moving on after bereavement

The poem seems to sum it up completely. I have cut it out of the Times to wave about at people! Think I may blow it up and put in a prominent position in my house. I was asked, recently, how I was getting on - the result: tears and a hasty exit from the village Chemist's shop. If it looks as if someone is going to ask I just flap my hands around and say 'don't talk about it' and move on quickly to the weather or something else.

Gally, there are no words, are there.....xx

I have printed off the poem, too. I think I'll try and memorise it.
A couple of months after Ken died a neighbour asked me if I'd got used to my new lifestyle. I told him a lifestyle is what you choose, and I hadn't chosen this.
He hasn't spoken to me since.
Even well-meaning friends ask me what I am doing for me?
I say everything because there's nobody else in the house to do it for now, except when family visit.
I am reading Alfie Boe's autobiography. I hadn't realised his father had died of a brain tumour. The chapter about his dad made me cry a lot, so I do not know if I dare pass the book on to my son, who was with me when his dad died.

The daily loss that lasts eternally
THIS just about sums it up for me.

Like others I have just read the whole of this thread in tears. I salute all you courageous women and send (((hugs)))

As we all know, it is very hard to find the right words to say to someone who has suffered such a bereavement. Sometimes we unwittingly say the wrong thing - but better indeed to say something rather than nothing.

Maybe you ladies who are in this sad situation can help the rest of us by telling us what helped you most in terms of actions and words, then we can try and get it right next time a friend or neighbour is in this situation. I would certainly find this advice helpful. I know I try to get it right, as we all do, but never feel sure that I hit the spot.

Mishap I think we all deal with the situation differently. I appreciate it when people talk to me; if I'm having a particularly bad day I will just wave or smile and get on my way and they understand. Men are the most difficult; most of them don't know what to do. I told our fish man (he comes 3x a week!) that J had died and he mumbled 'oh dear, that's not good - 3 haddock fillets then?' and I see others approaching and beating a hasty retreat or ducking into a shop so they don't have to say anything. I'm not embarrassed about talking, although sometimes I don't want to and if I'm having a good day, I will certainly bring up the D subject. Possibly they are afraid the tears will be turned on - so what - we all do it at quite the unexpected moment! Weekends are bad - everyone is off doing their own thing and although a lot of friends include me, it isn't quite the same. I have only been invited out to dinner once since January in mixed company which is difficult to deal with - so ladies, we widows aren't after your husbands (in fact we'd prefer to be with our own) but it would be nice not to be totally cut off the dinner-party list . So, as far as It affects me, I am happy for life to carry on as 'normal' as it possibly can be and yes, I do want people to talk.

As for how to deal with us immediately after the event, contact is paramount. Friends came by at odd times of the day with small things - food, a bottle of wine, flowers or just gave me a hug and all that helped greatly. Listening to us going over and over and over events (in my case how J died and how I coped with police, GP surgery, coroner etc) so being a good listener is a must as are plenty of tissues and patience! Help with the most mundane things which get forgotten in the heat of the moment - shopping, picking up relatives from the aiport or station etc.....
Perhaps we should start a 'How to Help a Widow/er's' blog

That would certainly be a good idea for a blog Gally - in some ways I imagine it was easier when there were very set rules about mourning and what people should do.
x

As far as dinner invitations go, Gally the same goes for divorce as far as I'm concerned. As soon as ex went, the invitations dried up. I was asked out to tea or an evening meal en famille but never with couples.

As for rules - there used to be rules for mourning, but you can never make rules for grief.

gally we all grieve in our own way. So many people just don't know what to say, or end up saying the 'wrong' thing. And most people can't just listen. There's nothing can take the pain away or make things 'better' but with time and friends we can learn how to manage the loss. (((Hugs)))

Kindest thoughts for all of you who have lost your dear partners. Did anyone read the interview with Charles Saatchi in last weekend's Times (I think)? He was married to the novelist Josephine Hart, who died last year from ovarian cancer. He is clearly heartbroken, but talked of his anger at being expected to 'move on'. For him, this would seem, he said, like the greatest betrayal. He still sets the table for two, and lays out the newspapers as she liked to read them. This resonated with me, as I've longed thought that grieving, and adapting, are surely very individual, and I'm sure if I lost my husband, the last thing I'd want to do is move on. He is so much a part of me, and reading all your posts has made me thankful that I still have him. Thank you for sharing.

I echo your post Hummingbird.

Gally thanks for your post. I will try to remember it and act accordingly.

A beautiful poem, lucid.

