The Emotional Chaos of Widowhood: The Reemergence of the Individual

After I watched my husband struggle two days for breath, he allowed me to take him to the hospital that Sunday night. I was so relieved that he was going to get the help he needed and that we would return home shortly with some medication to help him breath and get some rest. As I drove him to the hospital, I realized how much pain he was in as he complained about how slow I was driving and at the same time to "take the bumps and curves easy. "

At the hospital, the doctors told me he had double pneumonia and would be in intensive care unit for at least a couple of weeks. They then questioned me on how long he had been sick, if he engaged in activities putting him at high risk for AIDS, and if he was a heavy drinker. I should have taken the hint at this point that he was more ill than they had let on. All the negative answers I gave them seemed to be perplexing.

Later that night around 2:30, I got to see him. He had tubes and wires attached to every part of his body. He was awake and I held his pinky finger since it was the only part of his body free from all the medical attachments. I noticed the blood passing through the tube from his lungs. The nurses told me he wasn't in pain, that they had given him morphine. At this point, again I should have been alerted to the seriousness, but could only think, "Oh great. Now after we get through all this we're going to have to kick a morphine addiction." I wanted him to rest and told him I would be nearby in the waiting room. As I left him I turned around and whispered, "I love you." and softly blew a kiss across the room. He lifted his hand and nodded.

I tried to sleep in the waiting room chairs, but I only sat with my eyes closed. Every footstep drew my attention as I denied I was even there. My in-laws sat next to me and whispered in the shadowed darkness.

A nurse came an hour later, told us his condition had deteriorated and they wanted us in a private waiting room inside the intensive care unit. We waited while the minutes seemed like hours. A nurse quietly opened the door and told us he was nonresponsive. I then realized I was to become a widow very soon that day. They were able to revive him, but only to have his heart stop two hours later. By this time, I had realized I needed help and asked the nurses call my pastor.

As the doctors tried to restart his heart, my pastor came in and prayed with us. My mother(who had been watching our son at our home) had called my father and he came in to sit with me.

The doctors came in continually repeating the same news, "They're still working on him." Finally they came in with a grim face and said they did all they could. We knew he was gone. I felt I was half gone, too. I was somewhere floating overhead watching this scene of myself discussing arrangements with my in-laws. My father tried to comfort me, but I was cold. I didn't feel anything. As I left the ICU, I told a past acquaintance that I hoped his son would be getting well and would be leaving soon healthy. I told him that I would pray that his situation turned out better than mine.

My father wanted me to go home with him and leave my car. I just laughed and said, "I'm all right. I can drive." He agreed only if he could follow me.

I arrived at my parent's house, where Mom had taken my son home with her. I then had to tell my nine year old son that he would not ever see his daddy again. I felt as though I was experimenting with his feelings; that this wasn't real, that I was playing a cruel joke on him. I held him close to me as he cried on my bosom and I cried for the hurt I had just caused him.

My sister telephoned me long distance, shortly after we calmed down. I spoke with her as she sobbed and gave me her sympathy. She told me her life had been greatly changed by Bill and that she would miss him so much. She reiterated how Bill had introduced her to her husband, and that she would not have found this man and had her two daughters if not for Bill's matchmaking. I assured her that it would be okay, that we all will survive, and that we had to pick up and go on.

A temporary disconnecting of some or all the affect from aspects of the cognitive images: this is most marked at the point of numbed shock and can lead to someone behaving and talking as if he or she is merely a member of an audience looking in, rather than a member of the family. (Walsh 132)

Nothing is normal. Feelings of shock, disbelief, protest, and denial are rampant. Death is a forced separation; a tearing apart. You feel severed and raw, your emotions scattered to the wind. If the death was sudden and unexpected, the anguish is more acute. You may feel an actual physical shock when you first get the news. (O'Connor 15)

A state of numbness and disbelief takes hold.... denial stage usually lasts from four to six weeks. Sometimes a person feels guilty during this time because she doesn"t "feel" anything. She may not cry at the funeral, or she may take care of others who are expressing their grief. This is normal. (32)

Some individuals show what psychiatrists term a dissociative flight from the impact of death--a pattern of denial that can become so extreme that it forms the core of a psychotic reaction. Some people clearly recognize their loss but appear unable or unwilling to grieve. (Kastenbaum 247)

I recall that I was able to arrange the details with little difficulty. I picked out the casket with great calm, and said the gray one would look good with his suit. I nitpicked over the itemized list of expenses we were ordering and even laughed saying, "I can see Bill now, having a good laugh over my scrutiny of the funeral bill." I felt as though he were still with me. When I ordered the funeral spray, I chose blue tipped carnations. He always knew anything blue would please me, as he knew it was my favorite color. I felt as though he told me to get the color I liked, that it didn't matter to him.

