Grief: We Gravitate Toward People Who Do It The Same Way We Do

I once posted an article on the Widow Chick Facebook page about men seeking out gender specific bereavement groups because they feel they grieve differently.  Well...of course they do!  I can’t understand the need to go out and buy a muscle car after the death of a spouse (as some of my widower friends have done).  And I can almost guarantee that they probably didn’t go through the same purse obsession that I did right after my husband died. 

I can’t explain it.  It just happened.

I kind of agree with this article and I kind of don’t.  I mean, I’m guessing that I would get a more understanding nod of the head sitting with women during group therapy than I would with a group of men.  Let’s face it:  They just don’t “get it” (the need for the perfect purse, I mean).

But the truth is...I don’t think it’s necessarily gender specific.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  Grieving is like parenting.  We gravitate toward people who do it the same way we do.

Think about it.  Many of us became parents right around the same time our friends did.  And before we had that first kid, we had visions of BBQs every Sunday, constant playdates, and our children marrying and having a son or daughter-in-law that we practically raised.

But then the kids became toddlers and we noticed that our friends really didn’t care if their child spilled chocolate milk all over our carpet.  They didn’t believe in time-outs and felt that discipline would diminish their child’s creativity.  They watched with delight while their child weaved in and out of the waiter’s legs at a restaurant as we cringed and swore we would never go out in public with them again.

Soon, we started seeing less and less of each other and your dream of their child becoming your in-law became more of a nightmare.

It’s the same process with grieving.

I think, for many people who haven’t had a significant loss, they assume that grief binds us all together...especially if we’ve had the same kind of loss.  And it does in a certain way.  Like giving birth...we can all commiserate with the pain of how it all came about.

But sometimes...that’s where our similarities end.

Some are desperate to take control of their lives after loss, while others have had enough and just wait for life to happen.  Some are ready to date after 6 months and some can’t think about it after 6 years.  Some are exhausted.  Some can’t stop moving.  Some need to be with people all the time.  Some need to be alone. 

And just because your husband died in an accident doesn’t always mean that you are going to relate to someone else who experienced a sudden loss (I think in the beginning we assume that is an important criteria for a supportive friendship when really it’s just a piece of the puzzle).  Someone who experienced a suicide may really hit it off with someone whose spouse died after a long illness.

The truth is, there are so many individual ways that we go about this experience...it’s really hard to find someone else who goes through it the same way.  And when I think about my close widowed friends right after my husband died...many of them were actually widowers.  Because we grieved the same way.

I know for a fact that so many of you go through the same thing I do:  When someone hears about the loss of a spouse, they immediately call you and tell you that you need to get in contact with them or that they gave that friend your information.  And honestly...I have no problem with that.  But in the last 4 years I’ve learned that the bond of “widowhood” isn’t the only bond that counts.  And while I’m happy to talk with them, listen to what they’re going through, and commiserate...I may not be their “go to” person in the future.

And that’s okay.

I’ve said to people many times, “You can give out my information, but I many not be the friend they need right now.  It depends on the person.  And depending on where they are...they may not be ready for my friendship.”

I mean...they may not even want to acknowledge that they’re a widow yet, much less talk to some crazy woman who’s been at it for 4 years.

I’m sure that many of us have learned the hard way that just because someone has experienced something similar, they may not be our new best friend.  It’s like going out on a first date:  You’re so hopeful that this could be “the one” and when you get there...the chemistry just ain’t right.  Finding the right support has a lot of trial and error involved.  But when you find it...it’s something that will forever change you, your life, and how you help others.

And let’s face it.

The right support is the right support, no matter what we’ve all experienced.

 If it’s done well...the details really shouldn’t even matter.

Don't Bite The Hand That Supports You

Whew.

What a day.

I really hesitate to even post a blog right now because…I gotta be honest…I don’t know what’s with everyone today.

At first I thought it was just me. I woke up this morning after being up all night with a plumber who informed me that my upstairs toilet had decided to pay a friendly visit to my downstairs dining room by forming a “hello leak.”

