Surviving Spouses

Written by RJ on February 10, 2014. Posted in Discovery, Healing

I have been seeing a social worker through Hospice for individual grief counseling for the past four months. She has been very good for me and I enjoy our sessions. I think she would report that I seem to be doing well and have made significant progress since first we met. I would agree with that assessment. I have also attended a Hospice sponsored seminar about grief and the holidays. Of course most of my grief healing so far has happened with my writing and under the influence of my friend Rebecca, her wisdom and reiki. I know those methods are not often employed by victims of loss, but I am not only an advocate for how effective they can be, I am also a success story.

Many of the writings I put here have references to Coleen. Most do, actually. And that is as it should be since I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for her and my loss. This story is no different. The support group was held in the offices of the Life Transition Center located at 1140 Delaware Avenue in Buffalo, which was once one of the many mansions along that street. I mention the address for two reasons. Previous to being the home of Life Transitions Center, this building was owned by Gilda’s Club, a non-profit organization that offered various supports and programs to people with cancer and their families. Coleen used the meeting rooms at Gilda’s Club many times to host the educational programs she held in her role of Patient Services Manager for an oncology organization. Yes, in a cruel irony, Coleen was an oncology social worker and spent many of her working hours helping cancer patients get through the stages of their diagnosis and disease.

I had never been inside this building before although I have driven past it many times. I thought of Coleen when I realized where the building was and what it used to be. And I thought of her as I arrived and walked in the front door. Here I was entering this beautiful building, a place where she had been so many times, for the first time. And I was there because of her and, in certain ways, for her. As I entered the meeting room, I took a seat and just looked around at the beauty of the room, the height of the ceilings. I closed my eyes, smiled, and let the presence and the moment take me over. It was only for a minute, but I let the thought of sharing the same space with Coleen again sink in. It was at a different time, but we both were in the same building, the same room, and I once again felt her presence with me. briefly, strongly.

I had been looking forward to being in a group environment since the early days of Coleen’s passing. I felt very strongly that losing a spouse was very a very different loss from any other and because of that, wanted to be in a group specific to widows and widowers. Not to diminish losing a parent or a sibling or even a child, I just wanted to share my time and experiences with others like me. This group contained three women, four men and we had all recently lost our spouse. The time since our losses varied from one month to 86 days to seven months, but in all our cases, we were all very wounded and needy. One of my lessons learned is that I feel better when talking about Coleen, our relationship and my loss. It is good therapy for me to bring her up and discuss those subjects. My trouble with that is in finding people to talk with, people who will let me speak my truths. I know that is why writing is therapeutic for me because it lets me get thoughts, memories and tears out without needing a listener. But there is nothing like talking to people who are interested in what you might have to say, people who are with similar pains to yours. I was excited about being in a room with my brothers and sisters in loss so that I could both hear and be heard. I wasn’t sure what I was more interested in, getting help from them or being helpful to them. Having never been in a group environment before, I guess I didn’t realize that’s pretty much how the whole thing works. You give, you get. You speak, you listen. You comfort, you get comforted.

I had so much to say. The group environment allows for everyone to talk and have an equal amount of time but selfishly, I wanted more than my share. All of the survivors in that room had stories of their husband or wife and their loss. Each of those stories was a sad one and by listening to the survivors tell them, I learned more. I wanted to tell more of what I have discovered in my journey, speak of some the lessons I have learned since Coleen’s death. I thought by sharing some of those lessons I could offer some help and comfort to others. I also knew that it would make me feel better by talking about my discoveries. By speaking my truths to people in my situation, I would be able to heal and be healed.

So when will I stop learning about loss? When will I stop healing? I had a friend in high school named Paul who was a very accomplished pianist. Paul took lessons twice a week and one day I asked him how long he planned on taking piano lessons. Paul looked at me like I had two heads and replied, “I’ll always take piano lessons. There’s always more to learn. My teacher is 82 years old and he takes lessons.” All through my life I have remembered that conversation with my friend Paul. I have pulled it out a few times before when the lesson seemed appropriate, but it has never been more appropriate than right now. Just like Paul, I will never stop learning of loss and healing. And perhaps, just like Paul’s teacher, I can somehow teach and learn at the same time. All of us in the support group are there for help. But by just being there and telling the stories of our loss, we are helping everyone else in the room. We are helping to heal each other as we heal ourselves.

At the end of the session, I read a quote called “Letting Go” that I discovered last week at yoga class. Everyone there seemed to like it and I liked sharing it with them. I want to share more but I don’t want to become one of those overbearing people who act like they know so much. Since the beginning of my process and through all the messages I’ve been sent, I have always believed that I have been given an assignment. Coleen was a healer. She spent much of her time helping and comforting people and I believe she left me the gifts of her enthusiasm and passion. I want to use those gifts to bring comfort and peace to others. Without being a pain in their ass.

This week we are supposed to bring a photo of our spouse to support group and a memento of some sort. I haven’t decided which ones to bring yet, but they will come with stories to tell. This week I will also make sure that my fellow surviving spouses get one of my cards with the website listed on it. I didn’t want to hand them out right away last week because I thought that would be a little too pushy. I’m ready to do it this week, though. It’s a good way for me to communicate with others. A good way for me be healed so I can help heal.

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