h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

The past few weeks I have found myself the recipient of the dreaded "How are you doing?" question from some of my friends here and in person. And there has been a certain amount of "Is she ok?" and "How the heck do I know, she never says anything," going on. Then an e-mail from Jazzme about another widow and how she is still hanging on to the past after 25 years made me realize that I have never actually addressed the subject. It has been nearly a year, so I guess it's time to take a deep breath and get it over with.

The absolute truth is that I don't know if I'm ok or not. The year before Frank died was just exhausting. I don't think anyone realized how totally drained I was. I had a terminally ill husband, a seriously depressed and increasingly frail mother and the building project from hell all going at once. That year taught me two things. The first is that I only have to get through today. And the second is that I'm a lot stronger than I realized.

Frank was a remarkable man. We were married for 31 years. I spent almost all of my adult life with him. The person I am, for good or bad, is greatly a result of his influence. I genuinely regret that you didn't all have a chance to meet him when he was in his prime. He was an extremely intelligent man. His IQ was in the genius range. But unlike many people in that category, he also possessed people skills. He was charming and funny and nearly everyone he ever met instantly liked him. He took a genuine interest in people and had a way of making everyone he was around feel special.

He was also a deeply spiritual man who possessed true goodness. I have literally seen him charm the birds from the skies. He could walk outside, stand still with an outstretched arm and birds would land on his arm or in his hand. It was very common for the squirrels and rabbits in the yard to come up to him and eat from his hand. I have seen him calm wild dogs that everyone else was terrified of. It was like he had this affinity with everything living. He could almost will plants to grow. It was like he had this energy field and everyone who was within it felt better just by being close to him.

Watching someone deteoriate both physically and mentally is very difficult. The biggest hurdle I have now is to avoid laying a guilt trip on myself for not taking better care of him somehow. I keep thinking that if I had done this or that differently, there might have been a better outcome. And I have to deal with the misplaced anger I felt during those last few months that he was at home. I was furious at him for being ill. He was supposed to take care of me the way he always had - not the other way around. We both knew he was dying and he did his best to prepare me for it, but nothing ever really does. And I was physically exhausted, nearing the end of my rope. So I have issues I need to resolve with him, but how do you find closure with a ghost?

I realize that people cope with grief in different ways. Personally, I don't know how to grieve. The only thing I know how to do is just go on with things. Especially publically. The thought of someone seeing me cry, for instance, is horrifying. Plus I feel like I missed the window for it. Within a week of Frank's memorial service, I was closing our temporary facility and packing the warehouse for the move back into the library. I moved and set up an entire library twice in 14 months. Looking back, I can't believe I pulled that off without losing my mind. Then there was the opening to plan. Then the dedication. I didn't have time to sit around and feel sorry for myself.

Now if I start acting gloomy, people will think I should already be over all that. Besides, talking about it makes people uncomfortable. No one wants to hear it. So I just avoid the subject. I have pretty much shut down my emotions. It occurred to me the other day that I have never given myself permission to be sad. From the moment he died until the present I have just stiffened my back and kept going. Because that's the only thing I know how to do.

I thought the trip to England would be a great way to "fix" things. It would give me time away from here and let me have a grand, relaxing adventure. Get my energy back. I had wanted to visit England all my life. Hell, I've spent most of my life wishing I was English. I was literally drowning in medical bills, but since I couldn't pay them anyway I decided to just do it. It was going to be perfect.

What it actually was was surreal. I felt guilty for enjoying myself. Plus, I was so tired before I got there that I was sort of on automatic pilot for the entire trip. (And I almost didn't go because I have gotten so fat and I didn't want everyone to see me like this.) I kept thinking that everyone there must think I was a wierdo because some of my reactions to things were so strange. On one level it was wonderful because I got to see things I had wanted to see for years. And I got to meet people I genuinely wanted to meet and spend time with in person. But in all my daydreams about England, I had never imagined being there without Frank.

I remember one surreal moment in particular. Z had put me on the train from Birmingham to London, where I was meeting Teuchter and Agapanthus for a day on the town. The train was extremely crowded and there was quite a bit of commotion - people chattering away, a young mother with two kids who insisted on coughing and sneezing all over me for miles on end and the constant depot announcements and stops. I glanced at the window and saw my reflection and it was almost like I was someone watching a movie, that none of it was really happening.

The sneezing kids managed to give me whatever it was they had, because I came down with a bad cold and spent several days medicated and zombilike. Amy took me to her pharmacist and he looked up the name of the American medicine I needed and figured out what the English equivalent was. You want to know how bad my cold was? We had curry in Bradford and I couldn't taste it. So now besides being almost in a fugue state and filled with guilt, I was trying to be perky through a haze of drugs. I'm positive everyone thought I was a slow-witted dolt and was glad when I finally went home.