Denial of the loss, when the dear person is felt to be still present...or the death is accepted but the separation is not, so that the bereaved person feels him or herself to be in spiritual or telepathic communication. The relationship is thus felt to continue despite the death. (Walsh 132)

Notifying relatives and friends, funeral arrangements, newspaper notices, death certificates and a myriad of other details demand your attention.

Often, the activity is a blessing in disguise. You are involved in the act of giving or paying tribute to your loved one. (O'Connor 16)

I was so numb through the visitation and services at the funeral home and the cemetery chapel. I didn't feel anything but a deep dullness. Occasionally my subconscious would allow me to cry or weep, but it seemed as if that was what was expected of me. I sometimes felt as if I were playacting. I would scold myself, and say "What's wrong with you! You know you loved Bill, why aren't you hurting? You did love him, didn't you?" I went on like this appearing to be happy for six or eight weeks. My life went on as if nothing had happened. I knew that this was supposed to be a rough time in my life, but I was so afraid of not being able to hold it together that I denied it. After all, I had a son to care for, and that alone scared me. I have always had an independent streak in me and felt I had to prove it to everyone that I was invincible.

When family loyalty demands a certain response that does not fit with true feelings, the mourning process is delayed or, in some cases, avoided completely. Until family members can mourn, they remain-to a greater or lesser degree-stuck. (Walsh 51)

I knew that I had to get Bill's personal belongings out of the house. They were reminders that someone had lived there and I didn't want to reminisce painfully at every turn. This had been my home for seven years and I didn't want everything to change in my life; this was my safe haven. This was the one thing I would not allow to change and had control over.

I threw out all of his old stained work clothes. I gave some others to Goodwill. My son was able to wear some of the clothes, and he didn't seem to mind that they had been his dad's. It was almost as if he accepted them as he realized he was to become the "man of the house". The biggest reminder of Bill's life was his volunteer firefighter pager and uniform. I turned them in quickly knowing that the pager was vital to the saving of lives. This activity led to restless nights and crazy dreams about Bill returning home and being upset with me for removing all his belongings. I thought that I might be crossing over into a dangerous emotional situation and stopped removing his things for a while.

Sleep is often restless and may include disturbing dreams, waking in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep, or waking at 5 a.m. exhausted and tense. ...you may want to make an effort to change them, or to seek counseling to talk about your progress or where you are stuck. (O'Connor 17)

The two weeks following Bill's death, I noticed a restless pattern developing. Every day I would start pacing the floor and looking out the window down the road. I did this for several days and couldn't understand why. Finally, I stopped myself in exasperation and studied this habit. I finally realized what I was doing. It was shortly after 4 o"clock: the time everyday that Bill had arrived home from work.

When people live together, lots of habits are formed. Small ways of interacting are often taken for granted....these routine situations are interrupted, you must reprogram your expectations at the emotional, physical, and psychic levels. Daily there are little reminders that the fabric of your life has been torn. (O'Connor 16)

I began to wonder and worry if Bill had known he was dying. I knew he loved life and us too much to leave. I remembered how upset he was in the emergency room when they told him he would be there at least two or three weeks—unable to work, socialize and experience the excitement that he always found in life. I tried putting myself in his place knowing how he would have worried, had he known death was at his doorstep. I was later assured by an attending nurse, that he had not known he was dying. He was so ill and drugged that he just felt he was going to sleep. That relieved me. I knew he was so exhausted from being awake for three days that he would have appreciated the sleep that had eluded him.

Identifying with the victim can reduce the guilt of being to blame either for causing the death or for failing to accept the realities of the separation. (Walsh 133)

A week after Bill's death, I ran into a friend in the grocery store. I explained how confused I was and that I hurt in a different way compared with my grandmother"s death. My grandmother had died a long drawn out death. I recall I even had trouble accepting her death as approaching and denied it until the funeral service. This was the only previous experience I had with mourning and didn't understand.

Premature deaths that are "off-time" in terms of chronological or social expectations, such as early widowhood, early parent loss, or death of a child tend to be more difficult for families to come to terms with than "timely" deaths. Prolonged mourning, often lasting many years, is common. (Walsh 31)

As life seemed to progress on, I was constantly reminded that "Bill is missing this and Bill won't get to see that." Each daily event in my life was put back in my mind to tell Bill about when I saw him again, only to remember I could never do that again. My biggest grief seemed to be that he did not live to see his only son reach manhood, something we had ironically talked about a couple of weeks before his death. With each passing event in our lives, I grieved for these losses.

