Widows Support, Coaching for Widows

“It is so much more that losing your husband.” This description of widowhood was from my first client  this morning.

“What do you mean, MORE than losing your husband?” you may ask. “Isn’t widowhood about losing him? Your husband? How could it be more than that? ”

Well, losing him is the start of widowhood. It is what makes you a widow, it is why the world calls you a widow, and it is what the world believes you are grieving.

And, you are grieving him.

But a widow grieves a great deal more.

She grieves the changed nature of everything around her. She grieves the fact that the adorable 4 year-old trick-or-treaters will not seem funny this year, the loss of her family Christmas’s as they should have been, the loss of shared cups of coffee, dinners for two, arguments and making up, barbecued steaks, home repairs, financial stability….

The losses are too many to count. And just when a widow thinks she has experienced them all, there is a parent-teacher conference, or a visit to the doctor for a suspicious lump that reminds her once again that the losses keep coming.

A few weeks ago I was helping some friends understand what it was like to lose a spouse. I told them ‘years’ when they asked how long it took to recover.  These very bright, well educated women looked at me in shock.

And really, if I had not experienced it myself, I would have agreed with them “Years? Don’t you think that is just a little self-indulgent?”

Well no, it is not.

What I didn’t tell them was that it took me over five years. FIVE years. Oh, I wasn’t crying for five years, but it took me five years to really let go of Mike and embrace a new future.

This was how it went.

• Year one was horrible.
• Year two was horrible.
• Year three was sometimes horrible and sometimes fun and sometimes just OK.
• Year four was occasionally horrible and mostly OK and sometimes really fun.
• And year five was horrible about three times and for the rest, filled with hope and just regular life. Ups and downs.

So yes, five years.

Because of this a widow needs to give herself lots of time, love, and compassion for the road is long and arduous. And, she must ask for help.

Mie Elmirst, The Widows Coach

For a sample session email Mie@widowsbreathe.com or click ‘contact’

It was true. The skin on my face was dry and it seemed to have turned a permanent, dull shade of gray. Every morning I put on makeup, hoping that this would be the day that it would last beyond 7 AM. It never did. My eyes were dark and puffy. My eye lids hurt to touch.

I lost ten pounds that I could not afford to lose, and it seemed that most of those pounds were lost from my chest. My breasts. Over a period of what seemed like just a few months, they morphed from wider than long, to longer than wide. Why they shrunk at that particular time was a mystery to me but it certainly assured that I wasn’t getting naked with anyone anytime soon. My mouth developed a permanent downturn. I hardly bothered with my hair and it showed.

I looked like a 47 year-old version of the Little Match Girl. I was not what anyone would call attractive. If I happened to pass my living room mirror and also happened to glance at my reflection, always a mistake, I was each time shocked anew. Who was that woman and what in God’s name happened to her?

I felt sure with all the tears I shed, that eventually, maybe by the time I was 60, I would be shriveled up completely, prune-like, rocking in some rocking chair, probably in someone’s attic, wearing black lace-up boots, a black skirt, a black cape and bonnet. Probably knitting. And muttering to myself about the old days. The days when I felt like a woman. The days when Mike was alive.

Yep, they would say, The Widda Elmhirst, poor thing, she just went and dried up. Got old before her time.

The neighbors would bring their young children by on Halloween for a viewing, and the little ones would run, screaming, when I snarled…Leave me alone, ya brats!

It was difficult to believe, when I was in the throes of grief, that there would come a time when I would eventually feel good. It was impossible to believe that there would eventually come a time when I would feel really good. How could that happen if Mike were still gone?

I was pretty sure that real transformations were reserved for Oprah’s guests. I studied the Oprah show. Who were these people who faced adversity and survived? Were they more special than me? Better than me? Smarter than me? Prettier than me? Richer than me? All of the above?

Or, might I be one of them, coming through my own personal tragedy a better person?

Well, I have no idea if I am a better person. That is for others to judge. But I do feel good. My complexion is back to normal, I put the ten pounds back on, although they did not all go back where they came from. (Where is the justice in that?) My mouth is back to normal, usually turned up and the mirror is no longer my enemy. I am not in someone’s attic, being whispered about and little children are not afraid of me. Usually, that is.

Mie Elmhirst     The Widows Coach

If you are a widow, call for a free sample coaching session call 508-540-4421!

The first three Tuesdays of the month…6-7 PM EST

Widows Checking-In Tele-Group.

Support for change, communication, and FUN!

• How much: $150 per month.
• When: Tuesdays 6 -7 PM EST, The first 3 Tuesdays of each month, Oct-Dec 09.
• How: I will set up a free conference line. You will get the number when you register by emailing me at mie@widowsbreathe.com.
• Who: The first four people who contact me.

As a member of the group:

1. You will get to be with like-minded women who know, hope, or believe that widowhood is not only an ending. It might also be the beginning of something. Something really good.
2. You will learn from others.
3. You will come out of isolation.
4. You will learn and grow and gradually step even further out of your comfort zone than you already have, in service of your future.

This is how it will work.

