Blog hop master post: Widowed people review "Go On," new NBC Matthew Perry sitcom about grieving people

About a week ago I posted a call for entries for a blog carnival of reviews by widowed people of the new Matthew Perry sitcom "Go On," on NBC.

Here are the folks who have written about the show so far! (I've also included posts written before I announced the blog hop). I'd love to include YOUR post, either on Widowed Village or on your own blog (it's not a very hard deadline!), but please email me so I know to add it to this list!

I will be hosting an hour-long Chat Event on Widowed Village next week about the show where everyone can share their thoughts and feelings, not just those who wrote posts about it. All widowed people are welcome to this Chat but you must join the site first (approval takes about a day). You can sign up here. 

1. Abel Keogh, first review, and second review
2. Kim Go, Alive and Mortal
3. Julia (a childlost Mommy) from Glow in the Woods
4. Fresh Widow (me)
5. Widdared from Widowed Village
6. JoanneF from Widowed Village 
7. Marsha from Widowed Village
8. Jacuser from Widowed Village.
9. Honeyspuddin from Widowed Village.
10. Sandy, FlyingWG
11. Janine, One Breath at a Time
12. EverydayMorning (Sam) from Widowed Village
13. Choosing Grace Today
14. Missing Bobby
15. You? ... or leave your thoughts in the comments, below!

This has been pretty fun, actually, and I'd like to do it again... how about the movie "Best Exotic Marigold Hotel?"

Review: “Go On,” new NBC/Matthew Perry sitcom about a young widower, is not crazy

Earlier this fall, NBC premiered “Go On,” a new sitcom featuring Matthew Perry (of “Friends” megafame) as a young widowed man. There’s been a low buzz in my communities about our being “represented” in prime time, but I don’t watch much TV and never liked “Friends.” I tried to sit out “doing something” to engage widowed people on the show. But the din grew too loud, and much of it was from outside: “What do widowed people think of Go On? Is this a realistic look into what your life is like? And are community-run grief groups really full of nuts?”

I had to get involved. My weekly peer-led support group saved my life, after all. Reviewing the show would at least be a great opportunity to discharge more of the myths about grief and grieving people in the world. And I could engage my communities to review it and discuss it (in Chat) and you know what… it would be fun.

So I announced a blog hop a few days ago. That post, with the list of participants and links, will be published tomorrow, Thursday 10/4. I’m sure there will be people posting reviews after the deadline, too, so please check back.

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Review: “Go On,” new NBC/Matthew Perry sitcom about a young widower, is not crazy

We’re a small minority, we people who lose a partner to death during our productive years. For the most part, young widowed people don’t “belong.” Our world doesn’t have room for us: our friends and family wish to rush us along into happiness, often out of genuine concern and love; our old friends are often frightened by us; most of us don’t belong to churches or communities that are cohesive or do belong to ones that respond inappropriately; and our cohorts in loss are overwhelmingly people who’ve been through divorce.

So the news that a major network was debuting a prime time show about “one of us” caught our attention. That the show is a sitcom added provocation… could “our” humor be funny? (We know death can be funny…. “Civilians” must have found the announcement of a “funny show about a grief group” even stranger than we did). And the fact that the show starred popular favorite Matthew Perry of Friends said that the network felt (likely) that the show was a worthwhile investment.

Very, very curious. I think a lot of us expect to be disappointed and alienated yet again. After all, it’s TV.

I have watched the five episodes of the show so far, and there’s no question that the show is “TV-like.” When I saw that Ryan King, the young widower (an abrasive radio sports personality), attends a general grief group (one for all kinds of losses, including pets and abilities!) I figured things would go false right away. The cast of characters is a “bomber crew” of lovable oddballs: one latina, one lesbian, one old guy, one blind guy, one nut. Yeah, there are stereotypes, and I think, “Wow, how awesome to have two black guys in a group. I wish I could do that.” (Not my topic today.) As I watched, I kept wanting the two with spousal losses — Ryan and Ann (the lesbian) — to go off and talk on their own. I felt, those two would hit it off. (Sure enough, a later episode has them attending a wedding on a “friend date” and providing real support to each other in that “peer but not best friend” way I know so well.) In “Go On,” of course, the group’s diversity becomes a strength and they each learn to support each other in their own ways. Maybe that’s a “TV” part. Loss does unify people and I suppose somewhere in the world there’s a grief group where the widower didn’t quit right after hearing that one member is there because her cat died. But I’m not going to complain that a TV comedy is too much like a TV comedy. Did they look like my grief group? No. Did they work like my grief group? Absolutely.

The oddest things about Go On are what it doesn’t get wrong. * In “Go On,” the light is in the details. A sequence in the first show shows each of our grief group “characters” coping, alone: facing an empty bed, swinging an idle cat toy, flinging flowers at a headstone in rage. This sequence is touching and real without being maudlin. It can’t be easy, in a 24 minute show, to tell the small quiet stories that are so important in life, but “Go On” manages to include them without too much disrupting the overall sitcom tone and goal.

“Go On” manages to illustrate some real ways that grieving people ask and work through real questions in their life. An entire show revolves around Ryan giving away his wife’s sewing machine. Is this a way of making his space more his own, or is he refusing to cope? When is one “ready” to date? Does having sex again “fix” your loss? What is the “new me” like and can it compete with the “old me,” when my life’s plan is blown? These are typical and non-trivial questions and it’s sweet to see the characters coping with them in their own unique ways. Maybe being a “character” is not so constraining after all.

The show generates a certain humor and satisfaction from Ryan’s “manly” way of coping: he focuses on action. Yet he also admits he has feelings, and “plays along” with the grief orthodoxy of “share it and face it to get better.” Perry’s face, its paroxysms in focus, shows the kind of elasticity you expect from a sitcom player, but he’s also capable of displaying some understated moments like admitting that “a baby bird alone, a hat flying off an old man’s head” are among the many things that made him cry. It’s not a cartoon, and it could be.

One thing I absolutely admire about the show is that they have been willing to make jokes about some of the more unacceptable behaviors of grieving people. For example, the “grief olympics.” It’s not acceptable to “compare” losses, but it’s also not possible (being real here) to avoid comparisons. Ryan notes this at this first session and brings it to a loud and real competition, tracking semifinals on a whiteboard. In this game of “March Sadness” (verrry clever), because each player gets just 5 seconds to make their case, the lady who lost her cat wins over the lesbian widow. It’s the show’s best line: “On a technicality… feline death beats human one,” and it’s pathetic, but damn, it’s fair.

Other real tendencies the show captures include our desire to showcase our special status without actually wearing Victorian weeds (the show's version is DED WYF vanity license plates... and variations... another very funny touch) and our navigating new worlds (Ryan's first attempt to negotiate a grocery store as part of "taking care of himself"). Not to mention, that general sense of being different, out of place, and half in a another world (signs and visitations, anyone?) that most widowed people live with.



I’m not sure the show is really that funny. It can’t possibly be as funny as the humor widowed people engage in with each other. I would argue that it’s hard to actually be more funny than real life, lived fully and in a very particular context. Should it even be a “black humor” show? Does death have to only be the subject of black humor and maudlin sentimentality? Maybe life is really a cast of oddball characters and quick lessons. As long as Go On keeps including quiet moments, real questions, and signs of growth, I'll keep watching.

Should I extrapolate a larger meaning? (Would I be me if I didn’t?) If humor is really a way of deflecting pain, as the show’s facilitator character insists, the show should not succeed. But I don’t think that’s true — we, the widowed, are hilarious. “Go On” manages to be both funny and — a little — illuminating.

What do I think overall? I wonder if people earlier in their grief will find the show “validating.” (Part of the reason I’m encouraging others to review it). I think it’s interesting and more than a little brave to tackle death with humor in prime time. TV comedy is not known for being insightful. I think the creation of “Go On” indicates that death and loss are gaining in consciousness in our culture today… they’re emerging as necessary, acceptable topics. “Go On” is a sign of the times.