As the grieving process typically progresses, the implications of the death are accepted, however painful they may be, and members of the family can then act in the full knowledge of the real situation facing them. ... their "assumptive world" changes from one in which the dead person will go on taking certain roles in an unfolding life script, to one where it is accepted that those situations in which the dead person would have been involved will now never happen or will be significantly altered. (Walsh 32)

My in-laws, while I was trying to reassemble my life, started harping on me about buying the burial plot next to my husband. I kept telling them I was still young and didn"t know what my future would hold. I kept saying I could remarry and easily live with my new husband 30 or 40 years. I didn't want to be tied to someone I had spent only 14 years with. They tried to make me feel guilty, saying, "You don't want a stranger next to him, do you?" This went on for several weeks almost to the point where I didn't ever want to see them again. But I was forced to make sure that we had a good relationship because my son was our remaining link. I couldn't ask my son and in-laws to give up each other too.

Relationships between the surviving spouse and in-laws, which are commonly strained at this phase of the life cycle, often become more complicated without the mellowing of the years and without grandchildren. (Walsh 35)

My son, Will, was as strong as ever. He never openly cried after we returned home, but when I could sense he was sad, I would sit beside him and hold him, thereby assuring him that he was not alone. When I knew he was on his way home from school or walked into the room, I would wipe away my tears, not wanting him to see me crying. I knew that if I gave in to depression, he would too. We kept each other strong.

For the surviving spouse the loss of a mate at this life phase is complicated by financial and caretaking obligations for the children which can interfere with the tasks of mourning. Children are likely to distract the bereaved parent from grieving in order to maintain the functioning of their only surviving parent. (Fulmer 85)

Symptoms in a child may serve such a function of distraction. (Walsh 37)

I often felt I needed to talk to Bill and would go to his grave. Before the monument was erected, I really felt awkward talking to an anonymous flat piece of ground. I took a blue silk flower to his grave on our 15th anniversary and told him he should remember this flower. I had removed it from the arrangement on our dining room table where we had shared so many dinners. I told him that I had a beautiful monument on order for him, that people would soon be able to find him when they came to visit. He loved to be around people and I felt uneasy when people would say they had been there and couldn't find the grave.

On another occasion, I had been really feeling that I should remove my wedding rings. I had a break between classes and went outside in the early crisp spring air. The sun was shining brightly as I sat on the bench alone and looked toward the direction of the cemetery and the sky above. I told him that I had loved him greatly, but that I had to get on with my life; that he would always have a special place in my heart. I then removed my rings and placed them in my purse. I wiped away my tears as I felt a huge burden lifted and returned to my classes with a lighter load.

By continuing to communicate to your dead loved one, you can complete the relationship. Many people report a sensing or feeling of the presence of the deceased around them. These experiences are neither strange or abnormal; they can be a great comfort to the survivor and in time will be less important. (O'Connor 18)

Many widows and widowers continue to wear their wedding rings during the first year of mourning. The ring is a signal to the world that they are not yet ready to pursue other relationships. It is also a form of denial and indication of the continuing emotional connection to the dead spouse. The ring must go eventually-the sooner the better-just as the clothes in the closet, and other personal items of the deceased must go...the ring is a symbolic link with the past. To successfully build a new life, you must relinquish the past. (52)

I got up one morning and fell right into my routine of getting dressed and was thinking of when I was young, single and carefree. As I put on my make-up and styled my hair, I checked the clock to make sure I was not running late. I stepped into the hall as if stepping into another time zone of my life. There lay my son peacefully asleep in his bedroom. I panicked as I realized I had forgotten all about him. I feared that I was losing my mind. How could I forget something as important to me as my only child? I rushed him out of bed and got his breakfast ready, trying to get us both to school on time.

Worry and feeling helpless are common early in the grieving process and are normal aspects of the depression experienced in grief. Concern about being able to take care of yourself, of meeting basic survival needs, or having the energy to get through another day may surface from time to time. These feelings are normal and in time will pass. Memory lapses are also common now. (O'Connor 21)

The mind of a grieving person may not work very well either. The concentration and memory problems already mentioned increase the person's risk to others as well as himself or herself... a parent who fails to notice household hazards, or as a worker who becomes careless on the job.