Writing a check to a plumber at 2 AM and then getting up with tired, cranky kids at 6 AM does not make for a fun night at the Widow Chick Bed, Breakfast, and Bawl.

After getting my youngest to school 20 minutes late because my middle child decided it would be more fun to start dressing 2 minutes before the bus was scheduled to come, my day was off to a decidedly rough start.

At this point, I tried to take a deep breath and try and get on with my day. And where should I go to get a little pick-me-up before things really get rolling?

All of my favorite support pages, of course.

So, imagine my surprise, when I logged in and checked out what’s going on with everyone, hoping to get a friendly “eye” and some words of encouragement, and I happened to notice that everyone is in a mood.

And I don’t just mean a mood. I mean a MOOD.

This seemed to be across the board. Most places I turned to had people in some kind of funk, having a bad day (as we all do), and somehow taking it out on the people they should be turning to.

To tell you the truth…it made me crawl back into my bed and hide under the covers for a little while.

I know a lot of us are in a transition. The holidays are coming up. The days are getting shorter…today it was so dark when I woke up, I couldn’t believe it was morning already. And I know more people who have “milestones” in October and November I think than any other months.

I certainly don’t expect everyone to be perky every day. That’s not what these pages are for. They’re mainly for times when we’re not…perking.

But what scared me today were the emails I received. People saying they were thinking of dropping out of support groups altogether (and not just mine) because of things that were said to them. Looking at comments on other pages that were flat-out disrespectful and hurtful and realizing that on the receiving end of those comments were people who were already hurting. I’ve been seriously worried all day about the people who might be checking out online support for the first time and seeing these things. Because, if that were me, I might think twice before I started sharing my deepest thoughts.

For the first time in 6 months I noticed some people weren’t being supported. They were getting beaten down.

And you know what? That’s not us.

These pages are where I turn when I need someone. These are the people who understand what I’m going through when no one else does. This is where I know it’s okay to agree to disagree…because our specific situations are different and have made us different people. And that’s okay.

As we move into the next few months, we need to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, we are there for each other. No matter what. We need to take 2 seconds and tell a stranger, “It’s okay. I’m here for you now.” We need to know that whatever comments are being made, they come from a place of love and support and that whatever comments we are making are sensitive to what someone else is going through…even though we may not specifically know what it is.

We need to always think for just a second before we hit that “comment” button about what kind of a day the other person is having. And before we get upset about what someone else has written, we need to really consider what they are saying. Is it really argumentative? Or is it possible it could be taken a different way?

Frankly, when I think about grief support I really don’t see where there is any room for argument at all. Discussion…of course. We all want our voices to be heard and our experiences to be recognized. 

But there is no reason I can see to tell anyone on these pages that they’re wrong. Or that what they’re feeling isn’t valid. We’re not here to prove a point. We’re not trying to convince someone to come to “our side.” We’re all on the same side.

And there are some days when that is the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning.

Widows: Are We Just One Weird Hair-Do Away From Being A Cult?

Okay.  You guys are going to think I’m crazy (how many blogs have I started this way???), but I always really think about the comments I make on the Facebook page and the responses that I email back to people. Because, sometimes, the thing that I initially write sounds…well….

Creepy.

I am lucky enough to be in touch with a lot of you. I love that you trust me enough, as a friend you’ve never met, to share your stories of loss and triumph. It makes me so grateful when new people join the page and make a comment introducing themselves, telling us why they’re with us. And I love how we all rally around each other, offering support, laughing through our tears, and sometimes throwing out the odd sick joke.

But sometimes when I’m writing a comment or corresponding with someone, I’ll catch myself right before I hit “send” and change what I’ve written. Because when I read, “We’re so glad that you’re with us,” sometimes I wonder if the person on the other end is envisioning some cult leader who is ready to make them sign over their mortgages and adopt 50 cats (our chosen God).

