Widows Support, Coaching for Widows

What was really wonderful about your husband?  What were those qualities that brought out the best in you? What was it about him that attracted you in the first place? What was it about your union that really worked? What was it that made you say, way back when, “This is the man for me”?

It took me a while to remember what it had been like in the early stages of my relationship with my husband. This is because cancer showed up two months before we were married and most of the 10 years of our marriage were snatched up by surgeries, chemotherapies, and other treatments so bizarre and painful that the fact that he agreed to them speaks to his great love of life.

(Interestingly, his buoyant personality did not change as he navigated these various treatments. He remained always positive and hopeful.  My personality, however, was not so lovely. I became ultra-serious, and mildly-to-not-so-mildly, neurotic. I was scared to death and compensated by trying to make life perfect. But, this is a topic for later.)

With the help of photos and my daughter’s elephant-like memory I have been able to recall those early years. I was surprised to remember that he actually had hair! And I remember when we climbed mountains we could go for hours not speaking, enjoying the smells of the damp earth and wet leaves, the sound of the wind whistling in the trees, and the breathtaking views. I remember how we loved the fact that the two of us were together, alone in the woods, in the quiet, doing what we loved the most.

I remember, 8  years later, how he smelled. I remember the way that he put those little stays that I thought were so weird in the collars of his dress shirts, and how he got on his knees every night to thank  God for the day. And I remember waving him off to work in the morning thinking what a handsome man he really was.

Yes, I can remember some really good stuff.

Spend some time remembering for yourself. It is important to do this.

Here are the next questions. Not so much fun, but equally important to answer.

What was difficult about your relationship? What were the challenges? What drove you crazy?  What was not so wonderful about your marriage? What was it that made you look at other marriages and wonder if they had the same issue(s)?

My biggest challenge was myself. When Mike got sick, I took on the role of emotional caregiver. He did not ask me to do this. How I had been raised, our societal values, my lack of self-esteem and my fear of losing him conspired  together to thrust me into this role. As emotional caregiver I put his needs above mine for the whole of our marriage. I did this so successfully that it seemed at times, that he forgot I had any needs at all. I am not blaming, I am simply stating what was.

So, just in case you think that I have sanctified my late husband – think again.  Mike was no angel. For one thing, he had a way of poking fun that made me crazy. And he could not understand my sensitivity. This was a frequent topic of heated conversation. Yes, we had our challenges, both because of who he was, and because of who I was.

Why is it necessary for a widow to look back, especially if it is painful to do so? Am I suggesting this simply for the sake of airing dirty laundry? Why must we who are left behind acknowledge anything that wasn’t positive?

There are many reasons – but the most important are the following:

We must understand our challenges, our tendencies, so that when we are again in relationship we will be ready respond to our new situations rather than react to them because of old unhealed wounds. If we don’t acknowledge the truth about the past we will be owned by it. And therefore, bound to repeat it.

And, if there is pain that we don’t acknowledge, it affect us. Just because it is not addressed doesn’t mean it isn’t there, festering.

I am pretty sure that I have found my new special someone. As I type those words I feel excited, and scared and happy. But most of all I feel very secure in the fact that I have done the work. This new relationship is not just a fix it. I am not in it in order to chase away loneliness. It is not a Band-Aid for pain. It is healthy and it the product of a good amount of self-exploration and acknowledgment of what I had and did that worked and what I had and did that did not work.

I have had to learn to ask for help. I have had to learn to speak up. I now can say things like “no, that won’t work for me”, or “when you said such-and-such I felt badly”. Or,  “will you take Anneke and I out for dinner Friday? It has been a really hard week.”

To move forward we need to stay in reality. To look at the whole picture, rather than just the convenient, easy, fun part. If we are grounded in the whole truth, we are then available to share our lives with a special someone, if that is what we want.

Closure happens when we are at peace with our memories, the good memories and the not-so-good memories. Closure is when we are willing to acknowledge the whole picture; that he was a very real human being, a mixed bag, and that he was capable of making us happier than we thought we had a right to be, and he was also capable of disappointing and hurting us. Just as we were capable of disappointing and hurting him. Closure happens after we have done the work, and usually when we are not looking. It is that very quiet moment when we are finally at peace with what was and are capable of looking ahead with a sense of anticipation.

We are then free to love once again.

Please visit www.widowsbreathe.com or click on ‘contact’ for more information about one-on-one coaching.

Mie Elmhirst, The Widow’s Coach

This morning a friend of mine, who is also a widow, told me no matter what happened in her life, even if she got married to her new boyfriend, she would always be a widow. “I have a pretty good life, I love my boyfriend, but Frank (late husband) will always be my first love, my true love, my best love, my soul mate. I will love him forever.”

At first glimpse this sounds romantic and loyal, right??? After all, she is probably correct. Once a widow, always a widow.

Technically speaking I am sure that this very definitive statement, for her, is true. However, these claims uttered in love, respect and yearning for our lost husbands conspire to keep us alone and lonely. The more earnestly we insist that what we had was irreplaceable and un-top-able, the deeper we dig ourselves into a hole of loneliness and aloneness. The more stringently we hold on to the belief that we could never again be as happy as we were, the less of a chance at happiness we have.
I have yet to meet even one widow who would not like to love and be loved. Who doesn’t want to be held, to laugh with someone, to cry with someone, or to build a life with a new love? Yes, you might be scared, and yes, it may be too early, or yes, if you are very, very old it might be too late, but we ALL want love.