So, I came home to the same situation I'd left. I was just as tired as when I set out. And nothing was resolved. I still had a financial nightmare to deal with as well as the emotional issues. I finally called a dear friend of 35 years whose husband is an attorney and asked for help. Some people find it easy to ask for help. I'm not one of them. But they both instantly came and I turned it all over to him to resolve. (I rather enjoyed watching him turn white when he saw how much debt I had.) But, he is working it all out for me.


Dying in America is incredibly expensive. Especially when it takes a while. So, don't do it. I remember reading stories about rich widows. I don't fall into that category. Frank had many, many sterling qualities. Making money wasn't one of them. So, I lost his income and found myself a single taxpayer. Which means of course that as soon as I had less money, the government took a higher percentage of it away. God bless America. But it's going to be ok. We are negotiating and settling and writing off. I'm going to be able to live comfortably as long as I can stay healthy enough to keep working for another ten years. And as long as the smellfungus doesn't manage to persuade the board to fire me.

The board has actually been wonderful. Last year, recognizing that I was going to be single soon, they voted me a 25% raise. And this year they gave me another 12%. I used to laugh that the only reason I could afford to work for the library was because I had a husband to actually support me. We are a poor district and they can't afford to pay me what I'm worth. But they are doing better.

On the home front, I'm starting to redecorate. Giving rooms a different look helps to make it 'my' house instead of 'our' house. That may seem insignificant to you, but it seems to be helping. I am not seeing him in certain places as much this way.

It is easier dealing with the big things than the small things that pop up unexpectly. A song or a smell or the glimpse of someone at a distance who has a shirt or jacket like his and that makes you think for a moment that it's him. I have given away or thrown away most of his clothes and claimed the closet space for myself. I still have to tackle his garden shed. And there is one room that still has a lot of his things in it - books and newspaper clippings, photographs, etc.

I'm 56. That means, if I can use my mother as a measuring rod, that I have possibly another 30 years. I have to start taking better care of myself if I am going to enjoy the rest of my life. First, the weight has to come off. My back and knees and feet are all creaking underneath the extra weight. So, I am determined to lose it and get back into shape. It may take a year or even two, but I am going to lose it.

And I have to find a way to convinced myself that I don't really mind spending that many years alone. So far I appreciate the privacy. I deal with people all day and it is nice to go home and not have to take care of anyone except myself. I can eat what I want, when I want and I can sit and read in peace and quiet because the tv isn't on all the time now. It is also nice to be able to makes plans without having to take anyone else into consideration. I have more freedom than I ever have in my life. Like the recent trip to New Mexico to see Lil and spend time with some salonistas. I could never have done that a year ago. So there are advantages to being alone.

There are also disadvantages. I had some surgery a couple of months ago and there wasn't anyone to drive me to the hospital. So I had to hunt up someone for that. That was pretty depressing. And there are things that need to be done around the house that are difficult for me to do and that were always Frank's chores. For example, I'm having to find ways to scale back on my gardening because I just can't manage it by myself.

I'm always reading something or hearing something that I want to tell him or get his advise about. Then there was the first tomato of the season. It's silly, but we always split the first tomato or the first peach or the first cucumber. It was a ritual. I missed that. And the man gave the absolute best foot rubs and back rubs. Now I have to rub my own stupid feet.

So, I guess I'm doing ok. I apologize to everyone for this being so long and rambling. Don't feel obligated to comment. I know the subject makes a lot of people uncomfortable. But I think I feel better for having written something.

You express yourself beautifully, Hyp. I'll bet that you feel much better for having organized your thoughts and feelings. You will work your way through this and handle things in the way that feels right to you and in the amount of time that it needs to take. Don't worry about what other people think.

Bravo, Baby Sis! You expressed yourself beautifully. Just remember, you are not your Mother. You have more of Dad in you than you realize.

prez yer doing allright

Ah Hypatia...

I'm so glad that you wrote all that down. It rang so many bells with me. There are people out here who understand: *really* understand.

Sad to say I lost a couple of close friends after P died because they asked "How are you really?" once too often. It was as if they didn't trust me to sort out my grief in my own way in my own time.

Trust yourself Hyp. You will learn to live with Frank not around, but it won't be easy. I console myself with the thought that had P and I had anything other than unconditional love for each other, it would have been easier to live without him. Convoluted I know, but the depth of grief I have felt is in direct relation to the depth of love I felt.

Can you 'feel' Frank around? P was on my shoulder for a long time. Not every minute, but when I wanted his presence he was there. And in time, I learnt to use those moments to get really angry with him How *dare* he die? How dare he leave me alone in this world to try to have a good time without him? How dare he take away his love? I'm still a wee bit angry with him, but it's okay now.

So to answer your question "How do you find closure with a ghost?" You talk to him my friend. Because it's not really him you have to find closure with; it's yourself.

