How You Can Help Me

There is a letter I keep seeing on various widow websites and blogs. Composed for family and friends to let them know how they can help or even what to expect. I've seen so many versions that I close my eyes and imagine widows all over the world adjusting and tweaking it before sending it on it's way. I suppose it's what is called a living document. Always in flux, always evolving.

Instead of simply posting one of the many versions I've come across, I thought I'd write my own. It is, obviously, based off all the other versions. I've even stolen a line here or there. I don't imagine all the other widows will mind, though. I'm splitting my version into two posts, though. This one and one about what you should know about this time in my life. (As if this blog isn't enough.)

How You Can Help Me:

Please don’t leave me alone with my grief. Maybe you’re afraid you’ll say the wrong thing but I can decipher the intent behind your words. I’m grieving, not stupid. Being isolated and ignored is much worse than having a loved one say the wrong thing on accident. If you don’t know what to say, you can always say exactly that. I will appreciate that you are here with me.

“Call me if you need anything” doesn’t work. I won’t call because I don’t know what I need and I don’t want to be a burden. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have available. But here are some ideas of what you can physically do to help me:

• Ask me to join you at a movie, for a meal, to go bowling. Bring food or a movie over to watch. My days and nights are filled with lonely emptiness. Help me fill some of that time with smiling faces.
• Offer to do some specific household chores. I now have sole responsibility for the upkeep on my home and can’t get it all done. Mowing the lawn, fixing the computer, even washing the dishes allows me the space and time to tackle something I wouldn’t have gotten around to doing otherwise.
• Send a card or call on special holidays so I know you miss Steve and that I’m not alone. Holidays are extremely painful and isolating for me.

I need to talk about my husband, my grief and my pain. I know you don’t know what to say. It’s okay. You can hold my hand, give me a hug, tell me “this sucks, let it all out” or just silently listen. You should know that I feel that I’m a burden for asking you to listen. I know you are grieving too, that you feel inept at comforting me and you take my pain in as your own. I know it is emotionally draining to listen to me. If I am talking to you it means I feel you are a safe person with whom to express my grief. The biggest gift you can give me is to help me talk things through.

If you have anecdotes or memories that fit into even a normal conversation, I’d like to hear them. It may feel awkward to talk about Steve at first but I hate being the only one who tells stories about him. Too often it feels like we’re pretending he never existed. And I can’t forget the last ten years of my life. Though I may tear up when you tell a story about Steve, I love hearing how others remember him as a good or funny or kind man.

One last thing you should know: unless you are spending time with me in person, on the phone, or sending long e-mails; telling me in two sentences that you are thinking of me feels like an afterthought. Facebook and text messages are the McDonald’s drive-thru of communication when I’m in dire need of a five course home cooked meal. Please don’t let me starve.

Culled from an airline magazine

"But that's what we all get in our rediscovery of ourselves - something has to be sacrificed."

- Danny Boyle (Film Director)

Tinsel & Tears

As the holidays approach, there is great pressure to be here, go there, do this, that, something-or-other-else. Some widows want to go away for the holidays, spend it anywhere but home. I understand. I've gone on two trips since Steve died and those were the only times I felt I outside the pressure cooker. I still cried but only because I miss my husband. Not because I don't know how to do something or can't find something he put away or stumbled across something I wasn't expecting. There's a relief in being able to mourn the death of my husband without the everyday frustrations of him being gone to work through as well.

There are others, like me, who want to be home with our familiar surroundings. I feel closest to Steve in our home because I have so many memories of us celebrating Thanksgiving and Christmas around our table. It scares the crap outta me to stay home for the holidays. So much so I've nearly picked up the phone to say "yes, book the ticket, I'll come to you".

I have already faced a lot of firsts since Steve died. The first trip to the grocery store without Steve, the first overnight stay away from home without Steve, the first party without Steve. Each time I face a 'first' the pain cuts through me like a hot knife. This will be the first Christmas. I could go away and celebrate out of town, but next year or the year after, I'll have to be home for Christmas. Without my husband. That would be another important first. I would rather combine the first Christmas without Steve and the first Christmas at home without Steve into one year. This year.

Just think of me as a pull-the-band-aid-off-quickly kinda gal.

The other part of being where Steve has been, everywhere that holds a memory of Steve is a good memory. It brings me huge comfort to, say, see a dollar we hung on a ceiling and know I can come back and see it again in another five years or watch him play his guitar once more. The comfort of my memories with Steve gets me through the hot knife moments.

So, yes, this year I'll be home for Christmas. I have a couple of firsts to knock off my list. Trust that I have fabulous memories to keep me company.

Cabbage Key 2010

, originally uploaded by Kiki Marcus.

I found the dollar Steve and I left on Cabbage Key in April of 2009. When I finally laid eyes on it I started crying, laughing then clapped my hands and jumped up and down in place like Steve used to when he was extremely pleased. Guess a few idiosyncrasies tend to be exchanged between a husband and wife. And as promised, I left a new dollar, two actually, behind.

The trip out to Cabbage Key and back was rather joyful. I didn't spend the entire time talking about Steve but everything I did or saw reminded me of being there with him. And every memory brought a smile to my face. A few brought tears to my eyes but the wind on the boat quickly whisked them away.