Whether it will be popular, or result in any greater understanding of what our experience is like, will depend on the quality of the writers and on what non-widowed people think of the show. Will “Go On” scare people away from grief groups? (I’d do anything to avoid Mr. K, the nutty one). It seems at this point like the in-person support groups are dying out while sites like my WidowedVillage.org and scores of Facebook groups are growing every day (but that’s for another post). It’s probably not in the power of a TV show to change where, when, or how we find each other.

Because while we may be a small group, we learn when we “discuss among ourselves.”

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What do you think? It’s not too late to join your post to our Blog Hop.

Join the blog hop: Widowed people review NBC's "Go On" sitcom

A new NBC sitcom features Matthew Perry of "Friends" mega fame as a young widowed sportscaster. People keep asking me, "what do widowed people think of the show?"

I don't want to say too much about my personal take on the show -- yet * -- but there have already been a few blog reviews by members of my communities and circles so I thought it would make sense to do a Linky, blog hop, blog carnival, or whatever of our thoughts on the show.

I'll be creating a new post in the next few days that contains all the links to those who post. If you're working on a review, please do let me know by THURSDAY OCTOBER 4, when I will publicize that post with everyone's link in it. So, subscribe using the email link over there -----------> or email me direct. If you're not widowed, just state that in the first paragraph of your post.

I'm inviting members of WidowedVillage.org, my online community, to participate. This will be a new thing because many of them aren't used to readers from "outside" even though the site is public.

Looking forward to seeing what a whole roundtable thinks of the show... really! There are some good gags in it.

Here's a quick clip from the show. * * *


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* I HOPE YOU ALL KNOW HOW HARD IT IS FOR ME TO KEEP MY OPINIONS TO MYSELF, EVEN ABOUT A DUMB * *  TV SHOW.
* * Dammit, I leaked. OK, I'm saving MOST of it for the review next week!
* * * This is not one of them. * * * *
* * * * I'm signing off before I do any more damage.... 

Camp Widow: First East Coast Event. A review.

This was the first time we held Camp Widow on the East Coast. It can be hard to explain what we do there, and the words "bonding" and "learning," while true and important, just seem so pale. To give you some idea of the impact of bonding and learning in real life, it might help if I tell you the most common phrases in the event reviews tend to be "life saving," "totally amazing," and "thank you." Or I could give you the numbers:

• Five: Camp Widow West this August will be our fifth event in 4 years.
• One hundred and nine: Camp Widow East was experienced by 109 widowed people, ages 23 to 82. Their losses were very recent (just a few months) ranging to 20 years ago. 
• Forty: This year Campers will choose two full days of programs from more than 40 presenters. These include experiential classes (yoga), creative ones (blog slam, writing intensive), and learning opportunities (childhood grief, dating, spirituality). Camp Widow programming evolves every year.
• Half: More than half of Camp attendees are also members of Widowed Village, Soaring Spirits' online community, which I founded. They entered the weekend with a few familiar faces already, and able to continue to share after the weekend ended.
• Fifteen: For those who enter "fresh," knowing no one, we now have two orientation events in the first few hours of Camp and our kickoff cocktail party included a fun "15 seconds" icebreaker event. (Not the "fun" kind you do at professional retreats... one that is actually fun). 

Me at the WidowedVillage.org booth

And what do you do at Camp? What does it look like? Maybe some pictures will help fill it out.


Camp Widow Snapshot: Here's me at the Widowed Village booth, with visual influences ranging from Lucy from the Peanuts comic strip and a bedspread hand-embroidered on the steppes of Uzbekistan.

We gave away chocolate and wi-fi (most of the time) and free bookmarks. (The kind you stick in books.) (Paper books.) 

A lot of what Camp looks like is like any event at a hotel, except: that a lot of people are crying, especially in front of their Tribute Tiles. Unlike events in the real world, no one is avoiding the people who are crying.

Some people are listening very intently... others are silent. Some stand around in groups. They laugh or hug... No one looks weird at the people who are laughing. Some sit down exhausted on a chair and check their phones.

There's room for anything, including skipping out for a walk on the beach or some time alone. But that is hard when everyone has something to share and the surprises of commonality are everywhere.

In the workshops (huge array, did I mention?) some cry, others laugh. Some people raise their hands and share. Others listen intently. This is a different environment. Since we've all had the air sucked out of us at some point in the not-too-distant past, since many of us have forgotten how to walk at least once, we're forgiven if we're wobbly or if we've forgotten how to breathe, again, for a moment.

It's not completely touchy-feely (and not at all earthy-crunchy) but the environment IS a new one and we are all getting used to it.

Photo by @Connie_UW

Camp Widow Snapshot: I stuck these red signs up in the bathrooms. They're derived from an Internet meme but I thought real life needed them.

And the ritual... our letters to the sea. There's a whole separate post on that.

The best thing as always about Camp Widow is the people and the amazing connections... and somehow (through an incredible amount of work by a small team of volunteers, one staff member, normal good-hotel procedures and a bit, I'm sure, of magic) the time and place becomes a home for everything that one could need.

Camp Widow Snapshot: I met someone special (a met a lot of special people). But I really like my new friend Betty, widowed a while back, who came to Camp Widow with her daughter, also widowed. All weekend Betty said "I'm just here to support her" and pointed to the smiling lady next to her... who rolled her eyes gently ... but every time I looked, Betty seemed to be having her own conversations and making her own friends. The very last event at Camp is the Sunday morning breakfast and Betty, after scouring the very well appointed buffets, asked me quietly, "Do you think I could get a cup of hot chocolate?" We called aside a gentleman in Marriott uniform and he assured us of course, he could.

Betty (r) and her daughter.

She shared why: When her husband died, it was a terrible car accident, and she was badly hurt as well. He did not make it, but she did. In her bed in that same hospital she was looking at a long recovery herself, and was in and out of consciousness. One morning the staff said she woke up hysterical, screaming, "Take it away! Get it out of here," over and over. They thought it was just hallucinations, but when they moved the coffee out of the room, she calmed down. And eventually she regained most of her health and came home, and years later, joined me at this breakfast buffet.

"You see, my husband used to bring me my coffee every morning. And I would make him up a cup of tea, just the way he liked it [I wish I could convey the proud ring in her voice as she told me this]. That was what did every day for all those years. And I knew the smell even when I was unconscious... I hated that the smell was here without him. To this day I cannot stand the smell of coffee, so I have hot chocolate every morning instead."

Her chocolate arrived and we smiled together at her "after" life and a simple need, satisfied. Her daughter shares with me via blog all the time... Betty and I had a few minutes standing at a buffet.

I think there must always be some kind of "hookup" at Camp.... any time you get a lot of big hearts together, a few will spark. But don't get excited (or worried)... there is no "pickup" energy in this space, only whatever is evoked by smiles, tears, and adding real bodies to connections made online. People are friends, and if they take it to another level... that's something that can happen. 

This year at Camp there was an extraordinary and special moment where a Camper offered a large financial gift if people matched it... and though no one expected this request, people (a lot of them) stepped in and fulfilled the grant by Sunday morning. I believe this type of sharing counts as "work" because it truly helps make the next event happen. For a small non-profit, on a weekend with such intense logistical and human demands, this generosity is tremendous. To have the enthusiasm come from within the community was perfect and validating, I think, for everyone who put their time into planning and creating the weekend. 

Silly me w/ Michele Neff Hernandez & KIM CATTRALL!

Camp Widow Snapshot: Of course -- in addition to the noble goals of being a place to learn to move forward in life and connect with others who've "been there" or are still right exactly wherever you are -- Camp Widow is also the world's largest widow party. At the end of the day, staff, volunteers, and helpers of all sorts shake off their high heels, enjoy a nightcap, and perhaps spend a little time taunting civilians in the hotel bar. See me (center) with red wine on my head.

