Good Grief

It seems like an oxymoron. How could grief possibly be good? Obviously, we'd all prefer not to have any grief in our life, but I've learned, from a wise grief counselor, that when we do experience a loss, it's important to accept the reality of our loss and let ourselves grieve. As difficult as it may be, we need to allow ourselves to truly feel the pain of our loss—to cry, to scream, to rail against that higher power that let this happen to our loved one—and then find a way to move beyond it. After all, isn't that what our loved one would want us to do? It takes time. I'm not sure I'm ready yet. I'm still working on letting myself feel the loss.

Several years ago I read a book by Lolly Winston entitled "Good Grief."It is a novel about a woman who became a widow at age 36. The story is both heart wrenching and funny, as the main character tries to come to terms with her husband's death and reinvent her life. She wants to be a graceful and composed widow, like Jackie Kennedy, but, instead, she is "more of a Jack Daniels kind." Of course, when I read the book, I never thought I'd ever actually be a widow, but now that I am, I found myself thinking about the book and recalling one passage in particular: "The funny thing about rock bottom is there's stuff underneath. You think, This is it: I'm at the bottom now. It's all uphill from here! Then you discover the escalator goes down one more floor to another level of the bargain basement of junk."
I think that passage very accurately, and creatively, describes the process of grief.

All the literature on grief describe stages of grief, but emphasizes that it is not a linear process. There are good days and bad days. And just when you think you are having a good day, you walk into the garage and see your husband's golf clubs sitting there, with his cap perched on the head of his 5-wood…

The Beginning

I never saw myself as a widow—I suppose no one does—but that's how the world sees me now. I guess I have no choice but to accept it as my new identity. I don't have to let it define me, though, and that's what I'm working on now.

How does a widow act? What is she supposed to do? I guess the obvious answer is: "Be yourself. Just be yourself." That should be the easy part, but it's difficult to be yourself when your heart is broken. The man I've loved since I was 20 years old died on June 24, 2009, one day after our 47th wedding anniversary. It's been two months now and I still find it hard to believe he's gone. He was one of the truly "good guys," and it's just not fair.

For several weeks after Art died, I woke up every morning with a knot in my stomach, and my first thoughts were:: "I can't do this. I don't want to do this." I desperately wanted my old life back. I still do, but I think I'm finally beginning to accept the fact that my life has been irrevocably changed. As difficult as it is to face, I have to build a new life without Art. I still wake up with a knot in my stomach most mornings, but I'm starting to believe that maybe I can do this.

The good part is I don't have to do it alone. Although I am now physically alone in this retirement home Art and I shared for the last nine years, I'm not really alone. I have four wonderful, loving children who call me every day, a very caring extended family, and a whole community of supportive friends and neighbors who are determined not to let me be lonely.

Before he died, I promised Art I would be okay. It's not going to be easy, but I will keep that promise.