Each group will have up to 4 women. We will meet 3 times a month as a group, for one hour on the phone. The call will consist of a check-in for each person, (how you are doing) and a plan/goal for the up-coming week. The content of these calls will depend on the participants. I will coach when needed, when participants are stuck, overloaded or overwhelmed. The commitment will be for 3 months.

All participants will be widows of under three years. (If I hear from enough widows of over three years, we will just form another group. Goodness knows, grieving issues don’t just evaporate after three years.)

Confidentiality is key. Participants will have the freedom to be honest knowing that their confidentiality will be respected. (And, BT Dubs, as my 16 years old would say, we will have fun.)

For more information, call 508-540-4421. I will be very happy chat with you.

Mie Elmhirst

Widows Breathe Coaching

My father is almost 87 years old. We have become close the last few years. I understand him in new ways. He lives about a mile away and I see him at least twice a week. Sometimes he makes me nuts, like when he tries to shovel the driveway before I get there or when he decides to do the laundry in the middle of the night. But mostly I just enjoy him even though he is now profoundly deaf and every conversation is 50 decibels higher than I would usually speak.

Me.   Hi Dad. How are you?

Dad.  WHAT?

Me.   HI DAD. HOW ARE YOU?

Dad.  SPEAK CLEARLY MIE. WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?

Me.   HI! DAD! HOW! ARE! YOU!

Dad.  Oh. Why didn’t you say so? I’m fine. Yes, I’m fine.

Conversations are limited these days, and unless his hearing aides have been put in properly, rather basic. We use email for complicated communications.

My father moved to my town after Mike died, ostensibly to take care of me. I am independent and I resist being taken care of and I pretty much knew that I would be the one taking care of him. However, his concern for me has been comforting. I know he is there, a five-minute drive away, and it is important for all of us to know we are loved.

And, I am afraid. I am afraid because I know that the day is coming, sometime within the next 10 years most likely, when I will need to say good-bye to him. Yesterday I held my breath as he climbed the ten or so stairs into his house, refusing to use the railing, just to prove to me that he is “fine”. He leans precariously to one side and it took tremendous discipline for me not to yell “I KNOW you are fine Dad, but just for me would you PLEASE hold onto the darn banister?”

I know, I know…live in the moment. I can just hear all of my chanting, new agey, very smart friends tsk-tsking me as I do everything but live in the moment.

I remember how long it took for me to heal after my mother died and then longer after Mike died. I feel really good these days, and although I can hear how selfish I sound, I just don’t want to grieve anybody ever again.

Maybe the answer is Fairy Dust. Yes, Fairy Dust. Take one sprinkle daily with food…and say good-bye to any feeling that you don’t want to feel!

Now really, I know that the reason I feel so good these days is that I was willing to feel so bad.

You just don’t get the good without feeling the bad. And how absolutely boring this world would be without challenges. It is too bad about that, but it is true.  As bad as we are willing to feel, that is as good as we get to feel when the time comes.

So I will appreciate each day I have with my father.

Especially knowing that our time is limited.

Mie Elmhirst   The Widows Coach

For a sample coaching session  call 508-540-4421 or click “contact’.

Today is my wedding anniversary.

It will always be my wedding anniversary. Regardless of what happens in the future, September 2nd, will always be the anniversary of that hope-filled day when Mike and I promised ourselves to each other in front of a small, intimate group of twelve.

Our relationship was not simple, complicated by both of our family histories and by the presence of cancer. But it was solid and never once in our 12 years did I wish for someone or something else.

When Mike died, I logically thought that we would be over, that our relationship had come to an end.

But we were not over and soon I began to talk with him, question him, and sometimes make requests.

Help me, I demanded. Or it was about Anneke. Please be there for her, love her.

Sometimes it was angry. Help me sleep, Damn it!

And sometimes it was softer. Do you know how much I love and miss you?

Always, I felt he was there.

But then, sometime around the second or third year, believing that my close connection to Mike was prolonging my sadness I began to think that I wanted to be free of him. I decided to practice a sort of a trial separation. I spoke to him little, and reached out to him less. I did my best to put space between us. I was determined to be independent. I was a widow, after all and needed to create a life for myself here in Falmouth, rather than with some imaginary ghost of a man.

As it turned out, our separation was only temporary when I saw that it did not buy me the freedom and pain-free experience of widowhood I sought. I was still a widow and I still was sad.

Eventually, I reached out again, (had he been waiting patiently?) and I was glad for our renewed connection.

This time, however, it was a less desperate reaching out and more as a friend. I needed less from him as I began to feel grounded myself. It was more of a Hiya Howya doin’ kind of rapport.

Now, nine years later, we continue to coexist. We have a gentle connection, a sweet connection. It is not passionate, it is not needy and it is not painful. It just is. I appreciate what we have and expect that as the years pass and we both continue to grow, our relationship will continue to grow with us.

Mie Elmhirst    The Widow’s Coach  Help for widows.

www.widowsbreathe.com

For a sample session, email me at mie@widowsbreathe.com.  I will be happy to talk with you.