Grief doens't exist in windows in my experience. It crops up at unexpected times and places. I get caught out still, six years on. I recognise your comment about smells, music, the first produce from the garden. It's the small things that we all take for granted which are the bedrock of our existence that know you sideways when they change.

Your trip to England sounds similar to my trip to Samoa just a few months after P died. Surreal indeed.

The experience in the train? Yup... been there too. Well, not in that train, obviously.. but I know what you mean about being an observer looking in on your own life. I spent a long time not really knowing what was going on, nor how I fitted into things. It wasn't all the time, but every now and again I'd feel I was outside.

The most disturbing thing for me was trying to work out if something I'd just thought had also come out of my mouth... or whether I really had said something, or if I'd just thought it. That was incredibly distressing and confusing.

I'm glad that you have support from people around you. Most people though will not offer it without a hint that it's going to be well-received, so you have to open the door to them. It seems that you've done that with the money issue (well done) and the board understands too.

Much of what you say relates to what people think of you. Nobody will think any the worse, or better, of you for grieving, or for appearing to be confused, upset or angry.

Imagine you were talking to me just after P had died. Would you think I was 'mad' or 'slow-witted' in that situation? Of course not. Be gentle with yourself my friend. Allow yourself to cry. To shout. To sink into misery. To be angry. Whatever you feel is 'right'. There are no arbiters in grief.

As for the lonely years? What can I say? I'm adapting and I think most people do. My parents were married 51 years. Mum has been alone for seven years now and she is happy. She's found new friends. She's indulging in things she couldn't do with in her life. Sure, she misses him and always will, but she can see the positive side to being on her own.

Hey... why should you "convince myself that I don't really mind spending that many years alone"? If you're anything like me, of *course* you mind. But there may not be an alternative. So we learn to live with it and we make the most of it.

I know that you will be able to balance the good and the bad and come up smiling Hypatia. But it will be in *your* own time. Not anybody else's. And not in your perception of how long it 'should' take. We're all different.

But in one essential way, we're all the same... we care for each other and the living have to care for each other, because the dead have bl**dy left us to it

You're doing well if you ask me.

And if you want one message to take away from this long diatribe of mine, it's be gentle with yourself and trust yourself to figure it out.


Frenchbean

Between you Hyp, and you, Frenchbean, I now understand much better what my mother went through ten years ago after 40 years of marriage and a life spent always together - both working at home with each their job and coworking.

And it is good to know more about Frank.

You've both experienced great love and partnership and do treasure it.

Thank you both for enriching knowledge.

Just to let you know I read and heard. And from this viewpoint you're an amazing lady, H.

Waz

That's for sure

I don't think it's really possible to understand the impact of losing a spouse without experiencing it. I do think that we all hope to be the not the one behind and to be remembered, loved and respected in the way that Frank obviously was.

Eat the for him.

Pimms

It occurs to me that your finding the trip to England surreal proably wasn't helped by having a picnic in the rain at Stonehenge with a load of people in fancy dress!

Eloquently expressed, Hyp.

Very eloquent. My mother is in the same situation and I can see a lot of what you said. She also has plenty of people to help and we are all trying not to ask how she is. She was also very busy just after as she moved house but what I have learned from that is that yes you may not have had the chance you wanted at the time but there is no problem with taking that moment now. And no one will think any the less of you because of it.

You're doing fine lady.
Frank sounds a lot like Ravager so we were both pretty lucky.

It's a bumpy path and a bit like bringing up children, the rule books don't fit your situation.

One thing I have learned is to value friends, and family and space.

But hey it's hard.

Take care x

Thanks everyone. Fb and Boots are both good friends to have because they have gone through the same thing and know how tricky it is to take care of your own emotional needs while having to present a business as usual persona to everyone.

And I was very lucky to have had him for 31 years. I recognize that not everyone has as close a relationship as we had. And many don't get that many years together. So I have a lot of great memories to get me through the rest of my life.

But as much as I loved him, I am not going to wrap myself in widow's weeds and refuse to go forward. I'm too young for that. I intend to make a new life for myself and to enjoy the years I have left. I would rather it had been with him rather than by myself. But that isn't possible so there's no point in dwelling on it.

And I didn't want him to have to live the way he was. He was just too ill. His quality of life was so poor at the end that it was a blesssing when he died. Because he hated the way he was. So, the truth is that I would rather have him healthy than to be by myself, but we're both better off now if the only way I could keep him was as an invalid.

Mr. D, you mean not everyone has a picnic at Stonehenge in fancy dress in the rain? That was a hoot. Very, very I'm trying to dream up something equally memorable to subject you to when you visit me next summer.

PS We loved having you in England, Hyp. You were such good company, especially for an overwhelmed person with a cold coming on