Life

Someone who has lost a loved one needs our support

The loneliness of losing a loved one can be exacerbated by people being too embarrassed around grief to offer support
The loneliness of losing a loved one can be exacerbated by people being too embarrassed around grief to offer support The loneliness of losing a loved one can be exacerbated by people being too embarrassed around grief to offer support

“Till it happens, no-one knows what it’s like.” Marie is in her early 60s and 13 years ago after an idyllic marriage her husband died.

“Ken was ill and I worried about him dying but you don’t think it will really happen. When it did I’d done most of my grieving, at least I thought I had. People said it was a good thing he had gone and was out of his suffering; they said he had moved on to another, better place; they said we’d meet up again some day. I have a religious belief but those words didn’t help me at all. All I wanted was my Ken back again.”

We were sitting in the sun last week and over a cup of coffee she did a lot of reminiscing of the time he died and her pain was still apparent.

“What did help were the little signs I believe he sent me during the first year, right up until his ashes were scattered over the countryside where he grew up. As he lay dying our cat sat with him in his room. Then, when he moved on to a hospital bed at the end, the cat lay beside him and Ken seemed to get some comfort.

"On the day he died, the cat lay along the length of him without moving, from early morning until 8 o’clock in the evening when Ken took his last breath. Only then did the cat leave the bed, walked out of the room and outside to sit under a bush looking up at the window. From that time she seemed to know when I was really sad and either sat beside me on the chair or climbed onto my knee."

On another occasion Marie (not her real name) was having friends to the house on Ken’s first anniversary, a lovely day so they decided to have a barbecue. “There wasn’t a breath of wind and we sat under the big sun umbrella talking about Ken and remembering the good days when suddenly the umbrella lifted up out of its holder, into the air then rolled across the garden. I believe he was saying hello.”

Although the little signs she attributed to her late husband helped her to feel he was still around, it didn’t help alleviate the loneliness and the pain.

“I loved my close friends for their support but I noticed I was left off invitation lists, I suspect hostesses thought I might be an attraction for the male guests and a threat to their partners. That might sound boastful but I was young, reasonably presentable and very lonely.”

Another middle-aged widow told me how she had stopped to talk to a neighbour about his garden when his wife came out of the house and accused her of trying to ‘chat up’ her husband.

“It was dreadfully hurtful and I found it hard to go out for a walk again, certainly not past that house.”

Eventually Marie discovered she wasn’t the only widow among the people she knew and gradually they formed a group who were determined not to be isolated because they’d lost the person they loved best in the world.

“It was like a punishment. We all felt some people turned their backs on us when we lost our husbands, wouldn’t even cross the road to speak, I suppose because they didn’t know what to say.

"Why can’t people get over their own embarrassment and think of us? A word is all we need to feel included, at worst a wave, at best a chat about what’s happened, naming our husbands and asking directly how we’re getting on. And don’t say ‘I understand what you’re going through’ unless you’ve been in the same boat.”

Her doctor told Marie it would take two years to come to terms with Ken’s death. “It was a real heartache, a physical pain. When everyone left after the funeral and I went to bed and cried sore when the realisation hit that I’d no-one to lie beside any more.

"The letters and cards arrived and I looked through them but didn’t really take them in. The comfort they gave me came a couple of years later when I was strong enough to open the box and re-read them. Please, never think it’s too late to write or to phone, even to call: it makes all the difference.”

It’s wise, however, to think about what you’ll say. A printed card is adequate but make it personal, add your own message, mention the name of the husband or wife. You might have a nice photograph you could include, but wrap it round with a sheet of paper and make a note on it: ‘You might like this photo of ….’ In that way it won’t be a shock to see the face of a beloved husband staring at your when you open the card or letter.

Of course Marie had warning of Ken’s death; he’d been diagnosed with cancer and she was able to nurse him for the last few weeks. It’s a different story after a sudden or tragic death but the same guidelines apply. Don’t ignore it: that widow, or widower, needs a lot of support – from everyone. Just because you aren’t close doesn’t matter.

I remember when my grandmother died a wreath was derived to the door and the young man looked me in the eye and said: “I’m sorry for your trouble.” I know he meant it and I found it strangely comforting. It was recognition of my sorrow and that’s what’s necessary, be it a hug, a card, a phone call or a handwritten letter, even an arm round the shoulder.

Important too is practical help, offer to do what you can – perhaps shop, perhaps make some phone calls. It takes imagination and determination to put that bereaved person before your own reluctance to get involved. It’s appreciated.