Until It Happens To You

We’ve all heard the saying “You won’t understand (* something *) until it happens to you.”

Intellectually, we get what that means, but we won’t truly know, to the depths of our souls, the accuracy of that phrase until something does happen to us.

Throughout my life, I witnessed acquaintances and elderly relatives becoming widowed. My heart ached for them, but I couldn’t possibly have known what it felt like for them.

The closest I ever came to understanding was when my maternal grandmother passed, leaving my grandfather widowed.

My grandfather was always one of my favorite people on Earth.

He and my grandmother had been married for well over 50 years.

I even briefly lived with them when I was in grade school.

Cancer took my sweet grandma after quite a valiant fight, and to really add salt to the wound, it did so on my grandpa’s birthday! How awful was that?

We got together at my grandma’s sister’s home and tried to have cake and ice cream, but my poor grandpa just sat there quietly, crying on occasion.

Just thinking about it can bring back the heart-stabbing feelings of that day, and tears to my eyes, but even then, I didn’t truly know how losing one’s spouse actually felt.

I could imagine it. I could sympathize with my grandpa, but I didn’t feel what he felt.

I’ve written quite a bit about people likening a spouse’s death to a breakup, and while I can understand their pain, no, it’s not the same. 

The first thing that comes back to me when thinking of those awful moments after Bret died was the helplessness.

It was like losing a limb. (Something I don’t actually know about but can only imagine.)

I didn’t know up from down; I wanted to run, but to where? No place I could have gone would have given me the relief I was seeking.

When huge events occurred, I had him to lean on. Now, it was him that was gone, and I was in absolutely uncharted territory.

It was terrifying.

I had no idea how I was going to get through the next minute let alone the rest of my life.

There are likely many other times that feel this way – tragically losing someone who is completely integral in your world, like a child, is one example.

But again, we don’t know the full scope of that kind of pain unless it happens to us. 

The best advice I can offer to people who are trying to comfort a bereaved loved one is to just show up for them.

You don’t have to do anything except be present.

For whatever reason, when dealing with widows. far too many people think it’s their place to tell us what to do.

To make matters worse, if we don’t do what we’re being ordered to do, they will most likely end the friendship/relationship. (I’ve experienced that myself, too many times to want to recall.)

So for people who don’t know the first thing about being widowed – because it’s never happened to you – please don’t tell your widowed friend what s/he needs to be doing and feeling.

Just show up for them. Be present. Be supportive.

And be thankful that you don’t know firsthand.

About Layla Beth Munk

Layla Beth Munk is a blogger & author who was thrust into this widowhood journey abruptly and tragically on February 11, 2018. Her husband of 12 years had ended his pain once and for all. She soon made the decision that she would not let his final decision define the rest of her life or their daughter’s life, so with her sense of humor at the helm, she started writing about her newfound station in life. Grief waves still get to her, and probably always will, but with the help of her fellow widows as well as friends and family, she has been able to realize her dream of becoming a published author! Layla is so grateful to Hope For Widows Foundation for providing this level of support to her, and so many others! Layla has two amazing children, one who is grown and one who is almost grown. She lives in eastern Oregon and has a wellness & beauty background. Layla enjoys writing poetry, watching anime, and homeschooling her daughter.

Her blog can be found at laylabethmunk.medium.com and her debut novella, 24 Hours in Vegas, is available on Amazon.