Grief Awareness Day always falls close to the anniversary of Tony’s death. The day Tony died, August 29, 2014, was the day everything changed – hopes, dreams, people in my life – all of it. I can’t help but reflect on his passing and my life journey since then.
I spend a lot of time considering my widow’s journey. I don’t really call it a “grief journey” because simply calling it that does not do it justice. Being a widowed person is not always about being sad and crying, as suggested by “non-grievers” or know-nothings, as I call them inside my head. There’s so much more to it.
At Tony’s funeral, so many of his family took one look at my face and said the words I needed to hear: “We will be there for you. Whatever you need. Just call, and we are there.” I needed that. I counted on that. When Tony was ill and going through all of the treatments and setbacks, not one single person, except my sister and my mother, was there to support us. I needed to be assured that we had their support going forward.
I should have known better, given my prior experiences with them.
People from my church told me the same thing. “All you have to do is call, and we will be there. We know how devastating this is. ” Well, I called, and no one showed up, from my church leadership, my circle of friends in the church, no one.
I kept hearing “You’re so strong. Look at how you have survived.” Like a mom with a teenager graduating high school and another child with disabilities trying to keep a roof over their heads and keep them fed while helping them through their own pain, had a choice! Another bonus to this – I did not still need any comforting, and I dare not cry anymore.
Seriously? Come on, people!
By that same token, because I had been forced to push through everything on my own, most family and friends essentially ignored me when I asked for help. I know now that people who are not grieving do not understand those who are. Knowing now does not help me reconcile how I was treated then.
If I sound angry, you have great hearing. It has been 11 years, and I have been able to let most of the anger go. But when my grief rears its head, so do the remnants of the anger. I can’t help it.
I honestly think it was the anger and disappointment that helped me keep it moving. I found programs and some very caring individuals to help me and my boys with some of the basics, such as school supplies and counseling. Monetary assistance came intermittently, but it did come. This kind of assistance was a big deal for me, but it still was not enough.
Nothing beats the emotional support a widow must have during their widow’s journey.
A widow always needs a shoulder to cry on, be it the day after the loss or 20 years after the loss. I believe this to be the hardest concept for “non-grievers” to understand. My Mom lost Dad 20 years ago this fall, and she and I still cry together over how much it hurts her that he’s gone. No length of time will ever erase that pain. It’s not possible. People need to be educated to understand that.
As a widow who lacked emotional support through the first years of the journey, I can tell you this did some damage to my psyche. I felt that no one cared or wanted to hear about how much pain I was in.
Again, it’s taken me years to understand why I had to tough this whole thing out alone. That should never be, for anyone.
Spending time with someone who is grieving means more than anything in the world. Talking with, listening to, or just sitting with the widow is invaluable. My best friend, whom I communicate with through text these days, came to visit me a couple of years ago. She has always been there to help me monetarily when I need it. I always loved it when she would tell me that Tony got into her head and told her I needed something. However, the night she traveled 1800 miles in a car she was planning to give me (another story for another time), we went to dinner at my favorite restaurant. That evening’s conversation was the real beginning of healing for me.
She allowed me to voice my agony at losing Tony. She listened while I poured out my soul about how lost and abandoned I have felt since the day he died. She listened while I told her how it hurt me so much to watch my love change from the strong, well-spoken, beautiful man that he was into a sickly patient who could barely talk, let alone care for himself. I told her how painful it was to watch his anger and confusion about his illness and how it took away his basic need – taking care of his family.
She heard how upset and angry I was at the loss of not only my husband, but our plans for the future. The loss of someone who was my constant for 24 years. The loss of my boys’ father and all he was planning to teach them. She heard it all. Most importantly, all the while, she simply nodded or made very soft, gentle comments filled with encouragement. She let me cry all over her.
I needed her empathetic response more than anything in the world. Healing begins when pain is heard and acknowledged. I am not going to say I was magically better that night, but that night I felt heard. I believe that many people think they understand the feeling of grief, but you really do not unless you experience it – which I don’t recommend – or if you allow yourself to truly hear it. Then, you will feel it and have a better idea of what grieving truly is.
My advice: Be there for your grieving friend. Listen. Never, never interrupt. Keep Listening. Hold their hand if they want you to. Feed them. Bring them flowers. Do something you know will remind them of their lost love – believe it or not, we LOVE that. Shut up and listen some more. Bring a box of tissues and offer them one each time the one they are using gets soaked. Hug them. Put them to bed for a nap. DO things for them. Talk only if they want you to. Listen. Do even more listening. Be fully aware of their grief and try not to do what you THINK you should. Acknowledge their struggles and secondary losses.
Do what they NEED. You have no idea what that will mean and how healing it can be.
About Cheryl Barnes
Cheryl Barnes was born in Atlanta, Georgia and after several moves with her family, settled in Indianapolis, Indiana. She attended college at Indiana University Bloomington, majoring in Public and Environmental Affairs Management. While she attended college, she laid eyes on Martin “Tony” Barnes and was completely lost. They became inseparable and were married on December 24th, 1991. After five years of marriage, their first son, Malcolm, was born on New Year’s Eve, 1991. After Tony obtained his Master’s Degree in Social Work, the family moved to Orlando, Florida. Tony worked as a counselor, while Cheryl got her dream job working at Walt Disney World. Two years later, their second son, Miles, was born in July 2004. Cheryl left Disney and took a job in accounting at a property management company. Everything seemed to be going well for the family and Cheryl made plans to attend nursing school. However, in July 2011, Tony was diagnosed with end stage renal failure caused by lupus. For the next three years, Cheryl cared for her husband while taking care of the boys and working. Tony’s health deteriorated as a result of several complications until he passed away on August 29, 2014. Thus began her new journey as a widow and solo parent.
Cheryl was devastated at the loss of her beloved Tony, but continued to work and care for their sons as she had before. As a way to work through her grief, she started writing, at first, only for herself. But, being encouraged by others, she began publishing her blog, “Widowness and Light.” Along with writing and being involved with several widows groups on Facebook while raising her boys, she works as a training bookkeeper at an association management company.
She plans to go back to school and obtain a Master’s in Social Work so that she can help other widowed persons cope with their losses. She is also working on a book about her grief journey.
Her hobbies are reading, attending Orlando Magic games, yoga, going to the beach, and just chilling with her boys.
Additionally, she is also the founder of Black and Widowed: A Unique Journey, a Private Facebook group and a contributing author of the book, Widowed But Not Wounded: The Hustle and Flow of 13 Resilient Black Widowed Women.
You can also reach Cheryl through her public Facebook page, Widowness and Light, which is based on her widowed journey.