And when we (widows) use words such as always and never, we decrease our chances of finding new love. We close the door on possibility.
If it is true that my husband Mike was “one of a kind”, meaning he was the best that there was/is, then is it true that I will now have to settle for second best? Who wants that? Not me, that is for sure.

If it is true that “I could never have what I had with him” then am I saying that any relationship I might have in the future will never measure up?
If the “really good men are all taken”, well, why bother trying? Why even date for fun?

When I make such proclamations I limit God. (Spirit of the Universe, Higher power, etc). With such statements, I decide what is and isn’t possible, instead of leaving it to a greater power than I. With such statements, I am letting you know that I believe that what I had was as good as it gets and I should expect only less than that in the future.
I am not suggesting that you and I did not have a gem of a man. We did. We all did. Seriously, when I was first married I was surprised that hordes of women were not banging down my door, trying to get my man. (Ah yes, young and naive.) During our marriage I cultivated appreciation for this very good man. I loved, admired and respected him.

But do you mean to tell me that God (Spirit of the Universe, Higher Power) only makes a finite number of good men? And once you have had one chance at happiness you don’t get to have a 2nd chance? Does this really make sense?
What kind of a God is that? I would have a very hard time praying to a God that parceled out happiness that way.

The Universe is generous to those who are willing to receive. Getting ourselves to that place where although we may still be a widow in name, we are also open to courageous and abundant living, willing to receive; that is the challenge for all of us. It is not as easy as it sounds. How about you? Are you ready?

Please visit www.widowsbreathe.com or click on ‘contact’ for more information about one-on-one coaching.

Mie Elmhirst, The Widow’s Coach

When a wonderful woman eventually who became my client was considering hiring me as her coach, she asked me an interesting question. She asked me about closure. Did such a thing exist after the loss of one’s husband? And saying goodbye. Did I think it necessary to say goodbye?
When I am asked a question such as this I usually refer back to my own experience of loss (my mother and my husband) and to what I have learned from my amazing clients.

Contrary to what many people who have suffered loss believe, there is such a thing as closure. However…. closure is not what many think it is; a neat and tidy wrap…an end of emotion, memories or love. Closure is not something that just happens. It is not instant happiness.

Closure is when we are at peace with our memories – the ones that feel good and the ones that don’t. Closure happens when our memories cease to rule us and cease to rule our behavior. It is when we can accept that we were at times terrific wives, and at times lousy wives. Closure is when we can accept that we made mistakes that hurt him…that we made mistakes that hurt ourselves. Closure is about acceptance of our husbands…who were sometimes unbelievably sweet and kind and generous – and sometimes, not. Closure means that we have come to terms with our marriages – what they were and what they were not. Closure is when we can go anywhere on earth without being afraid of the memories of our previous lives that are linked to that spot. Most importantly, closure means that we are willing and able to live in the present moment rather than the pain of the past – that we are free to discover what gifts await us. Closure is not something that I can ‘do’ or something that I can grab on to. It is the result of doing the work of grief.

The first two years after my husband Mike died were of course, the most difficult years of my life. I would have done ANYTHING to feel better. I begged God for relief. You know the feeling, right? Where you think you could drink radiator fluid if you thought that would help? The solution to these feelings, I decided, was to say good-bye. If I did that, I reasoned, I would be able to get on with my life.

Something concrete, I was sure, would put an end to my depression and sadness. I went to the lighthouse where he and I used to go and I read him a heart-felt letter of good-bye. Yet, a week later I was back to where I started. Still sad and lonely.

After a few more attempts during the next few years, (more letters, purging of his papers, walks where we used to spend time together…) I discovered that my multiple good-byes were just unsuccessful attempts to get rid of difficult feelings. Attempts at rushing a process that could not be rushed. They did not work. At least not in the way that I wanted them to work.

Yet, not to be deterred, I did not stop my good-byes. Periodically I felt the need again to say good-bye. What I eventually discovered was that little by little, these small good-byes were in fact useful. I was letting go of Mike, step by step. The goodbyes were not getting rid of pain – but they were little milestones. Each good-bye was an indication that I was willing to let go, even if only a little bit, of my surprisingly tight grip onto pain. My last good-bye I said with the loving guidance of my coach and it was my most most poignant goodbye. In my last goodbye I let Mike know that I was no longer going to turn to him for help – that I was going to release him. I asked him to continue to look out for our then 13 year old…she would still need him. I told him that I was OK and that I would now go for my spiritual help to God. Mike would now be free to help others as I knew he would want. I let Mike know that he no longer needed to worry about me. I told him that I was now ready for new love, a permanent relationship. I thanked him for his love.

The impact of this last letting go was electric. My life began to open up and, predictably, I became willing again to let go and love once again. I was finally willing to live fully again.

Where are you in this process? What is the work you have left to do? What still feels incomplete?

Mie Elmhirst, The Widow’s Coach

Coaching Support and Information for Widows

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