Deciding to remarry after being widowed challenges even the best of us. Many widows view the status of ” widow” as a permanent acknowledgement of marriage that lasts forever. This discussion can become highly heated and emotional. Some view remarriage as an insult to the lost partner, others view it as a step forward in creating a new life.

I recently met a woman who had been widowed for over 10 years. Upon hearing that I remarried, she exclaimed, ” I could never go through that grief again.”  I was stunned. She was right. Once widowed, forever vigilent ?

I am painfully aware of Bill’s breathing during the night. If his breathing stops…my heart starts to race. If I return home and expect that he will be there, my first thought, ” is he in the emergency room ?’

Not long after Bill and I met, he was diagnosed with colon cancer. Chilling, for sure. Fortunately, the cancer was caught early and was taken care of surgically. No chemo…no further treatment. Clean colonoscopies for several years. That was a turning point for me…I could have cut my losses and run. I could have easily taken the detour at the point, but instead I stayed. Weighing the costs and benefits of staying in a fulfilling and rewarding relationship, or choosing to close off, hide out, and run from life and happiness. Not being much of a runner, I stayed. No regrets.

I wouldn’t trade the life I have now for anything. Do I regret my remarriage ? absolutely not ! Is it a piece of cake ? puhleaze…Do I worry about Bill dying ? Daily. Does the thought of going through the death of a spouse chill me to my bones ? Certainly. Do I delight in sharing the world with a bright, funny, and gentle man ? Absolutely. Am I scared at the thought of a future without him ? Yes, because I have been there, done that and have the t-shirt.

So, the next time you weigh in on your feelings about a remarried widow, be gentle…we know what can happen…

Please join me in Tempe, AZ. for a great weekend of support for widows and widowers.

Go to : http//Widowed Community.org for more information.

Remember: Other people matter. The greater the support system, the easier life’s challenges become.

Those who are isolated, have little social support clearly do not fare as well as their counterparts on all sorts of measures.

How easy it becomes to isolate ourselves just at the time where we need other people.

I would love to see you there.

Fondly,

Beth

My talk will be based on facing life one day at a time applying principles of positive psychology that we know are effective in life management skills. You will leave my talk with a self-care contract ! Check out the widowed community website to find out what other offerings are available at the conference

The Grief Pool

CAMP WIDOW, SAN DIEGO, Summer 2011. Went on a total whim. Wanted to experience what I missed as a new griever.

Highpoint of Camp Widow? The ribbon on my nametag…purple with an all inclusive tag: 6-10 years. I survived…I thrived…I no longer counted the hours, days and months since I lost Rob. So much like my grandson Alex, who would proclaim, “I am 5 and 3/4 years.” I now was officially an “old hand” at this widowhood gig. Thank God.

I felt together but apart. Hearing the stories of fresh grief was wrenching. Took me back to that fateful August, two weeks into widowhood…watching Rob’s memorial service DVD while drinking wine for the first time in months…falling and smashing my head against the stone floor in the kitchen because I had too much wine to drink. Sitting alone in my dark house with my cat and dog and a bleeding skull. Grabbing a quilt, wrapping it around my head and wondering, “Do I have to go to the hospital? Shit, it’s midnight. I am drunk. I am ashamed…embarrassed and alone.” I could have called my best friend and she would have gladly driven me, but I had already leaned on her way too much. Figured I had worn out that welcome.”

The bleeding didn’t stop for a couple of hours. So, I got myself in the car and drove SLOWLY the mile to the hospital. Of course, I was terribly humiliated. The nurses were wonderful. They knew me, they knew Rob and they knew about his death. He died in their hospital.

They sutured my head up…telling me my friends or my adult daughter would have to attend to the wound. Nope, I would have the doctor change the “stuffing” he inserted into my wound.People would have to help me wash my hair. I fucking HATED that. Dependent. I was alone, dammit, and I didn’t want to NEED anyone to do anything. This grief thing sucked.

So once repaired, I ended up having to call my dear friend. She came. She was pissed that I hadn’t called earlier. She was kind. She made me breakfast. She put me to bed. After I woke up, I walked into the kitchen and the wall was soaked. A copper pipe with a pinhole leak had burst.

And the circus continued. Plumber, contactor, sheetrock, painting. All the stuff that Rob did and should have been doing…All of these events in 48 hours.  Felt like widow karma.