On my recent visit to the UK, I went to the tiny graveyard where my Mum is buried and tidied it up a bit. Leaving, I was fiddling with the gate's chain/hook combo., crying, when a man came alongside and opened it for me. He said "It's hard, isn't it". Whether he meant the gate or my evident emotion I've no idea, but it was just the right words to hear, at the right time. I'll never forget the simplicity and kindness in that comment.

Butty How comforting xx

I now have another reason for keeping Ken's ashes where they are.
I was going to put them near some trees that we bought in his name, but with the Ash tree problem, I do not want to do that yet, just in case they all get dug up again. There's holly, his tree, and ash and rowan all in the same place.
I have to switch the light on in the bedroom when it starts getting dark, like now, because I do not want him to be left in the dark, even though I know he's not there.
In the Spring, whenever I was walking up the hill and someone would say to me, "It's a lovely day" I would burst into tears and say no it isn't, and have to explain. Nobody mentions the weather to me anymore.
I cannot shop for one either, so it's lucky that I live in the same village as my son and his family.

Jendurham

Oh Jendurham....just carry on doing what you're doing. It's the right thing. xx

It is eight days since my friend's son died. She rang me today, the first time she felt she could talk. Last night was the first time she slept and yesterday she ate. The funeral is on Wednesday.

People can help by talking to you - about anything not necessarily anything important, and by being interested in what you are doing. I don't just mean how you are doing but what small projects you are engaged in to fill your days and occupy your mind - small beer but essential distractions.

You need people to listen when you want to talk about him, and not be anxious that you might disintegrate all over them. They don't have to put on exaggeredly sad sympathetic expressions and tell you how awful it must be - you know that without being told. As Butty said, just saying "It's hard, isn't it?" shows that they are aware. That is enough.

Sometimes you need someone else's ideas for outings or activities to give you another interest. Until you are alone all day, you take for granted how much you depend on another presence in your life, even if he spends a lot of the time playing golf or watching some incredibly boring TV programme.

For 15 years I was Ken's carer, although for the first 14 I used to get annoyed when he called me that. However, it did get me into many places cheap or even for free.
The last year I did not mind so much as I really was by then.
He also said I was his walking stick. People used to say, "What, still holding hands after all these years?" but it was to stop him falling over, as well as being nice.
There are a few people who do not mind when I talk about him, which I do a lot of the time. I also play very loud Beatles music at night, as he used to sing it and play his guitar to me. Not just the Beatles, Moody Blues, Animals, The Byrds, Georgie Fame, lots of 60s stuff. My neighbour hasn't said anything yet.
Next week my grandson is going to Beamish Museum with his class at school.
That's where his grandad's seat is. I've suggested to his mum that she mention it to his teacher in case he gets upset. He might even want to show it off to his classmates, but I think if he was in my class, I'd want to be reminded. What do you think?

Jendurham, I can't offer any advice on this as I haven't been in any comparable situation but I'm sure someone else has been and will help.
I've come back to this thread after a few days away. It's called moving on after bereavement; I cannot think I will ever do that but if it was called coping, well, that is what I have been trying to start to do, by immersing myself in all the admin. It has helped enormously. There has been, and is, so much to do, added to which I have had to deal with the last phase of the renovation of the house we'd bought and arrange to move to it. Too much to do, and what a blessing that has been. DD's had to go back to their own lives a few days after the funeral, leaving just poor DS here with me to help pick up the pieces. That was my lowest ebb. But last Sunday night, for the first time, I slept - in fact I slept the clock round. And woke to a beautiful, cold, clear morning ready to get going on it. It has been a life-saver. Just sorting through all the paperwork, getting it organised, cleared my head and gave me back a bit of confidence that I will get through this and will be able to cope alone. I offer this up in the hope that it may help someone else. I know we all must have different ways of getting through it, but just now this is working for me. The trouble is that. as Gally knows only too well, grief just sweeps over you unexpectedly. So many people have had to wait during a phone call while I have been literally unable to speak, tears pouring down my face - but all have been very patient. That is a wonderful poem, lucid.

I've just been giving my 6 month old gs his bottle, before bed and I burst into tears - boom, just like that. I just wanted J to be there to share the moment with me - he would have been so proud. Silly things like this happen all the time. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever get easier (have to say that gs gave me a very odd look - for heavens sake, Gally, get a grip, it seemed to say

Gally my dear, it does get better. It never goes completely but it does diminish a lot. The first year is the worst. Hold in there. We're all behind you.

We most certainly are, Gally. xx

Yes - hang on in there gally.