanted the truck, and I was happy for him to get it.
Before signing the truck over to Claude’s grandson, I loaded it up with discarded items and garbage that I needed to take to the dump. One of my sisters came down and helped me with this task, among others. After taking two loads to the dump, my sister and I washed the truck for my grandson, who would be driving it home the next week. As we were cleaning the truck, we discovered candy wrappers stuffed between the seats. I wondered, “Claude, you were a diabetic. What were you thinking?”
Next, I went through Claude’s Will again and identified specific items he wanted each of his children to have. I started making piles of his things that he had willed to his kids, had belonged to him before we were married, or were things his family would want or would mean something to them. I also made sure his children had copies of his Will. I tried to be as transparent about everything as possible. I told them they were also welcome to listen in on my discussion with their dad’s financial advisor if they wished since they were also listed as beneficiaries.
My neighbors started noticing that I’d lost weight. I hadn’t noticed the change. I was shocked when I put on a pair of pants that I hadn’t been able to wear for years. I later learned that rapidly dropping weight during the first few weeks of widowhood is not uncommon. Not surprisingly, I eventually gained some of that weight back.
I continued to look for the hummingbirds that Claude and I always enjoyed seeing, but I still didn’t see any. In fact, I hadn’t seen any of these birds since Claude had passed. Why couldn’t I at least enjoy one of the special moments that Claude and I had regularly shared? Maybe I simply wasn’t looking at the right time; I don’t know. In my mind, the birds had quit coming around.
The afternoon after I picked up Claude’s ashes contained in a shiny mahogany box, a friend came over and sat with me on the patio. She listened as I talked about my husband and how I was struggling to accept that he was gone. As I was talking, I saw a hummingbird at the bird feeder, then another, and another. ‘Claude,’ in the form of his remains, had returned, and the birds were back. Maybe it was a coincidence; I don’t know—I’m just glad I started seeing them again.
My Dearest Husband
About two weeks after Claude passed, I started writing to him as another way to have conversations that could help me process my feelings in a more concrete way:
June 2nd – My Dearest Husband: I feel soul-weary. A tsunami of grief is starting to crash down on me. I have developed a rash all over my body because of extreme stress. I’m drained to the core, and my heart is shattered. I wish I could go home to be with you, but it is not yet my time. Do be there for me—be the one who welcomes me home when my time does come.
Some days, I would pour my heart out to Claude, telling him how I missed him so much and how my heart was breaking. Other times, I wrote about daily events, talking to him like when he was here. I told him about people who had stopped by to express condolences and the friends who came over and sat with me while I continued to process his passing. I mentioned how much I appreciated it when family, friends, and people in our community shared stories about him while also supporting me. I shared with him how one newer friend who had been a widow started walking with me whenever she’d see me out with the dog; I explained how she understood things that only a widow could understand. I also told him I was calling his sister once or twice a week, just like he did. I was thankful that his sister had become a new kind of sister to me—a sister in widowhood. She’d lost two husbands (and her brother). She knew what I was experiencing. I continue to appreciate her love, support, and insights.
In one of my notes to Claude, I told him that his doctor was one of the people who called to express his condolences:
June 7th—My Dearest Husband: Your doctor called the week after you passed and talked with me for nearly 20 minutes about how much he appreciated you as a person. He said that he’d always had a soft spot for educators. I also received calls and cards from some of your lifelong friends. You made a difference, my love. I’m so proud to have shared so many years with you.
Father’s Day was the first occasion I faced after Claude had passed. We both always did our best to make every occasion special. Father’s Day was no exception:
June 19th—My Dearest Husband: It’s Father’s Day—the first special occasion since you’ve been gone. We would have shared our morning coffee together in bed while reading the news on our tablets. Then I would have given you a Father’s Day card (from me and Ranger) and a gift. I made you a card this year and put it next to your chair. I miss you so much, Claude. I don’t know how to go on without you. The dog also misses you and keeps looking but can’t find you.
Father’s Day: Words from the Heart
I had saved over 100 of the cards that we’d given each other over the years. I wrote these words in the last two Father’s Day cards I ever gave Claude:
“You are the one I’ve waited for my entire life. I am so glad I found you. Always and forever yours. I love you!”
“You are even more dear to me with each passing year. It is a joy to grow old along with you. Still, ‘the best is yet to be.’ I love you.”