So, this morning, six years out and mopping the floor, I dipped into the grief pool. Remembering the in-laws pulling up with a huge camper and a U-Haul trailer to take “family stuff” from my home. Me, speechless, filled with grief, unable to deal…them, sorting through our/my stuff. Taking what they believed was their family birthright. Knowing all along that all that stuff belonged to my beautiful soul daughter. Couldn’t cope. My two girls and I vanished that night.

Following the floor mopping…that toe dip into the Grief Pool, I realized…for a year after Rob’s death I wasn’t dipping my toe in the grief pool, I was submerged in the Grief Pool. I couldn’t even catch my breath, reach the island, catch a break.

Now, more than 6 years out I can visit that Pool, splash around a bit–but that’s my choice.

So, as I left Camp Widow, I smiled. I know that all my friends who are grieving alone and driven wild by pain will be fine. They need the time to swim out of that pool, lie in the warm sun, be comforted by the Love that surrounds them and know that one day grieving and mourning will be a spot they can visit, but they are no longer sentenced to be there.

I recall my high school english teacher introducing me to the idea that we are all alone in the end…together. Weird concept to consider at 16. The title of my blog, my minstry as it were, is bogus. We all do grieve alone…we do. Hopefully, we are in the presence of others, but when it comes right down to it our grief is our own, and we own our grief.

I am a happily married woman. Widowed 5 1/2 years ago. I write and speak about grief. I coach widows  on managing  grief. I know my stuff. I know the widow’s riff. First question, “How long does this pain last ?” Glib answer, “until it ends”. WIll I feel like this forever, “no, comes and goes, firsts of everything the hardest, comes in waves” blah, blah, blah. How can I make the pain go away, “you can’t ” You can try as I did with alcohol, pain medication, anti anxiety pills, but damn, it didn’t go away. It just came back in spades. And, I was still alone. And, the grief was still there. And, then I needed to stop using the substances that the medical profession thought would ease my pain ( translate: keep me numb, quiet and appropriate.)

We widows secretly harbor the hope that one day we will wake up, a little like sleeping beauty and…no more grief  !We know the pain lessens with time, activity, and forward motion. We put in our grief work and one day we will go to a funeral or memorial service and will watch and participate with a sense of detachment. Yes, we have paid our dues. We have reorganized our life. We are experts at this grief thing. We have been there, done that, and have the tee shirt to prove it.

I don’t do funerals. I don’t do memorials. Nope, just haven’t for 5 1/2 years. I find ways to reach out, but I avoid stepping into the collective pain ( euphemistically called celebration of life/ memorial service/ funeral. )  I don’t do it. The service designed as a lovely celebration of life. Pictures, slide shows, all to make this passage somehow easier to take. Easier to absorb. It’s not “really” death. They are in a better place. All devices to keep us appropriate and under control.Yet, the collective tension and pain permeates the room. But, like the proverbial elephant in the living room, collectively we pretend “it’s”  not there.

I long to live in a culture where we wail with grief. Where we fall on the floor, or the pew, or the casket and give voice the our unbelievable anguish. We  grieve our grief. Our ancient grief, our current grief, our anticipated grief. But, no, we are all so fucking appropriate. Yes, we are composed. We smile tightly at one another. We avoid tears at all cost.We squelch the primitive desire to “release and let go, so the vice with lessen” Our culture thrives and abides by these rules. And, I. too, participate in that social charade.

In our culture the “good mourner” is one who is  strong. The “good widow” is one who is composed, gracious, and elegant. My biggest fear at Rob’s memorial service would be any of us would create  a scene (translate showing and sharing our pain ) I prompted my girls to not show a feeling to the 400 people at Rob’s memorial. The 4 of us did not shed ONE tear in public. I asked them to think of Jackie Kennedy. I was proud. We were “good”. We were strong. We were…we were…unreal.

Why didn’t we all wail and cry and scream our anquish to the heavens? Why didn’t we allow the tears and the snot to flow. I mean really flow? Instead, for the comfort of all, we remained elegant and the image of grace. We grieved alone. We saved the ugly cries, the red noses, the snot rags for a time when no one could see. We were good all American grievers.

This weekend I did it. I broke my rule. I went to a memorial service .And now today, I understand why I don’t go to these events. I know more. Today that too familar vise, grips my chest yet again. Only this time, it’s not my loss, it’s not my show, it’s not my pain. But, the pain of grief of any widow is palpable and universal. The widow connection is there…pure and simple. ( This is about widows, certainly we can fill in the blanks with any grieving parent, spouse, friend, but for this…it’s about widows) I attended a memorial service for the first time in 5 12 years . It was a beautiful tribute to a man and family. A family I have a wonderful history with. A family I care deeply about.

