Helping Others Find Their Way

If there is one thing I could convey to a person in the initial circumstances of grief, it would be that I wish I had someone who had been through something like this to come alongside me and tell me to slow down – don’t start making life-altering changes right away – be patient. But no; like so many other things in my life up to that point, I would try to "put this in a box and put it away.” Mom used to tell me I had a “gut it and bag it” philosophy: experience it, handle the immediate situation, and put it away. Pull it out now and then to look at it, but for the most part, I thought I was supposed to leave it in a box and move on. So, I did.

In those earlier years of trying to deal with life following Robert’s death, I made a lot of mistakes and often lamented that I wished I could start over from the day of his accident and make different choices. I had made such a mess of things, and I desperately wanted a do-over. I said it so much, that I was asked one day, “Why do you always want to go back to that day? Why not wish to go back to before the accident?” My explanation was, “Why would I want to experience that again? I want to go back to when I had the power to make choices – I didn’t choose the accident – that was out of my hands - God took Robert for a reason. I wanted to go back to when I had the power to do things differently.”

Far too early after his death, I wanted to start writing about my experiences. I naively thought I could help others already - I had already been through so much. I wrote the first draft of what I thought might be a book to help others. Unfortunately, I was under the impression that, once I had made it through that first year, I’d be OK. I was “all better”. Remember the “gut it and bag it” mentality? Turns out, I’m not entirely one to compartmentalize so easily. Who would? Grief is not a “one-and-done” process. I worked on the book off and on for months and then thought I had enough to send to a publisher. I got back a “you’re not ready” letter, was devastated, and put the book away. Turns out it was more like a diary than a helpful book, so I didn’t try again for many years.

Often, over the last 20-plus years, I have pondered writing my story, and I’ve often wondered what direction it should go – what story is it meant to share? Do I even have enough of a story to tell? Who cares that I "did it wrong" and made some terrible errors in judgment? The answer as I see it? The most important thing is to slow down and listen.

I sometimes view my experiences with the grieving process as a study of “what not to do”. I’ve used my mistakes and shared them with others, to hopefully help them navigate those first difficult years. Yes, everyone’s situation is different but some truths stand firm in each situation:

• You’re going to have a “foggy brain” for a while…maybe months. Let others help – slow down and listen.

• Don’t make life-altering decisions without carefully considering the consequences. Get opinions and advice from people you love and trust - slow down and listen.

• Rely on those close to you to help you see things clearly - slow down and listen.

• As a parent, it is crucial to help children grieve, to try to get that male or female influence in their lives that is now missing, if possible, depending on which parent is now gone. Slow down and listen.

For some, life stops completely – the death of a partner is too much to bear. Slowing down is no problem, but that’s not the issue; stopping completely and withdrawing from life is not healthy either. Grief cannot be ignored – it WILL rear its ugly head again and again until you deal with it. The pain must be faced – avoiding it and pushing it down or letting it completely overwhelm can lead to other complications: depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and a host of other possible health problems.

Many, like me, run full-force ahead, trying to do “life for two”, trying to compensate for their missing partner – trying to take care of everything all at the same time – trying to display strength to those around them. This isn’t healthy either – it’s ignoring the grief differently – not shutting down, but just shoving it aside. The same issues of depression, anxiety, etcetera, are still a possible risk.

The trauma caused by the death of a close loved one actually physically shifts our brains into survival mode. Just because it wasn’t a visible trauma to the body, it is absolutely no different than losing a limb. You HAVE to learn how to do things again, just in a different way. Loss of a leg, for example, would force you to learn how to manage a wheelchair or a prosthetic, and it takes a lot of time.

It doesn’t matter how much time it takes – “time” for grieving is irrelevant. There is no checklist to go through; grief doesn’t “end” when you’ve finished checked the last box off the list: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. When it was still new, I thought, “This will take a year and then it’ll be over.” Check…check…check…Done. Ah, if only it worked like that.

The “stages of grief” do not happen like that and certainly not in any specific order. Just as everyone experiences it differently, not everyone experiences every stage. I, for example, was never angry. Not once. I knew God had a reason, whether I thought I could figure out what it was or not – He did not owe me an explanation. I vacillated between some of the other stages at different times, in no particular order. Ultimately, it took a lot longer than I ever believed it should have. There’s that "should" word again.

I will likely never say, “I’m all better now.” I can say, “I am good with where life is right now.” I am thankful for the time I did get to have him in my life. I am thankful that God brought someone into my life and let me love like that again. I am thankful that I have the experience to draw on to help others navigate this type of trauma; there is a special place in my heart for widows.

My experience may very well be a study in “what not to do”, but if it helps even one person avoid the muck I trudged through, then it was worth it. I do know, there is absolutely no way I could have done any of it without my faith or the support of my family.