About taunting: This year, SSLF board member Barbara Frova successfully masqueraded as Kim Cattrall to the coterie of a very young, very drunk wedding party. (It was one fellow's idea and she just played along). She didn't even mention, I don't think any of us did, that we were all widowed. We were all "mazel tov" after our drenching on the beach and far less confrontational, though equally playful, as the famous incident at a CW West afterparty (2010) when Andrea Renee wrote "GET LIFE INSURANCE" on an acquaintance's hat. Every year is wild in its own way. 

No snapshot can capture the experience of being together, of being understood... of having tears be not the sign of weakness, but of love and healing... of sharing our loves ones with one new friend. Nothing can capture the feeling of wet sand between our toes in our Saturday night ritual.

During the weekend, many of us may be stunned to receive a "thank you" from a new friend. We who feel we have done nothing but take, are thanked! What is up? This is a place where sharing is big, where if you give, you are enlarged and made stronger. At the end of the weekend, we realize that we each helped CREATE this new place, that we added to its different air and we walked in its strange gravity. We all helped AS we were helped.

We often say, "we laughed, we cried," but at Camp Widow it's bigger: we breathed, we wobbled, and while we're not exactly one uniform family (like any community, we are very diverse and our disagreements are full of heart), we are not alone. We take some of this home with us, like our love, and this connectedness (I hope!) stays with us and becomes a part of us.

Which is why we call Camp Widow a "self care" item. It's a boost toward the hard work of building a new life. Don't we all deserve that? 

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I serve on the board of Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, the host of Camp Widow and Widowed Village. I receive no compensation for my service. You can read the rest of my disclosure statement here.  

Sh*t People Say to Widows (Video) is DONE!

Here, at last, is the video we created together: "Shit People Say to Widows." Guaranteed 100% authentic quotes from (mostly) well meaning friends, family, and colleagues. Featuring comments submitted by a few dozen widowed people from my community, WidowedVillage.org.

Share it as much as you like... please! It was a lot of work and many, many people contributed.

Thank you!

LGBT Families Matter in Grief Support, too

I had followed and supported the "issue" of gay marriage like most other good Unitarians, but I didn't really think this niche of civil rights was all that big a deal (most of my gay friends seemed pretty lukewarm on it) until I became widowed. Well... a little sooner... I "got it" when I became the caregiver for a dying man. Then, I KNEW how serious it was if your partner would not be allowed to visit you in an ICU or other secure hospital situation.

After I was widowed, and coped with the bureaucracies from insurance companies to my own and my child's health insurance, to the MVA and how my home was titled, I realized how many essential privileges I'd had by virtue of marriage -- and how I'd taken them for granted. How their denial would make life so, so much more difficult at the worst time in my life already.

Bloggers, Win a Scholarship to Camp Widow! UPDATED with all entries!

• THIS POST IS UPDATED with all the posts from entrants. The contest is CLOSED! Thanks to all who participated or helped spread the word!

In August, Camp Widow, the premier event for connecting widows and widowers, will held for the THIRD YEAR.  Please visit the website for location, list of speakers and workshops, registration, and (my favorite) Frequently Asked Questions. This is the only event run by a non profit organization BY widowed people and it's an exception weekend of support, new friends, and the freedom to "come as you are" -- where EVERYONE "gets it." The event is inclusive (men, women, LGBT, all ages, all parenting statuses) with content and social events to meet all needs and interests.

I strongly encourage widowed folks to attend. To make it easier, I am helping to run this blogging contest, funded by a group of friends.

Widowed Bloggers -- win a ticket to Camp Widow!
Write a post sharing WHY you want to attend Camp Widow 2011. Notify us that you posted by leaving a comment on this post (below) to make sure we see it (you can also send us a note.)

Camp Widow is a exceptional weekend for widowed people of all ages. We will choose one (possibly two) bloggers to receive a PARTIAL scholarship that covers Camp registration and some incidental expenses. NO ACTUAL CAMPING IS INVOLVED. Learn more about this event, which is in its third year, at campwidow.org.

How do I enter?
Please write and publish a blog post telling the world WHY you wish to attend. You can include topics such as how you expect to benefit, or share about some of the widowed people you've already met. You do not need to demonstrate financial need though if you wish to write a separate note discussing your financial circumstances, you may do so.

Who is eligible to compete?
Widows and widowers of all ages who started blogging before 4/1/11 and who are interested in attending Camp Widow 2011. Please note: you should be prepared to pay for and arrange your travel to and from, and your lodging in San Diego. (We can help you find a roommate to reduce costs). If our generous donors can pay more, they will, but please don't apply unless you are prepared to make the trip (including arranging child care, taking time off work, etc.).

Summary and dates

• You must publish your blog post AND notify us by midnight EST, * * * Tuesday, June 14. * * *
• We will notify the winner(s) within 2 weeks.
• Camp Widow will be held August 12 to 14. Details are at campwidow.org. 

Winner(s) MUST arrange and purchase their own travel and hotel reservations. Scholarship covers Camp Widow registration fee plus some incidentals.

Questions? Want to help fund this scholarship? We want to hear from you.

(Disclosure: This competition is hosted, managed, and funded by an independent group of widowed bloggers. We're not being compensated for creating this competition and those judging entries are not eligible to win.)

Here are the folks who've entered our competition so far!:

1. Carolyn, Through a Widow's Eyes, We Widowed as Community, Camp Widow as Village Square
2. James, JamesPinnick.com, Camp Widow 2011
3. Christine, Widow Island, A new beginning... again 
4. Maria, Missing Jorge, Fantasy Camp 
5. Greggie's Widow, And I thought I loved you then..., Love, Tears, Laughter, Support, (In Person) Hugs... Camp Widow 
6. Nancy Drew, Get a Clue with..., Camp Widow
7. MPdaCNA, If I could write a book..., Thursday... It's almost here
8. C, Letters to Elias, What does it mean?
   
9. And our last entry... Kim, Live from the 205, Camp Widow 2011!

These posts are terrific -- thank you! The reviewers will do THEIR THING and read 'em all and winner/s will be notified around July 1. 

Widowed Village is LIVE!

My new online community, Widowed Village, a collaboration with the non-profit organization, the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, went live at midnight Monday.

It really WAS like giving birth, including the whole "9 months" part. This is a service widowed people have been asking me for ever since I energized the widowed space on Facebook late in 2009, but it's something that couldn't happen without a whole community behind it. Thanks to the many folks who helped -- and boy is there a lot to do coming up, too!

Thanks for your enthusiastic reception and all the ideas you've shared in the past few months. Badges for your blogs, a press release to make it easy to "get the facts" right, and other features will be coming soon. 

Elizabeth Edwards (2): The Estranged Widowed

Rose "Elizabeth Edwards"

One of the most destructive grief myths is "the deeper the love, the greater the grief." John and Elizabeth Edwards had, no doubt, a complicated relationship. He'd had an affair, another child, and the couple were separated, but stories tell us he moved back home to be with Elizabeth and their two children recently, as her condition worsened. So I anticipate that despite this late, public transformation to devoted family leader, there will be lots of talk about John Edwards' transition to widower and likely, lots of judgment of how he grieves based on how he "should" feel.

(Widowed people just looooove to hear things like this when they become part of public conversation. Did you know we have punching bags in our basements? Funeral homes ought to give them away as bonuses, along with the special kleenex and a year's worth of massage therapy.)

Some of us buy into the myth that big love results in big grief. We long to be told our love was "special," we romanticize our loves when they end in death, and we naturally idealize those who are no longer around to act real and challenge our glistening memories.

But it's not true. As we adjust to our life after loss, and the drama subsides, widowed people learn that there are no formulas for grief, no number of tears to shed per year of marriage, no tricks, no shortcuts, no system.

