Surviving Widowhood: Grief Recovery

I watched a video this week featuring Dog The Bounty Hunter. He recently lost his wife to cancer, and he was pretty broken up about it. It was heart breaking to see this tough, burly, street-smart man weep like a baby. He obviously loved his wife very much, which you could tell, if you’ve ever watched his TV show. It touched my heart, and I’m still thinking about it a few days later.

Even though some of us may have experienced anticipatory grief (for example, if your loved one had been given a terminal diagnosis, and was ill for a while), the pain and shock of their passing still takes its toll. We grieve early, but it seems to me, the grieving process may be longer because we grieve both before and after.

Dog The Bounty Hunter was positive his wife was gonna beat cancer and be healed. She didn’t and she wasn’t. She died, leaving Dog to sort through both his unrealized expectations and his grief. Has anyone else had that happen to them? Asking God to heal, yet He doesn’t? And I know some are going to say, “Oh, it’s the ultimate healing. They’re in heaven!” Tell that to the distraught husband cradling his lost loved one in his arms after an 18 month battle with cancer. Or tell that to a parent who just got the news their daughter died from an overdose. Or tell that to a wife who is sitting alone in a hospital waiting room when the doctor comes in and tells her her husband lost his battle with heart disease. Tell that to the mother who suffered a stillborn birth. Tell that, and see what response you get.

Im not questioning the veracity of the statement. I’m questioning the wisdom of it. Yes, of course, we are healed when we get to heaven. What has that got to do with what happens here on earth? We who have lost a spouse do not want to hear that and, in absolute honestly, it ticks us off. We don’t need a reminder of the prayers that went unanswered and seemingly ignored.

Tell us instead that you love us. Tell us a story about how our loved one impacted your life. Tell us you are praying for us. Tell us you are there for us when others have gone and forgotten our grief. Tell us our grief is okay. Tell us we are not going to die and we still have purpose. Tell us to breathe. But don’t mouth pithy phrases. Silence is better. If you don’t know what to say, hug us sit silently with us and cry with us. Be the awkward friend at that moment and we will love you for it forever.

After being a widow for a little over five years, I can tell you, things do change. Perspective changes. Things get better and our futures get brighter. Different isn’t necessarily a bad thing—it’s only whatever you make it. We survive, we live, we dream, and we perhaps love again, if we’re lucky. But make no mistake—we are never the same as we used to be. I don’t mean that negatively. What I mean is we are changed, but we aren’t necessarily altered in a negative way. For me, I am a better person having survived widowhood. I am a more compassionate person having watched the suffering of one I loved. I am a more patient person with people. I love more and I live more. I recognize how short life is. I see how important it is to grab time and hold it close to my heart when I babysit my grandkids. I laugh more when I’m out with a friend. I tell people I love them, when before I would’ve been mostly silent about it. Because this one statement, this is true—LIFE IS SHORT!

Please don’t think I’m being fussy today. I’m not. I’m merely writing what was on my heart after watching a man who seemingly has everything weep for his spouse. It touched my heart, and hence today’s blog. God bless, everyone!