The slide show was timed perfectly with perfect music. The family was magnificient as usual. The speakers shared stories. But as I sat there witnessing the pain I was not “alone”. I was sitting with and spending the weekend with one of my best and oldest friends. I was NOT alone, but I was alone. I was alone, together. My friend and I talked for hours and hours, but nonetheless our grief was ours, but we did share the pain together. What a gift.

I looked around at all the beautiful people. Not a one had a red nose , flowing tears or snot. Not a one. Each of us used tissues to keep our faces relatively dry. One young man choked back tears, another wiped tears on his suit jacket. We all seemed consciously aware that we were not to show others our grief ( by that I mean “messy, raw grief “). We were alone, together. A weird subtext persisted. A wonderful man has died, yet we collectively “held it together”  strong Americans. The vice around my heart tightened.

I looked into the widow’s eyes and we exchanged a look I only have shared with other widows….that deep in your soul, grab you by the throat ,pain. I have been there. I will walk with her. But, we too kept our demeanor appropriate, until I couldn’t any longer . My tears wouldn’t stop, but rather than stand there exposed, I went out in the rain…thinking, “isn’t my grief over yet?  5 1/2 years is long enough.I love my current life, why do I feel like I could lay on the concrete parking lot and scream or wail ? My tears, the” vice ” felt primitive and universal. I didn’t want to see the pain of another widow, another widow who must walk the walk….alone, yet together.

I returned home. I am alone. I have much to do. All I want to do is wail and cry. Alone.

I just dropped Wilson off at the puppy hotel. I am alone.

I am giving myself the luxury of feeling the feelings. I will be alone and I will grieve for my friend, grieve for me, grieve for my friends who haven’t experienced this YET.

All I want is to be  alone with my tears. I want to grieve. And, I want to grieve alone…for me…for her…for all of us. And I know that I have to grieve alone, but in an odd way together.

Geesh, what a topic to talk about, you know, sex. Let’s talk about sex, baby. Remember George Michael’s signature song? Yup, sex in an open and healthy way. Our culture certainly has issues with women over 25 being sexual, so to talk about widows and sexuality is really stepping way out on a limb.

But, the reality is SOMEONE HAS TO TALK ABOUT THIS! It’s really a matter of life and death. In my coaching practice more often than not women are delighted finally be able to talk about Sex and The Widow. There are so many assumptions which need to be challenged about being a widow, but more about that…later.

More often than not, at some point a widowed woman decides to step back “into the game,” yet many of us are rusty, confused and don’t know where to begin.

STEP ONE: Get a clean bill of health. Talk to your physician about your decision to re- enter the world of being a sexual partner. I am making several assumptions here, but one of the assumptions is that the widow is looking for a heterosexual partner, and is anticipating vaginal penetration. I am also ASSUMING that the widow is post menopausal and there are issues specific to hormone related challenges, specifically vaginal dryness.

Talk candidly with your physician about your sexual health. I am assuming you have been having your yearly mammograms and pelvic exams. I would recommend talking about over the counter vaginal moisturizers like Replens, or perhaps your physician might recommend topical Premarin or Estrace.

With the advent of viagra and other ED medications, sexual relations can continue way past menopause. But for many women sexual relations become quite painful because of the vaginal dryness caused by hormone imbalances. Rather than reach out and talk about it to a friend or health care provider, many older couples become non-sexual when there are steps that can alleviate the pain of sexual intercourse. So, discussing vaginal moisturizers is critical.

Another issue to discuss would be lubrication during intercourse itself. Go to the local drug store and check out the variety of lubricants which are available over the counter. AstroGlide is one you will see–there are many different brands. Buy some, see what you think and feel.

STEP TWO: Also, talk to your physician and get a test for STDs. Yes, weird and strange for most of us, but necessary! Because, yes, ladies, you are not going to do two things: ONE: have sexual relations with a man who hasn’t told you about his STD status, and TWO: you are not going to have UNPROTECTED SEX.