I've had the honor of sitting alongside hundreds of widows, hearing their stories, watching them adjust over time, in person and online through my social media outreach. I've known dozens who mourned partners who died during divorce proceedings, after affairs, during separations, and even years AFTER divorce. These spouses (and former spouses) feel the same type and degree of pain, and experience many of the same adjustments, as the widows with storybook marriages (both real and imagined). These souls deserve the title of "widowed."

Why would anyone want to be called a "widow?" We often say, "welcome to the club that no one wants to join." But it does matter, because unmarried couples are routinely turned away from receiving support after they lose a partner. Because inconsistent acceptance of marriage by LGBT people means that they are nearly always taken less seriously by those who have sympathy for widowed people. And as little institutional and social support there is for grieving people, it's important that everyone who needs it is included.

My own experience of marriage and the many stories I've heard make me doubt that relationships that are "difficult" in public are all that different from more private or easier ones, especially below the surface. Any long-term partnership develops organically. Each union is as different from another as one animal from another. Their triumphs are often formed in compromise; even when a couple gets along easily, outsiders can't tell what's going on inside each individual or inside their life together. My friend Malena translated a Spanish proverb to me once, as "No one knows what is in the soup but the spoon." It took me a while to figure out what this means: not only can you not tell what makes a relationship tick, but sometimes a couple that seems unhappy meets each other's needs perfectly. (My parents seem to have used this recipe.)

"Happy marriages" aren't always what they seem, either, and you should be especially mistrustful of the rosy glasses of a grieving person. Spouses tend to "saint" their loved ones the moment they die, no matter what happened before. And there is an old saying that one should "never speak ill of the dead." 
Imagine the burden this puts on widowed people who find out about former lives and loves, drug abuse, or "love children" after their partner dies.

The guilt John Edwards may suffer as part of his grief may be stronger than that of a more faithful partner, but one never knows. Guilt is a natural part of most grief experiences — most of us fantasize that our loved one would still be alive if we'd acted differently: taken a different route that day, spoken up to a doctor — and we bear this with us until we come to forgive. The guilt is so magnified that it hardly matters what the irritant is: there's simply no math that will tell you how someone may feel after a loss.

I'll wager that it won't matter that John and Elizabeth Edwards had a difficult relationship. His grief won't be lessened or increased by the fact that they'd been separated. Now the children's experience… they are old enough (the youngest is 12) to talk about everything they've seen. The challenge for John Edwards will be to be as honest as he can with them, about the good times and the bad times, to honor their relationship — and his — with his co-parent.

Unlike a child, grief is an elemental, animal set of feelings and experiences and it doesn't understand the details of any story. A different grief is borne by each person: our emotions vary in size, shape, and color. But it is always the same weight: 100%, and it can't be fooled or outwitted by any system, no matter how hard we beg.

Estranged, separated, divorced, unmarried, the death of someone you'd planned a future with is always a huge loss. We should call these losses by the same name: A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

To Engage... or Not?

Click on the image to visit Engage with Grace…. But read the below first.

The other day I got an email from Christian Sinclair, one of my favorite people online. Dr. Sinclair (he is an MD in hospice) asked me to participate in a project called "Engage with Grace," which uses a simple set of questions to share your wishes on your end-of-life care with family and friends. The project includes suggestions on how to open the conversation and stories from families on why such conversations made a difference to them. As part of its focused strategy Engage with Grace suggests that families devote a few minutes of our holiday get togethers — while we're warm with gratitude — to the important, heart-strong topic of how we do — and DON'T — want to be treated when the time comes. It's simple, powerful, and I think it could be pretty effective.

Education (and appropriate paperwork) about end of life wishes is a cause I support 100%. When my husband was in hospice, unable to speak, I found out that advance health care directives (often known as "living wills") have their limits. While Gavin's documentation laid out basic guidelines on his eventual care, the number of medical situations possible was too complex to really use the paper as a strict guide. I was protected by the document but it was most helpful to also have had many conversations through the years — and to have been through many, many junctures with him where a decision in cancer treatment was necessary — to really interpret and make decisions on his behalf. (He also had a living will, which in our state is more limited in scope, and I was his health care proxy, which is a tool that gives me power to make decisions when he can't). (You can read more about the evolution and limitations of these very important documents on Wikipedia here).

(Which all maybe reads as pretty funny when you consider I've spent the better part of my time in the last four years bemoaning how little thought we gave to his eventual death: no paradox, he'd had all this drawn up when we got married because he had had life-threatening heart problems in the early 90s. The conversation post-cancer is the one I fixate on, for better or worse.)

And I loved participating in Engage with Grace, the "blog rally," last year. (Plus, there were jokes.)

This year I just couldn't.

My resistance made me stop. Why is this year different? I realized that what I do online has changed so much in that period. At Thanksgiving last year, I was just just a month or so into the support activity I do on Facebook. That community and its development is another long story, and one I intend to tell, but it's relevant here to say just: last year I didn't know how many people I touched. I was 3 years out from my loss, and my blog was all about ME. Yes, there was a community aspect, but it wasn't very… vivid to me. Today I've been through nearly a full year of hearing from widowed people — many fresh in the face of their loss — about EVERY DAY. About their hurts, their triggers, their traumas. Yes, it's wonderful to have created a space for them to share, to be validated, to find their own ways in helping others grow. But I never expected to be doing that type of activity on Facebook at all, and certainly not to devote so much time to it or for it to take the shape(s) that it has.

But the fact is that now, I know really vulnerable people are listening. They care what I think, and I hear that the holidays are the trigger and trauma to beat all others. I have heard them winding down as the light has fallen all autumn long. Through the interwebs I can smell their anticipation of the laden table, the loaded question, the family member who "doesn't get it" and wants them "to move on, already."

Widowed people are powerful advocates for Hospice, end-of-life planning, grief literacy, and other areas where our society is changing quickly. But most of the people who respond to my widows' activities online are just concerned about surviving the holidays. They are -- they need to be -- in one-day-at-a-time mode.

Many of you are scared and hurting. I just can't throw this in your face and ask you to participate this year. I can't avoid all triggers (I'm not really all that sensitive) and many of you expect me to handle tough topics, but it just didn't feel right to engage this full-on this year.

If you want to click through, you're welcome to. Engage with Grace is a loving and accessible way to discuss end of life care with family members at the holidays. I strongly recommend it.  And of course, I know not all my readers are widowed people. But the ones who are on the edge, ARE.

I still share my own experiences, and because I'm anonymous I can be uncensored in those. I believe you'll respect these horrors and delights as sharing.

This year this community is a different one than it was, and I am a different sort of advocate now.

And for that — and for all of you — broken wide open and present for each other EVEN NOW — I am so very thankful.

Parenting your grieving child, #2: Q&A with the founder of Rainbows, grief support for children

Suzy Yehl Marta is here answering your questions about parenting the grieving child. You can read the first post here. Her organization, Rainbows For All Children, has been working with grieving children in every state in the U.S. as well as internationally for more more than 27 years. Rainbows has programs for children and teens, ages 3 to 18. Find a site near you by calling 1-800-266-3206.

Suzy is also the author of “Healing the Hurt, Restoring the Hope.” 

This is the second of four posts by Suzy – one for each Tuesday in October. Questions were selected from those submitted by widowed parents on my Widowed Village page on Facebook. You can “like” that page at right, and ask your own question here.

Suzy and I created this series in response to your many requests for information and support. Please see my note at the bottom of the post for details on how you can take a minute or two this month to “vote” online and gain financial support for Rainbows.

* * *

How do I explain death to a 4-year-old? Are there any good books out there that will help? I've found several support groups for my older son, but NO ONE in our area offers these kinds of groups to small children, so not only is he confused about the death of his father, but he's now feeling left out, cause mommy and brother have a "meeting" and he doesn't!

Grief support for pre-schoolers is rare. It seems as if society feels that since the kids are not talking, they are doing just fine. We know this is not true.