I catch myself, especially, when I’m responding to someone on Open to Hope or Hello Grief (two wonderful websites who occasionally publish what I’ve written). Because usually when someone writes how heartbroken they are about their loss and how they don’t know who to turn to, I’ll want to say, “Come join us. We’re here waiting for you.”

Now seriously. Look at my picture. Imagine me with my eyes popping out saying that. See? It IS creepy!

We have our own language (how many people do you know type (((hugs))) on a regular basis?). We recognize people who are not “one of us.” We’re ready to take on the world if it means defending one of our fellow grievers.

Throw in a crazy dress code and we’re just itching for a compound in the mountains somewhere.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I kind of like all of these things about us. We’ve formed a group and a bond that will probably never be broken. Thanks to the wonders of technology, I can now say that I have people all over the world supporting me unconditionally. And so do you.

Awhile back on the Widow Chick page, we did kind of come up with a wacky scenario about what would happen if we all lived together. If you haven’t checked it out, you really should:

http://www.facebook.com/notes.php?id=114854541866999¬es_tab=app_2347471856#!/note.php?note_id=146156368733223

Okay…now doesn’t that sound fabulous? I mean who wouldn’t want all of those perks? I bet if we really set that up, we’d be beating widows away with a stick.

Well, maybe not. We’re really not that kind of a crowd.

I guess, the point is…if we’re turning into some weird, Kleenex-carrying, chocolate-munching, wine-drinking cult, I guess I’m okay with it. I’ll still try and keep what I think of as creepy comments to a minimum, so as not to freak out the new people. And if we ever do all get together someday, I can promise you one thing.

I won’t make you eat a live chicken and burn down the compound. ‘Cause that would just be taking things a little too far.

Support is Like a Good Bra...You Don't Realize You Need It 'Til You're Sagging

Let’s face it. We’ve all reached an age where we come with some baggage. I don’t care if you’re divorced, married, widowed, or single. We all have friends who have had marital problems, fertility problems, and financial problems. Chances are we’ve all seen some things. It would be next to impossible to get through early adulthood without tasting a little of the spice of life. (In my case, I’ve tasted it, but due to some cheap beer while we were in the military, I don’t remember all of it.)

Those experiences have shaped who we are, the decisions we make, and the way we live our lives. Those experiences have determined what we like and what we look like (thanks for those extra 10 lbs., Cheap Beer). Those experiences have made us more conscious about the people in our lives and who we really invite in.

I’ll admit it. I’m getting pickier. I’m pickier about what I wear, what I eat, and I’m starting to like wine that doesn’t come in a box. I know that I can’t tolerate snoring or people who sing along with the radio when they don’t really know the words. People who can’t go with the flow and who obviously have their own agenda with no room to maneuver usually don’t make the cut.

As I get older, my friends are getting pickier too. They’re going through the same spiritual growth spurt I am. Which means, if you do the very complicated word problem I’ve laid out for you, who we hang out with is who we all really want to be with.

With pickiness comes a little bit of stubbornness. We know what we want. Our decisions are made based on our own past experiences…things that we may share with our friends, but not in 100% the same way. The decisions that I make are not yours. If they were, I’d be you. My decisions are mine and have come together because of the life I have led. I haven’t led your life. You haven’t led mine. So let’s stop trying to lead each other’s.

As we get older, we don’t always have to agree with what our friends do. And they sure as heck don’t have to agree with what we do. But there is one thing that keeps us all together.

Support.

I don’t think most people understand the definition of support. It doesn’t mean that you agree. It doesn’t even mean you have to encourage. It means that you trust your friends to make the best decisions possible…for them. If you start off a sentence with, “Well…if it were me…” then you should stop. Just stop. Because it’s not you.

I would love for everyone to repeat after me.

I support you. And I want you to be happy.

Don’t go any further. No “buts.” No “have you thought about?” No “what ifs?”

When you stop with that one phrase, you’re leaving the door open to be asked your opinion. But there is a difference between being asked and just blurting out what you think. Because when you are asked, your friend wants your opinion. When you offer it without consent…you’re implying that what the other person is doing is wrong.

