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.