Explaining death to a pre-schooler is heart rending. Complicating the emotional turmoil, a child that young simply cannot comprehend the complexity of the death of their Dad. Since you are unable to find a support group for your son, create one of your own within the family. Set aside a special time every week when you both can be alone. You can even name your special time, such as “ Sharing Time.”

All things in life to a 4 year old are black and white. So when you explain death, it must be simple – the heart stops beating or Daddy is not hungry anymore. The best way to open the conversation is to ask what your child wants to talk about. If he is hesitant, you could say that you are missing his dad. Or something specific like, “Your Dad made the best pancakes and I wish I knew how to make them.” Take the lead from your son. Sometimes he might dive into the conversation and others he might want to talk about school or a television show. Each Sharing Time does not have to be heavy but rather they are building blocks of trust, so when he is ready to talk or ask a question he will feel comfortable enough to do so.

Children cannot sustain the intensity of grief so they will grieve in spasms. It comes and goes. So in the middle of what you would think is a great conversation, he might stop abruptly and say he is going out to play. Hug him and encourage him to go. However, keep in mind what you both were talking about so the next time you are together, you can lead with that topic. The questions you want answered to help you understand and support your son during this grieving time are: What is he thinking, believing, feeling and needing, and it can take some time to draw these out.

My organization, Rainbows has a program, SunBeams, for kids aged 3 to 5. Find a site near you by calling 1-800-266-3206. Children at this age may also appreciate a terrific program put together by Sesame Street called “When Families Grieve.” Preview the materials (and family activities) online, or order your DVD kit (includes supplemental materials) through Rainbows or the Fresh Widow blog (email address at right).


Read the other posts in this series:
October 5, #1
October 19, #3
Or ask your own question.

* * *


How you can help support Rainbows programs
Rainbows For All Children is participating in the Pepsi Refresh campaign. From Oct. 1 to 31, log on to the Pepsi Refresh web site and vote for Rainbows every day. And please help spread the word! With $250,000 from the Pepsi Refresh Project, Rainbows will:

• Provide emotional support to 2,500 youth through 100 new sites nationwide
• Help children and youth strengthen problem-solving and coping skills
• Improve communication in their families and peer relationships
• Prevent destructive behaviors including violence and substance abuse.

Parenting your grieving child: Q&A with the founder of Rainbows, grief support for children

I’m so happy to introduce you all to Suzy Yehl Marta. Suzy is the founder and president of Rainbows For All Children, an international nonprofit organization that helps kids grieve and grow after loss. Founded more than 27 years ago, Rainbows is now in 17 countries and all 50 states. Rainbows has appropriate, community-based programs for children and teens, ages 3 to 18. Find a site near you by calling 1-800-266-3206.

Suzy is the author of Healing the Hurt, Restoring the Hope, a guide for parents helping children though loss of a parent or sibling and divorce. Their programs recognize that every child, every family, and every loss is unique. See the note at the bottom of the post for details on how your online “vote” can help support Rainbows.

In response to your many requests, especially on Facebook, Suzy and I are working together to create one post for each week in October. Questions were selected from those submitted by widowed parents on my Widowed Village page on Facebook. You can “like” that page (at right), and ask your own question.

* * *

I was pregnant when my husband passed. It's been 3.5 years since then and I have a 2-years-9-months old boy. He is just starting to realize that daddy is missing from his life and is asking a lot of questions. "When is daddy coming home," "I want to talk to daddy," stuff like that. I have taken him out to the cemetery so he knows where daddy is physically and have told him that daddy is in the sky so we can talk to him whenever we want. He now throws a fit every time he sees a cemetery because he wants to see daddy. How do you teach a 2 year old about death and what should I do about the cemetery tantrums?

Your son is so fortunate to have you so willing to help him begin the process of grieving the death of his Dad, who he never knew. A 2 year old is too young to have any understanding of death. A glimpse of understanding does not even start until a child is 6 or even 7. In the interim, your willingness to answer his questions to the best of your ability is laying the groundwork for helping him grapple with the reality that his Daddy died before he was born. He is too young to understand Daddy will never come back to be with him. This is undoubtedly why he is upset when he sees or visits a cemetery. Kids learn early on, that if they cry loud enough or long enough, they often get their way. He wants his Daddy and maybe if he is cries loud enough, Daddy will come back or you will bring Daddy home. We understand that.

The first steps are for you to initiate the conversation about death generally and then tie it back to his Dad. There are excellent books you could read to him. While he will not grasp it yet, still explain to him that everyone dies, it is part of life. And that people die at different ages and for different reasons. If he asks, "Will you die?" say "yes, because we all die." Tell him you hope you will be really, really old. Explain death in concrete simple terms your son will understand, such as when someone dies, their heart stops beating; they are never hungry, etc. Invite him to ask you questions or share his worries.

Then talk to him about who is Daddy was - hair color, eyes, hobbies, what he did for a living, where he grew up, etc. If he looks like his Dad or smiles like him, let your son know that, too. "Introduce" your son to his Dad. Since he has no memory of his Dad, you can help him create it.

Keep in mind your son is only 2, so the conversations are usually quick and simple. He will come back and ask you to repeat it often, just as kids will ask about the day they were born.

A few specific suggestions:

1. If you have a picture of his Daddy give it to him for his bedroom or any room in the house where he wants to keep it. Saying Daddy is in the sky is too big of a concept for this little guy to grasp. He can talk to a photo and even hold it in his hands.
2. Do you have anything of his Dad's you can give to him as a keepsake? This is something he can sleep with, put on shelf, or just keep close by to touch.
3. Together make a keepsake box (shoe box decorated by him) that he can keep things that we would like to show his dad. You might enjoy watching the Sesame Street "Memory Box" video for ideas about things to include.
4. If the cemetery visits are traumatic, stop going for now.
5. If and when he asks to go use this time to "give" his Daddy gifts. He can draw pictures and leave them at the grave, or bring Daddy something from his keepsake box, or even have a picnic with Daddy at the graveside.

Keep in mind the death of your son's dad is intricately woven into his personal tapestry. He will never "get over it", but rather accept it is part of his life's story. As he grows up and reaches benchmarks of maturity, he will more than likely re-open his Dad's death and want to talk about it again in depth. This is very healing. Expect these conversations -- you may even find yourself learning from them!

How can we be sensitive to the grieving child when their behavior is completely unacceptable? 1 1/2 years after our loss, my 7-year-old son seems okay when it comes to feeling sad but he gets very destructive when angry. How can I tell if it is part of his normal course of development or a result of grief?

No matter what the root cause is -- grief or simply being a child, your child needs the appropriate consequences for unacceptable behaviors. This must be given with patience and love. Communication is the key. Misbehavior is always driven by a need or the inability for the child or teen to communicate what is going on inside, emotionally. Kids act out what they cannot verbalize. As a parent, create a "talking spot" in the home where you and the child are alone and you know you can be there a while to work with your child to uncover why they are acting this way. You might have a discussion in your child's bedroom, in your room, even in the pantry sitting on the floor (You should be comfortable so you can allow the conversation time to develop!) The goal is to teach your child that you are safe to talk to, you care about them deeply, and you want to teach them the words they are searching for and help them find appropriate behaviors. Hitting a parent when they are frustrated or angry is not right, hitting a chair with an old tennis racket is.


Read the other posts in this series: 
October 11, #2
October 19, #3
Or ask your own question.

* * *

How you can help fund Rainbows programs
Rainbows For All Children is participating in the Pepsi Refresh campaign. From Oct. 1 to 31, log on to the Pepsi Refresh web site and vote for Rainbows every day. And please help spread the word! With $250,000 from the Pepsi Refresh Project, Rainbows will:

• Provide emotional support to 2,500 youth through 100 new sites nationwide
• Help children and youth strengthen problem-solving and coping skills
• Improve communication in their families and peer relationships
• Prevent destructive behaviors including violence and substance abuse.