If you've never been to the restaurant on Cabbage Key, you need to know the story of why the place is covered in dollar bills. Evidently, back in the day, when the fishermen finished on the water they'd stop in for a beer on the way home. If it was a good catch day, they'd leave some money pinned up behind the bar with their name written on it for beer money on the days when they had a bad catch day. Tourism being what it is, and fishermen finding new places to stop in for beers, when people come for a meal you tape up your own dollar after having decorated it. Everything that falls to the floor (and eventually it all falls to the floor) goes to charity.

Which was why I was so nervous to find our dollar. The tape they give to use is not very good and it had been a year and half since our visit.

I have to thank Paul, a wonderful friend of my mother, who managed to convince the staff at the restaurant to do something out of the ordinary: allow me to use a stapler. I don't know how he did it, I'm afraid to ask, but I know they have a strict no stapler rule. I wanted to make sure they'd be there in five years when I return. Somehow, knowing they'll hang on that ceiling waiting for me delivers a small measure of peace to my heart.

And I will take any measure of peace I can get.

Blue on Black - Kenny Wayne Shepherd

Little Bee

Whenever I need to stop and remind myself how much I once loved [my husband], I only need to think about this. That the ocean covers seven tenths of the earth's surface, and yet my husband could make me not notice it. That is how big he was for me.

Little Bee - Chris Cleave

Steve and Cabbage Key

Steve and Cabbage Key, originally uploaded by Kiki Marcus.

This is one of my favorite pictures of Steve - I always told him it captured exactly the way I see him everyday - as a rock star. He enjoyed hearing that.

It was after taking this particular picture with a borrowed Canon 10D that I decided: yes, I need a better camera. I need something that at least has the possibilities of capturing what it is I see - even if I'm not capable of capturing what I see. Between my lack of skill and the hopped up ability of the camera - I certainly held out a better chance of getting the pictures I'm striving to create.

Last year for Christmas Steve surprised me with a Canon 50D. It's the one I've been carrying around with me the past few days while in Ft. Myers, Sanibel and Captiva. The places Steve and I were when I took that picture in April of 2009.

Actually, tomorrow I'm going back to Cabbage Key. I'm going back to the restaurant where I took this picture. I'm going to see if our dollar bill is still hanging from the ceiling. I plan to add a new one while I'm there.

Links Page

I've added a new tab across the top of this blog, Links. It is a list of websites I have found useful as I search for ways to cope after the death of my husband. It is not a complete list, firstly because I am still looking and secondly because I am only listing sites I find useful - not everything that is available. If you know of a site, or maintain a site of your own and would like to suggest it, please do so. You may leave a comment on any posting or e-mail me kikimarcus @ gmail (dot) com.

There is no such thing as too much support.

Why would you say that to me?

When the headhunter called asking for my husband to see if he was happy where he was working, I had to explain that Steve died and please take his resume out of their files. At the end of the call, the woman wanted to know where Steve had been working.

Why? Think there's a job opening you can try and fill?

I've had many family members and friends ask me if I'm alright financially. Did Steve have life insurance? Will I need to go to work right away? It's a difficult set of questions for them to ask, wanting to check up on me without prying. I'm thankful that they do. I rely on them to be my back up brain for when mine isn't working. But I've also heard: "How much are you getting from life insurance?"

Why? Think you deserve some of it? Want to know how much money you should try and con out of me? Are you trying to decide if you suddenly have more time for me?

Today at the bank, a lady looked his death certificate over and asked "Did he know he had diabetes?".

Excuse me? How does that affect me closing out an account?

The next lady at the bank was confused because his death certificate was issued in Washington DC and we live in Richmond. I had to point out that people can die away from home. I understand that isn't a detail people think about, so I was fine pointing out the obvious. But the multiple follow up questions wanting to know all the difficulties an out of state death adds to the family, is prying. It is inappropriate. It is thoughtless. And it is heartless.

When my voice cracks and waivers, my eyes fill up with tears, when I have to look off into the middle distance and take a deep breath before saying that my husband recently died - it is not an act. I am not putting on a night club floor show for you. The simple act of telling a stranger that my husband is dead is enough to flush my day down the toilet. I guarantee I will spend the rest of the day fighting every impulse to simply sleep for the next 12 hours. I will spend that night reminding myself that drinking a glass (or three) of wine while depressed sets a bad precedent. I will yell unjustly at the dog and then hug her for half an hour out of guilt. I will have every intention of doing some small household chore and be unable to get up off the couch. That is what happens on the days when I have to tell someone my husband is dead.

On days when people are thoughtless enough to think they've just stepped into a movie of the week, that they are watching a real life version of Hilary Swank in P.S. I Love You, my day gets even worse.Today when I got home I DID go to sleep for five hours. When I go back to bed I imagine it will be for another eight to ten. I AM drinking that glass of wine. And I damn well may have three more. I also cried. I cried through half a box of tissue. I blew my nose so much it's red and sore. And I screamed. I screamed so loud and so frequently that my voice is shot. It may be recovered by tomorrow.

I am not here to entertain you. The tears. Are real. The pain. Is physical.

I understand we live in a Jerry Springer world. Everyone wants their fifteen minutes and then wants to Twitter it into thirty minutes more. They want to be the center of attention telling the story of the widow and her breakdown in front of them. What I need you to understand is you aren't going to get to see that breakdown. I do it at home and in private. And I won't share those gory intimate details of my husband's death with you. You aren't worthy of knowing about my private pain.

But I may just bitch smack your thoughtless cruel ass with a two by four.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

 

- William Henley