It is not uncommon for people in acute grief to feel that they are "going crazy", that they will keep "getting worse and worse and then just fall all apart". This is one reason why people who have previously experienced grief and have since found their way back can be very helpful to those who are in the midst of such experiences. (Katsenbaum 248)

I was feeling extremely depressed a couple of months later. I had to get out of the house. I went to the financial institution where I had worked 10 years ago and they noticed I wasn't doing well. While I was making my withdrawal, the teller that had been hired after I quit told me she knew what I was going through. I asked her if my feelings were normal, because I was so confused. I related to her that I felt like my life with Bill had been a dream and I had just awakened. She talked with me about how she handled it and warned me, it never goes away--it just gets weaker with time. I then asked her how long it had been and she told me it had happened to her 30 years ago. She had remarried and was happy, but said, "You never forget your first husband." I felt more confident that I was not going crazy, after talking to her. I began to wonder if there was a support group for young widows and widowers.

Untimely loss is harder to bear: It seems unjust to die "before one's time" just as it seems a cruel misfortune for the surviving family. Family life cycle timing and social expectations, as well as chronological years, contribute to the untimeliness of a death and the impact of loss on survivors. For instance, widowhood in early marriage is much more difficult than in later life because of unfulfilled hoped and dreams, the lack of fit with other couples at the same life phase, and the lack of models of the same cohort for adjustment to widowhood. (Walsh 18)

As the feelings of loneliness dulled, I began to realize that my life was going to be different. I was perplexed as to who I was, what was to become of my life, and how my life's goals were to change. I began to think of the positive aspects of this. I could style my hair and dress however I chose. I could go wherever I desired, whenever I desired. Basically, I could do what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. With this realization came excitement. It was as if I was getting reacquainted with someone I had not known in years—me. But, along with this independence, came the feelings that I alone was now responsible for my life. Any decisions made from here on out were my sole responsibility. I could not filter these decisions with my husband, nor could he share the burden if they did not turn out right. What do I do without someone to share the load?

Another type of loss is the loss of a role. Roles are the most common ways that we define ourselves in our culture. Marital status, the type of job you have, the level of education, are all social roles.

You may feel lost or confused because the role of wife is no longer available to supply the sense of identification. (O'Connor 171)

...when the crisis is unexpected, such as sudden death or accident, or an unanticipated conflict, the trauma may be so great that you will undergo an extended period of instability and confusion. Your former life will be gone forever; you can never go back. Your experience will change you, for better or worse, and you will never be exactly the same as you were. How well you acknowledge and manage the changes and losses will decide how comfortably you will proceed into the future. (157)

I have come to realize that I had friends all along, but they now seem new to me. One of my husband's closest friends has become very dear to me. I never knew that he was my friend, too. He called to check on me frequently. He stopped by the house to see if I needed anything. I looked outside one morning after a snowfall and there he was shoveling my driveway. I felt that I could go to him when I was really feeling down. He sympathized with me, and knew what I was going through as he related his divorce being just as traumatic for him. I don't have any brothers, but I can imagine what it is to have a brother in the caring I have found in this friend.

My next door neighbors have become very good friends to me also. They checked on me and also stepped in when I needed a hand. They fed my dog and took care of her while I was staying at my parent's house the week of Bill's death.

I had been away from church for years, but the way everyone helped me and the love they expressed brought me back into the church. I made new friends. I enjoyed the extracurricular activities and still do.

I had been so engrossed in my husband's life and my marriage that I had forgotten I could have a life too.

Some of your new friends will have had similar experiences. Together, you can move into your new lives. Start sharing leisure activities or special interest with new people. Get involved in life. (O'Connor 54)

Six months later, I really was proud of how well I was handling this situation and was feeling great. Several weeks had gone by without one episode of loneliness, helplessness or devastation. I thought I was over it, once and for all. Then for no reason at all it hit again. I could only think of Bill and how I missed his smile and his sneaky little mischievous grin. I yearned for his touch and the way that he held me in his arms. I was devastated and feared that I was going to have to start all over again to recover to the point I had previously reached.

People who felt they had recovered completely from the pangs of grief might be engulfed in a wave of distress months or years later.

...Grief, then is not only a formidable emotional state, but one that may return at various points in time. (Kastenbaum 249)

My mother recalls that I once told her years ago that I had a funny feeling that I was not going to grow old with Bill, that I, for some strange reason, was not going to be able to spend the rest of my life with him. I remember telling her I didn't believe I would fall to pieces, that I could survive, if I had to. Some inner intuition was preparing me for the worst. I had always felt I could make it on my own, that I would always have myself to fall back on. That although I had become greatly dependent upon my husband, I could manage without, if forced to do so.

This position requires an openness to change and loss, views them as opportunities to gain more depth as a person, to discover more about one's self. It requires a commitment to believing that life is a process; that uncertainty is expected, that change and flux are the norm. It requires a confidence in the undiscovered parts of oneself, and a belief that one has the necessary resources to endure any life crisis.