I Heart Camp Widow

Of course I had to redo my Powerpoint at the last minute. Friday evening
in the hotel bar I told Andrea how I derived the name "Supa Dupa Fresh"
and she nearly fell asleep. "Fine, we'll say I took that name
because 'I like soup,'" I conceded. And so, a legend was killed.

Camp Widow, a weekend of events in San Diego hosted by the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, was the highlight of my year. I spent many months preparing my presentation on widows in social media, “Grief? There’s No App for That!,” and helping promote the event to my widowed friends and followers on Twitter and Facebook. I relished the chance to meet in person many folks who’ve become close friends online over the past few years. And I was honored (and totally shocked) to receive an award from SSLF for connecting so many people with resources with each other.

Even though I started with a serious lead, I can’t make this into a comprehensive article about this outstanding weekend. There are so many other perspectives – Candice has listed most of the blog posts, and others are here and here (and more here, here, here, here, here and here -- Holy crap this list is getting ridiculous!), along with two articles in USA Today, including one in which I was quoted.

Instead I’d like to share a few observations. First, the connections are so wonderful to see. If you are widowed, you already know the tremendous power of meeting others who’ve “been there,” how liberating it is to not have to explain yourself, to find those who understand your dark jokes. For many of the 200 attendees this was their first time close enough to hug someone their own age who’d lived with loss. Before Camp, I'd already met scores of my peers in person, and hundreds online, and I know I’ve been exceptionally lucky. This kinship is so validating, such a source of encouragement and conviction – I was a little envious of those discovering this place in themselves, this feeling of not being alone. I was moved to say something new agey: “All these hearts opening up – it’s lighting up the room.” (And then, strangely enough, there were actual fireworks over the harbor.)

And then, through the weekend, I felt a little distant. While I’m still in transition in my life, my emotional needs are much simpler, much less urgent, and not so much about grieving. As my friend Ellen Gerst said, this is a good sign for the rest of you. The weekend was not without pangs: it’s shocking to me, though I know so many of them online, to see in person widowed parents younger than me, some MUCH younger (one with a baby in attendance). And I was inspired by the courage of those who showed up in a strange place, knowing not a soul, in the early days after their loss – many with “0-6 months” on their nametags (each guest selected their own).

Second, the role of social media in making the connections. I loved witnessing the rich and dense web of friendships that had started online, many through my own Facebook activity. One woman told me, “when you friended me you were the only widow I knew other than my great aunt, and now half of my friends list is people like us.” Others toasted (with mashed-potato cocktails) the real faces of people they’d grown to love as sisters from tiny avatars.

Aside from a posse from Widows Wear Stilettos, the largest contingency (23 people) was definitely bloggers: not just the seven from SSLF’s flagship Widow’s Voice, who appeared on stage in a group, but also Candice, Abby, Matt, Andrea, Sarah, Chelsea, Mel, Dan, Boo, Deb, Wendy, Jennifer, WnS, my dear sister Hyla, and the hilarious, stunning Carol, who had the second-most beautiful shoes in the room.

My presentation on social media went “fine” (as we perfectionists say). It had to, given the number of cocktails I passed up throughout the weekend in order to “finish it.” I was trying to be analytical and high-level when people were looking for support and laughs: which you can get online, but perhaps not talk about.

Like so many other aspects of the weekend, the proof was in the pudding: I could see evidence of social media’s value in the connections all around me (and in the award and the attention of USA Today reporter Sharon Jayson), so the Powerpoint was almost beside the point.

Third, the ordinariness of our group: how, when you take away the “drama” the rest of the world invests our “stories” with (to paraphrase Matt, that’s no story, that’s my life!), when you remove yourself from the people Alicia calls “civilians,” the sadness and surprise of our youth and existence and laughter – all the reactions – we’re free. Black or white, fresh or seasoned, young or old, gay or straight, widowed people look like any other group of people: some shy, some giggling with roommates, most with a deep bond to at least one other here, all learning. As I walked back to the elevator after the gala, the “fresh widow” label on my wool shawl invisible as it protected my lucite award, I looked at the gaggles of conversation groups on square beige couches in the hotel lobby: it wasn’t easy to tell who was with our group, and I might have fit in to any of them, too.

I didn’t have a scarlet "W" on my forehead, after all. The role I play was put into relief: I have been widowed, and I can offer hope and share with those in the depths of it, but as a sister and an advocate I’m a handhold* for others.

* To understand this reference and also to be human and delighted you must read or preferably listen to Michele Neff Hernandez’s keynote.


* * * Please connect! I love comments! * * *

Camp Widow: Your chance to hear witness

Peer support saved my life when I was widowed with a young child. And while the internet is great for “cybergrieving,” there are many advantages to seeing other folks on similar journeys in the flesh, or, as we’ve come to call it, “in real life.”

Young widows (under 55) tend to be rare enough that most of us don’t have someone nearby or even access to a support group. We’re usually left with our websites, bulletin boards, blogs, and Facebook. While there are invaluable, you shouldn’t forego a chance to see – hug – exist together in a room with dozens of others like you. And actually -- even with those of different ages, different paths of life, different parenting statuses: the connection of losing a partner overcomes the differences between us.

It’s odd to me, an agnostic, that I must use religious language to describe this: I say “witness,” “testimony.” The first time I met a young widow – before Gavin died – I was in awe simply that she existed. This was hope to me, and healing: to SEE someone ALIVE after a similar ordeal, including the next bits, which I couldn’t imagine, and would surely be much worse: her husband was not just ill but had DIED. I was still in denial, but meeting her helped me see that his death was possible and my life after was likely. Why? I don’t know, it’s magic. But there is more powerful to touch than to read: even though sometimes we find a friend, sister or twin from reading the words of a widow we can be changed being faced with a real widow who you can hug or ask a question (“are you real?”). Maybe it's more "real." Whatever makes it so, presence matters.

So Camp Widow is a unique chance to witness the hope and healing of a hundred people like me, like you, each different – but with similar challenges and a commitment to get through them. This is the second year of this exceptional event, which will be held August 6-8 in San Diego. Camp Widow is hosted by the Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, a non-profit, non-sectarian organization which publishes the exceptional blog, Widow's Voice.

This year I’ll be presenting a session about how we share online. But it wasn’t my online friends that got me out of my rut: real widowed people in a real-life peer support group were my rock and my energy drink, combined. So I have been talking about Camp Widow a LOT on Facebook and Twitter, where I connect with a few thousand bereaved people and those who love and support them.

And you know, I hear objections, obstacles, and problems. Like:

I don’t want to be in a room full of strangers.
That’s funny, because some of the people who attended last year said it was one of the few times they felt they were NOT alone:

“Last year I went on my own. Hadn't talked to any other widows online that were attending, no faces to look for, no previous connections. As soon as I walked in the room I no longer felt alone.” (Jerilynn)

“Everyone was on the same page. It was as if there was an unwritten code that we could talk freely with one another without fear of being judged or criticized. Everyone was so supportive. Nothing was ‘off limits.’ The weekend wasn’t a pity party, but one of support, validation, and laughter…I felt comfortable. I felt understood. I felt accepted....” (Mary)

This year it will be even easier to fit in. A cadre of extroverts will serve as “ambassadors” and make sure no one is hanging back. If you need an introduction, a hand to guide you, or some help choosing from the 24 amazing workshops, an ambassador will be there for you!

The last thing I need is to be around a bunch of weepy depressing old ladies.
YOU have obviously never been around a group of bereaved people in their natural settings.

