Amy Dancer, widowed three years ago, on what helps the bereaved
As the current TV ad for the Alzheimer’s Society says, you lose your partner to the disease multiple times.
None of the times is easy to adapt to. None of them is pleasant. You need friends and family to help you navigate the emotional tempest.
When I lost my husband three years ago, for the final time, I found myself viscerally recoiling from well-meant platitudes. They were shared in the hope of indicating empathy or in an effort to conquer the unease we all feel when grappling with someone else’s grief.
‘You must feel awful. You must be feeling devastated.’
Please don’t tell me how I must feel – when I hardly know myself.
‘Despite everything, you are looking quite well, really. I expected you to be distraught.’ After years of disturbed sleep while caring for my husband, I am actually able to sleep for a few hours each evening without interruption.
‘Surely you aren’t planning to go back to work now?’
It’s the thought of being able to return to a semblance of normality that makes work so appealing.
‘Why not retire and focus more on yourself?’
My life partner’s death doesn’t mean that I don’t still have ambitions and plans, some of which would have involved him.
At a time of raw emotion and loss, I was not myself. I was barely in control of my frayed emotions. But I certainly did not wish to be told all the ways I was supposed to ‘be’. Supposed to feel. Supposed to act.
I’m sure the polite offenders all meant well. Because I know they really are warm, loving people. I do, however, wish someone had shared a rant such as this with them. We should all be able to welcome an offer of solace in unbearable times.
Overcome your own unease or desire to empathise. Try being quiet! Try listening. Hugging. Just. Being. There.
It might just prove to be a most restorative tonic at a time of great need.