Avis Yarbrough in Health & Wellness reported on “STDs and AIDS in Senior Citizens” ( www.healthandwellnessmagazine.net ). She provided these data: Venereal diseases are spreading more than ever among senior citizens. People aged 50 and older make up more than 10 percent of total AIDS cases in this country, and HIV cases are increasing among people in their 60′s and 70′s according to the U. S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. It has been reported that during the last decade, the number of HIV cases has risen 500 percent among senior citizens, and AIDS cases among over-50 people have risen from 16,000 in 1975 to 90,000 in 2003. Currently, nearly 27 percent of people living with AIDS in America are 50 and older.

There are two important components to getting your sexy back safely. It’s so funny to feel like a teenager again, but, in reality for those of us who have raised teenagers we preached SAFE SEX. So, ladies now we have to practice two things: SAFE and ENJOYABLE SEX.

Stay tuned for Sexy Back Dating

Whenever I think of New Year’s Eve I think of old movies. Women decked to the nines, men dressed in suits, people ringing in the New Year with champagne flutes and a full on orchestra playing in the background. Really sucks when you are alone. It REALLY really sucks if you are a widow with a vivid imagination.

In the last couple of days I’ve gotten some emails about New Year’s Eve that have jogged my memory about how difficult that first New Years Eve was. Alone, watching tv, eating lean cuisine, alone. Pretty sad state of affairs. And today, when I received one of those New Year’s Eve emails, I remembered, I have never lived the lifestyle of the New Year’s Eve of my Mind.

Primarily, New Year’s Eve is a night of comfort and casualness. A night where I would plan for my dreams for the next year. The collage starting to take place. Every year taking the time to work out a VISION MAP, what I wanted to see happen the next year. But, the first years of widowhood instead, I tormented myself with a sense of aloneness…a sense of life moving forward…me staying in place.

So, tonight, my friends, let’s all dream a little bigger. Let’s all look forward to 2011 and figure out a way to make it better. A way we can pick ourselves up and create some magic. May be this will be the year we will _________just because we have always wanted to. May be this will be the year to tattoo that special image on our inner thigh. May be this will be the year to STOP taking those horrible vitamins because they probably don’t REALLY work anyway.

New Year’s Eve can be one of those devilish holidays that seems to cry out, “LOSER, where is your party hat and horn ?” “Why are you sitting eating pizza and watching Love Actually again for the 5th time?

Really? being a widow doesn’t mean we have to go psychotic and recreate a life we never lived. Seriously, did you ever wear that party hat and sip champagne from a Waterford flute? And if you did was it REALLY like it was in the movies?

Sometimes our minds really mess with us at times like this. In the meantime 2010 is almost over ! Celebrate that a New Year is upon us and with that a BUNCH of NEW firsts…hmmmmmm still thinking about that nose piercing….

Here’s a GREAT post I received this a.m. from a very honest widow. I share it here for us all. The point: THERE ARE NO RULES. Ah, if only there were rules to follow.
Its been a little over 3 mos since my husband died on a mission trip to Zambia…tragic to be sure, we were married for 23 years.  It was a terrible shock.  But I have to say that we are doing very well, we have moments, not days of grief.  I loved him much, but because of a traumatic crash 14 years ago that severely & permanently injured my child who is 17 now, the stress, the emotions did take their toll on our marriage, it was comfortable but not passionate, we tag teamed alot taking care of the house and the kids so our intimacy suffered.  I am ready to find that now…sounds crazy being so soon…what the heck are the rules!?!

There are studies which address the lack of rules for grief. There is no such thing as a “good widow” a “lazy widow” and “uncaring widow” We do grief like we do life…at our own pace and time.

My response to this women was CELEBRATE your life now. Now is your time to REINVENT yourself, RECLAIM the years you may have lost.

The cool thing about being  widow…you really can’t do it wrong, well, unless you want to please all the people who think they know what the rules are !

Okay, ready? The first step of the two- step to survive the holidays is to abandon all rules. We are cowgirls, remember? The only rule is to survive, with style. You do not have to decorate the house ( unless you want to ), you do not have to send our holiday cards (unless you want to ), you do not ( and should not ) wear those awful Christmas themed sweaters. You do not have to make sure that everyone receives a gift. You do not have to give gifts. You do not have to make anything for that matter. You do not have to go in to a mall. You do not have to mall order anything. You do not have to sing ONE song related to a holiday tradition. You do not have to open mail. You do not have to cook or clean. You do not have to spend days decorating your house with stuff you have had for 20 years. You do not have to put out the snow man ornament your chid made lovingly in 3rd grade. You do not have to make fudge, cookies, or divinity. The point to step one do it if you WANT to not because you feel you should. Cowgirls never “should” on themselves.