This openness to change requires the knowledge or belief that no matter how painful the circumstances, you can feel despair and anguish and survive. This person knows that she will not perish in fear and hopelessness. (O'Connor 163)

The one thing I find difficult to handle is explaining to someone my marital status. I don't want pity—but I feel like a odd person that just doesn't fit in traditional roles. I am not comfortable with the term single mother, even though I now am one. The only way I feel comfortable when asked if I'm married, is to answer, "I'm a widow." This has become a peculiar way of monitoring new acquaintances—some people back off and others seem genuinely interested. If I receive pity, I am offended. If they completely ignore my answer as if it fell on deaf ears, I am offended. This seems to be the one area I have difficulty in now, my new role.

Eight months after the funeral, I met Bill's aunt, whom I had not seen since then. She looked at me with sorrowful eyes and asked how I was doing. I told her I was doing fine. She went on about how difficult it can be and she knew what I was going through since she had lost her husband several years ago. I kept telling her there was no need to dwell on it, we can't change the past, and that its best just to go on and try to have a happy life. She just kept looking at me and talking in the same mournful tone. I got exasperated and flatly ignored her.

When the mourner returns to social activity, treat him as a normal person. Avoid pity—it destroys self respect. Simple understanding is enough. Acknowledge the loss, the change in his life, but don't dwell on it. (O'Connor 182)

Throughout this bereavement process, I have experienced just about every emotion possible: shock, denial, guilt, internal conflict, extreme mania, sorrow, worry, and fear of insanity. The only emotion I have not experienced is anger. I have peace with God, and know that it was meant to be. I don't question why. I am not angry at my husband—he did not choose to leave us. It just happened.

Every bad experience that I have had in my life has always been necessary for something good to happen later on. I travel through life enjoying it, knowing that this mass of confusion known as grief is passing like sands in an hourglass, soon to be only a memory of what used to be. My life must go on in new and different destinations, just as the changing flow of a stream that cuts a new direction.

Grief is like the Odyssey of Ulysses, full of the unknown, through uncharted territory and internal battles, and accompanied by fears of losing control and of going crazy....You have to clean out the old to make way for the new. The sooner you let go of the pain and the past, the sooner you can start on your new path. (O'Connor 178)

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." (Holy Bible Psalm 30:5 )

Eventually, death comes to every home. Depression and grief are normal. But night need not last forever. There comes a morning when we realize that life goes on. (Hastings)

Now that I have researched this subject, and have learned that my reactions were normal, I can look on to the future knowing that I have endured and conquered a most difficult obstacle in life. I feel stronger and more confident than ever before in my life. I really do believe in the quote by Tennyson, "It is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all." I would not have forgone loving this man, even if I had known the inevitable cost.

Works Cited

Fulmer, Ralph. Journal of Marital and Family Therapy. 27 (1983): 85-87.

Hastings, Robert J. "The Pain of Death, Then Peace." Baptist Bulletin Service Atlanta: August 1, 1993.

HOLY BIBLE. King James Version.

Kastenbaum, Robert J. Death, Society, and Human Experience. New York : MacMillan, 1991.

O'Connor, Nancy, Ph.D. Letting Go With Love: The Grieving Process. Phoenix, Arizona: La Mariposa   Press, 1984.

Walsh, Froma and Monica McGoldrick. Living Beyond Loss-Death in the Family. New York:   W.W. Norton, 1991.

Abstract

I only knew two people that had lost a spouse to death. Both were elderly and felt lost and all alone when their life long companion had died. Therefore, when I had to live this experience I was confused as to the myriad emotions I was encountering. I was under the belief that grief or bereavement for a widow should be a prolonged agony of depression and sorrow. These were the only emotions I was prepared to meet. When the other feelings came rushing in unannounced, helter skelter, I feared I was abnormal.

In fact, I was so concerned that I was not responding in this preconceived notion, I wanted to research this subject shortly after I noticed this discrepancy. But again my fear kept me from doing so. What if someone were to see me researching bereavement? They would surely think I was crazy!

My requirement of selecting a research subject was used as an excuse to investigate this befuddling situation. By finding my reactions as normal, I felt driven to express that this widely mistaken belief regarding grief, mourning, and bereavement for a young spouse is not always simultaneous with only depression and sorrow. I wanted to point out that other emotions come into play, and all are normal responses. I needed to show that through this process the surviving half can emerge as an individual, a stronger distinct individual—not just a spiritless leftover of another life.

—Phyllis McKenzie, Eng. 102, Spring 1994

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