I know that I’m speaking from the widow’s point of view. I can’t help it. It’s what I know. Most of us widows have been through a very hurtful process when the people we thought were supporting us, were really thinking they would do better if they were in our shoes. And I hope those people never have to really find out.

I thank the friends of mine who have taught me this lesson on how to really be supportive of someone else. I didn’t come up with it on my own. I used to always be the “well, if it were me” gal because I thought everyone should be doing what I was doing. But after so desperately needing just unconditional support and receiving it from a select few, I’ve realized how rare true SUPPORT is.

But "if it were me”…I would have been supportive all along.

For more blogs and articles from other widow(er) writers, join us at www.theWiddahood.com!  


© Catherine Tidd 2010

Holding Our Own in the Court of Public Opinion

On my commute to work this morning (by which I mean my walk down to my basement office), I started wondering about something that seems to be a common theme with all of us widows: The ability to overcome what other people think of us.

When our spouses die, the surrounding public seems to think it’s their right…no…their duty to tell us how things should be done. They watch as we bumble our way into a somewhat normal existence after our lives have been completely turned upside down. The people we know patiently wait until we “get our acts together” and get back to business as usual.

Little do they know…we have decided to close that business in order to go forth like a hippie in the 60s on a journey of self-discovery.

We get a lot of advice from the people we know about what we should do, how we should live, and the decisions we should be making. Now, realistically speaking…these people usually don’t have a leg to stand on. Most of our friends and family have never raised children completely alone. They’ve never dated in later in life. And most have never faced the hole that we now find in our lives.

In the face of all of these helpful tips, I’m reminded of some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten from my therapist: Eliminate the word “should” from your vocabulary. There is no reason why you “should” stop grieving at a certain point, even though some people expect you to. There is no reason why you “should” spend your life alone, even if it’s hard for others to watch you date. And there’s no reason why you “should” expect your life to go back to normal when deep down you know it won’t.

Our sense of normal has completely changed. The way we make decisions has completely changed. Most of us now make choices with the little voice of our spouse ringing in our ears. And it’s hard enough to think, “Well, what would he (or she) have wanted me to do if he was here?”
We certainly don’t need the added complication of wondering what everyone else thinks.

I think most of the people we know expect that there will be a time of transition from being married to being widowed. What most people don’t understand is the change that occurs within us. It would be impossible to go through this kind of loss and come out as the same person. I personally think that the changes are good. We become more sympathetic to others and have a better understanding of what they might be going through. We are (hopefully) less likely to say stupid and thoughtless things just to fill dead air. And, thanks to the way we have been scrutinized, we are less likely to truly pass judgment on others.

I know that I’m a completely different person than I used to be. I may walk and talk the same, but my thought processes are completely different. That girl who would have been completely happy being a homemaker while she watched her husband’s career take off has left the building. The girl who so deeply cared about what everyone else thinks has taken a permanent vacation. The girl who couldn’t make a decision before she asked 10 other people their opinions is on a freighter to China and we’re not really sure when she’ll be back.

That’s right everybody. That person that you went to high school with and college with or have spent every holiday with since she was born has changed. It’s not a bad thing. I think it’s pretty natural. Very few people have the opportunity, early in life, to really look at things…where we’re going, what we’re doing, and what the hell the point all of this is anyway…and decide what’s truly important. Loss cracks open a door and gives us a glimpse of what is important in life. Some people choose to kick the door open and see what’s really possible and some people just quietly close it so as not to disturb anybody.

Most people won’t benefit from this kind of self discovery until they’re much older. Think of it this way…what we have been through, everyone will go through at some point in their lives. It is impossible to get through life without a taste of tragedy. We just happen to be overachievers and have gone through it first.

The good news for all of the people we know is that they’ll have a friend who will not say a damn word about what they’re doing when that happens.


For more blogs and articles from other widow(er) writers, join us at www.theWiddahood.com! 

© Catherine Tidd 2010