That’s step one.

Step two, you get to be the boss of your holiday. If you want to spend the time eating pizza in bed and and watching Nightmare on Elm Street, go for it. If you want to toss out Kenny G for the Eminem, have at it. If you want to decorate your house in multicolored lights because they make YOU feel happy, do it. If your neighbors volunteer to get you a tree ( fat chance) you can decline. If you want a tree AT ALL, go to the local store and get a fake tree. If you want to use ALL new and different ornaments haunt local thrift shops. If you want to sponsor a family and give THEM a holiday time do that. Make a holiday happen for someone else. Contact your local community food bank, social service agencies, and churches to aid families in need. Giving feels good!

The two-step is about ACKNOWLEDGING the automatic traditions that have run your life for years and deciding do I HAVE to do that? Now decide how to build a new and magical time by yourself, for yourself and with your family. ( Including WHO you choose to spend time with. This year give yourself permission to avoid the people affectionately known as “buzz kills.” I refer to this as playing “the widow card.”)

Include your children in your plans. Acknowledge that this time is different. Children love “different” and breaks with tradition. It’s a little sassy and a bit naughty. To attempt to recreate the past with a missing part of the posse will only create sadness, depression and an even bigger hole to dig yourself out of next year.

This year, approach the holidays as a Frontier Adventure. You will carve out new territory, learn new skills, buck tradition, and in the end will have a memorable experience. First, start laying out the map for Holiday Season 2010. ( A disclaimer, this piece references the only holiday traditions I am familiar with…apologies to those whose holidays embrace other practices.)

Head ‘em up, move ‘em out!

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Beth_Waddel

Pacing the waiting room while my husband was in emergency surgery, in a room full of our friends. His brain injury occurred only hours earlier during same day sinus surgery. A surgery that was supposed to be an in and out procedure, and it was. He went in at 6 a.m. and was pronounced dead at midnight.

Widows know about sifting stuff. Widows lives are filled with stuff that never ends. The stuff we find that we can’t find answers to. What on earth was he doing with this? Where is that important document? I wonder what happened to THAT? Or, too often, a painful hidden side may be discovered. The unanswered questions. Every widow has them, but often she doesn’t speak of them. to anyone.

A camera on a shelf in the hall closet. Several months following the memorial service I noticed the camera on the shelf. I flashed back to the waiting room in the hospital where our friends had gathered that August day waiting to find out about Rob’s condition. Dave was passing out candy bars, Cher was telling fabulously silly jokes. People had brought me a change of clothes to wait. There was at least 25 people there waiting.

My camera was always in my purse. I forgot that I took photos of all of Rob’s friends that day. Photos I couldn’t wait to share with him. Photos of all of his posse waiting eagerly and expectantly for him to get out of surgery and get on to the business of recovery.

Months later there sat the camera on the shelf. A camera filled with images of people laughing and smiling and hoping against hope that Rob would recover from this horrible surgical mistake. I wanted to document how loved and cared for he was by these people. I wanted to laugh with him about the scare he gave us.

I threw the camera away.

I sorta avoided my widow status for almost a year. I passed my five year anniversary in August and now I am ready to be back. Back filled with hope for the future.

A dear friend suggested not long ago that I re-focus on other aspects of my life and allow the widow identity to rest for a while. I am no long technically a widow, as I am happily re married. However, as I have been journeying more deeply into my study of strengths and positive psychology, I have a new found interest in revisiting widowhood now that the angst is not as palpable.

Certainly, once any of us has gone through a major hardship, we are forever changed. But, now, I feel armed to share with all of you some of the strategies and skills I wished I had used while going through the despair of being widowed.

So, with a new found since of excitement and resolve I vow to bring skills to share in this journey of transition.

I say completely and fully that my life now is better than it has ever been. Some of the life practices I’ve abandoned are the victim stance which often accompanies widowhood. the  use medically prescribed substances to get through the day, and the use of alcohol to get through either the day or night. Yes, learning to cope directly with what appears in front of me is far more satisfying and less GUILT INDUCING.

I now celebrate embracing a lifestyle which includes healthy food, healthy activity, and above all healthy relationships with people who fill me with joy, hope and the desire to thrive.

I guess I can come home again.

Much more to follow.

Beth