“Widows know how to party. … It was powerful to be with 150 people who have at one time cried like I cried, curled on the floor in desperation, and believed that we would never stand again. … What connected us was not death, but it was having had to consciously decide to live.” (Melodie)

“You probably would not picture a whole bunch of crazy ladies at a Pops-in-the-park concert getting shushed and then ignoring the shushes by jumping up in seats, screaming, dancing and waving their arms wildly to the music … Such aliveness you never did see.” (Abby)

All right, I’m fun. But there will be no one else like me.
There will be: Men. Women. Widowed people of ALL AGES. LGBT widowed people. People who are actively parents, and those who are childless. Americans. Canadians. Married, umarried, partners of all legal status, and REMARRIED widowed people AND their partners. People of color. Writers, bloggers, artists. People who want the world to change. People who are grateful for today. We’re all different, but we can ALL learn from each other.



“It took about 10 seconds meeting widows at the first Widows Conference last summer in San Diego to get that we do get it; we get each other; we understand the journey; the diversity of the stuff and oh how we wished each other the most authentic of all good stuff to happen.......” (Sandra)

“The bottom line is we all fit into each others shoes. That was the magic.” (Carole)

I’m doing just fine… dammit!
I’m sure you are, honey. But you know? You don’t have to say that around us. We’ve been there… or as close as it gets. You’re an extraordinary person with inner strength and a really supportive community and a freezer full of casseroles. You can do it all on your own.

Grief is not an illness. It can’t be “fixed.” But it’s a lot easier to get through with energy, ideas, and the kinship of others who’ve been there. Yes, each path is different and there are parts where you must walk alone: but we need all the help we can get – and when that help is fun, who can say no?

“Words can't begin to describe what a wonderful time I had in San Diego this past weekend! I learned and healed more than I have in the last 1 1/2 years, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity to go and be a part of this experience.” (Deborah)

“I have made some close connections that I know will stand the test of time. The other thing I saw happening is that women in the throes of grief were able to see, feel, and touch hope.” (Mie)

Fine! I’ll come. But I hate hugs!
No problem, dude/ette. We’re making a special badge for you. It smells really bad and should keep away unwanted physical affection. We’ll still be happy to see you – just stand over there, please!

But I don’t want to be a widow. Maybe I’ll come next year. Wait, next year I hope I really won’t feel like a widow.
The last word is from Melodie: “I felt... normal. I love these people now, because over these years we shared the most intimate and profound of life experiences. …Who would have guessed that it would take a widows' conference to enable me to stop feeling like a widow?” (Melodie)

Camp Widow details
Registration
Workshops
Questions
Twitter
Facebook

* * * Please connect! I love comments! * * *

Crack whore

People say that in some ways, having kids is a good thing when your life falls apart. Being a parent forces you to get up, make breakfast for somebody (even if you don’t feel like eating), and depending on their age, may get you out of the house, encourage you to keep a schedule, or give you built-in friends through your kid’s relationships, school, and other activities.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy to parent when you’re grieving. But having a dependent CAN be a force that keeps you going, reminds you that life goes on (even when it totally sucks), and provides you with motivating moments of surprise and joy when your own mind can’t find any. Because a child’s needs are non-negotiable, caring for one (or more) serves as a kind of discipline in a world where few of us value that quality.

Even if you feel unloved because your partner has died, your child looks at you with absolute love. You are reminded of this powerful and universal force, and that you do still have a heart that pumps even when bruised, behind the sucking chest wound of need that you feel you’ve become. (At least, that was how I felt at times.)

When I went to my young widows and widowers support group every week, I’d get congratulated on accomplishing, at least, the job of taking care of myself and my child for the past seven days. "But I’m not getting anything done," I’d whine. “It counts!,” my cheerleaders would insist, sitting on overstuffed chintz loveseats at the seniors’ home.

I laughed disrespectfully at these, nearly my only supporters, who thought I deserved credit for these minor acts. “It doesn’t count,” I’d say. “I mean, I love her, but I have to do it. What choice do I have? To become a crack whore?” I didn’t think I could possibly get any lower-functioning.

I’m an asshole, even to myself, sometimes.

I told this story to another of my supporters, someone who knows me pretty well.

“And where, exactly, do you think actual crack whores come from?,” she said.

Uhhhh………… there were some little lights going on in my head. God doesn’t make any crack whores. I have heard stories, on the street, in fiction, in documentary, of downward spirals. Many did start with some kind of death or catastrophic loss, fire, accident, or illness. What does happen to people when they lose their whole life? Are those people – the homeless, nutjobs, the lost – fundamentally different from me? Broken, sleepwalking, lazy me?

I thought about hard drugs, which I really only know from movies. Drugstore Cowboy. Trainspotting. What a delight it would be to let go of the pressure, the duty, the responsibilities. The mortgage, the lawyer, the mother-in-law. There was a baby in Trainspotting. Crack whores have kids, too. They could be women my age, with my background, my talents, my storyline, even my child.

There but for the grace of God go I, I thought. And I started to gain a little compassion for my own sad self, living this life, using all my tools to stay afloat. Even if life is pass/fail, I would take credit for getting through.


* * * I'd be honored to hear your response in a comment or through other connection (Facebook, Twitter, Formspring, at right) * * *

Young Widow Support Groups, 3: Finding Peers

[Start at Part 1 and read an important notice]

I hope I've convinced you to reach out and find some peers. It can be a major pain in the ass to find a support group, because we're so rare, and as I said in part 1 of this series, just any old group may not be a good fit for you.

I'll go through the steps I've used in finding groups for folks outside my area. Then, I'll talk about some alternatives if you can't find an organized support group that meets your needs.

Another important note: Joining any new group is stressful, and things can get pretty intense among grieving people. I was advised to attend group for 2 or even 3 sessions even if I didn't like my initial visit. I'm not saying that every group is perfect for every person, only that it might be better if you don't decide based on only one impression. (Particularly if different people show up each week, as they did in my group).

(1) Work your Google, baby. I’ve had luck with “Young widows groups,” “bereavement groups,” “grief support,” plus city name, state name, region name (like, “Central PA” or “MD Panhandle”) or zipcode [or "near" zipcode].

Look at, or better, call the social workers at hospice organizations or the chaplains at hospitals. Even if they don't offer what you're looking for, they may know what similar organizations are doing. Very important: most hospice organizations offer excellent grief support groups. In most cases, you do NOT need to have used that organization (or hospice at all) to receive this support, and it's usually free. Don't be afraid of the word Hospice. These organizations have been helping people like you for years, and before the Internet, and they can be pretty terrific.

We are a small and dispersed population and appropriate services are hard to find. You may have to travel. It may be worth it.

(2) Don’t sweat the details. From what I’ve seen and heard, age and parenting status seem to be the main indicator of how well a group will connect. (In my experience, widows and widowers as old as 55 may share many of the above factors with “young widows and widowers,” but may face resistance joining a younger group.) While every grief, every situation, every widow and widower is unique, the following differences did NOT seem to affect how well my group jelled:
-- Whether the death was "anticipated," sudden, or slow
-- Formality of relationship: married, engaged, otherwise securely partnered
-- Sex. Yes, men experience grief differently, but the widowers in my group seemed to get a lot out of it. (They’ll always be outnumbered: in a small population, there’s still just 1 young widower for every 7 young widows).
-- Amount of time lapsed since loss
-- Religious, ethnic, or cultural background (unless the group leadership shows a preference)
-- Personality type: if there’s a mixture of types, there’s more room for you.

(3) Religion can be a double-edged sword. On the one hand, pastoral counseling and church communities are the backbone of support for people and families in crisis, if they were members of those communities before their loss. I found my interfaith community an endless source of hugs, appropriate sharing, ideas, and activities as well as support for my needs as a parent. And I made new friends, as well as easy paths to help others in need (which was really, really helpful in my “recovery”).

If you don’t belong to a religious tradition (or don’t like the one you’ve been with) you might try visiting a Unitarian Universalist or Quaker meeting to find if this “time aside,” contemplation, or community are restorative. These faith traditions generally welcome folks with any "creed" (set of beliefs) or none (atheists, humanists, agnostics).

But I’ve also heard of diverse Christian church support groups that simply offer Jesus as the solution to all grief needs. And for many of us -- even those who have always considered themselves faithful -- that just doesn’t work during a crisis like the loss of a spouse. Religious leaders may not have training in complicated grief, and you may feel judged by the community (even if it’s just your own baggage). Church friends -- even familiar faces -- don’t always create the most accepting environment for talking about the complex and often ugly feelings brought up in grief.

I know a lot of people who said they felt “let down” by God after loss. Platitudes about heaven or God's purpose rank high on every list I've ever seen of "annoying things people say after a death." Many widows and widowers are willing to look pretty much anywhere else for kinship.

(4) Don’t expect the group to be your only lifeline. If you need therapy or individual grief counseling, and if you can get it, DO.

(5) If you can’t find a formal support group, you may be able to find a meetup, Tweetup, or get together of some other kind. In my area, there is a county group that gets together once a month for dinner at a restaurant, and a regional group that meets “somewhere fun” every few months. To find them, I had to go to group to meet other people.


All right, Supa, I looked. There’s zero, zip, zilch, nada for me. I’m alone.

Don’t start eating worms just yet.

(1) Rustle the bushes just a bit and see if you can find a few special people near you. Ask around. Read the obituaries and write letters to people whose stories you identify with. (Yes, I have done this on Facebook. It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds. They’re looking, too).

(2) You may be able to organize a peer group in your area. I can guarantee you that folks with complicated grief will come out of the woodwork if you stomp your feet a bit.

(3) “Widow Match,” offered by the folks at Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation, sets you up with a peer for e-mail or phone communications. If you don't find the relationship (which is voluntary and unmediated) satisfying, you can apply for a second match. Again, sometimes it takes a while to get comfortable.

(4) Go online. In person support is awesome but the fact is, many people just never make it to an appropriate group. You should still find some peers to connect and share with! I created Widowed Village as an outgrowth of a community that grew up around me on Facebook a few years ago. We've grown to more than 2,000 people (as of August 2012).

Widowed Village welcomes men and women of all ages, of all faiths and traditions, gay and straight, those who were married and those who weren't, any amount of time after your loss, and with any parenting status. We have MANY people in their first few weeks and months. The site is public; check it out and see if it sounds like a good place for you. We are the only online community for widowed people that checks that applicants are actually widowed, so please allow us a little time to process your membership. Widowed Village is run by Soaring Spirits Loss Foundation (SSLF), a non profit organization, and it is always free. We are also the only organization with both online and in-person programs. Read more at CampWidow.org and SSLF.org.
  
(5) Consider contacting a grief counselor. I’m “online friends” with several very knowledgeable grief counselors who were widowed themselves, and some offer very useful resources on their blogs and websites. Many work with people over the phone, sometimes in groups, or on specific topics like beginning to date again. I don't have experience working with any of them, but they are everywhere, so try it out if it calls to you!

I hope this is helpful. Please let me know what you think, or send questions in a comment or DM.

* * * Comments * * *

Young Widow Support Groups, 2: My Top 10 List

[Read Part 1, and an important notice, here]

Why was my real-life support group so vital to my healing? Why do I push everyone toward finding one (they're not so easy to find, see Part 3). There were 10 ways my participation in group helped me cope with grief, energized me for dealing with my real life, and helped me forge a path ahead:

1. Time. Even if I spent just that one hour each week at group, I knew that I was working on “me.” It was almost the only time to refresh and talk with adults (other than about work). I got practice using babysitters (as did my child and the sitters), which came in really handy later when I was ready to date.

2. Validation. I can’t describe how powerful it is to find a whole group of strangers who share at least one thing with you, who say they feel your pain and mean it, and who really “get it.” Because my group included folks from 2 months to 4 years after loss, it provided me with hope: someday I’d feel better, or at least different. And when new people joined, I could see in vivid color how far I’d already come.

3. Information. Grieving’s complicated, and you probably don’t know much about it yet. In group, you may have a facilitator or peers who help you see that there is a process to grief or just to own the complicated set of feelings that surround us; who support you in finding out more; who suggest resources or even give you homework (I have never heard of homework, actually, but I did read a heck of a lot). And this information can set you free: did you know it’s pretty normal to feel horny when you’re grieving? What a relief to know you’re not crazy (see “2.”)

4. A safe, non-judgmental place. So, on the horniness. Are you going to talk to your married girlfriends about that (or will they start hiding their husbands)? (It’s happened to more than one person I know.) How about your minister? You’re among friends and you’d be surprised how many of you are sick of being the responsible one. Or who have great stories about their in-laws.

5. Surprises. I’ve only recently gotten over the shock of the first session when our facilitator told us:

• a. Most of his friends now are widowed.
• b. Many of them lead completely different lives than they did before, including changing careers.
• c. Most of them are happy.
• d. Many of them are in new relationships, some of them are blending new families.
• e. Many of them say they are doing better than they ever were when their spouse was alive.
• f. Some of them even say they wouldn’t want their dead spouse to come back. I couldn’t even imagine. I was sure he was crazy, months later after some of the gals and I became friends I remember saying, “No way, not me.” (Who would ever tell you this kind of thing? How would you verify it?) 

And now I’m “one of those people” he described. There were countless more surprises in our shared, extreme situation as a group.

6. The soap opera factor. An easy one. Wait till the guy joins whose entire life revolved around his wife, she died in a car accident, he’s facing foreclosure, he’s about to lose his job, his son (who he’s never really gotten along with, and who has a parole hearing tomorrow) has disappeared, leaving his Xbox behind. I remember thinking, I have a kid in diapers, a senile mother in law, a useless family, a crappy job, and I have to sell my house to survive, and I’ve still got it better than this guy. (I smiled supportively at him.)

7. Bonuses. Not only will people in your group give you credit for making it out of bed that morning (as they try really hard not to look at your hair) but you can also share the smugness that comes with distance from the real world: you can now call yourself wise. Oh, those poor people out there who don’t know how close death is. We know, sweetie. Not like those people who think they have problems because they gained 10 lbs. We’re like you. It’s small revenge for being avoided by people you thought were your friends, being a wet blanket at play dates, and facing gritted teeth at holiday parties. But it’s kinda fun.

8. Laughter. We laughed like madmen and -women. There’s nothing like grief for letting go of your sense of what’s appropriate. And some of that crap, in the right safe environment, can crack you the hell up. (Some of this humor can’t be shared with your normal friends. They’ll just look at you like you’re crazy too).

9. Diversity among difficulty. Because young widows and widowers are so rare, you may find the people in your group more diverse than the folks you hang out with in the outside world. I met people with all different religious and cultural backgrounds, with whom, nonetheless, I shared an important connection. And from them, I learned some lessons and examples of great coping I wouldn’t have heard otherwise.

10. Friendship. Whether your support group remains a pleasant group of acquaintances with whom you can share, or whether you become close friends for that hour, group alleviates loneliness and isolation which are so common with young people who lose a partner. As you transition out of group and into your next incarnation, you may find some of these friends are now among your inner circle. I’m still friends with -- and inspired by -- several folks from my group and because my loss has so changed me, I try to keep in touch with many of them.

Yes, Every crisis ends. I bet I often sound like my life is so easy now, but it really isn’t. I have lots of challenges, and none of them are in the “gee, I gained weight” category (although that is true, I hardly count it as an issue. You know, [putting on wisdom hat] not after “what I’ve been through.”) Things are changing constantly, I learn something every day, I feel stuck in glue at least once a week, and I benefit from my regular therapy.

But the time I spent in group -- and several of the friends, and the energy, humor, and perspective they still share with me -- will always be in my heart, part of what formed me, just like the husband whose loss helped me find them. I’m thankful to the group and individuals who made it all work. And I want you to have the same (or better).

So promise me you’ll think about it. Please? At least, if we can find something near you (in part 3)?