The Widowers Journey

Category: Emotional Suppression

  • Familiar Places

    Familiar Places

    I know this happens to you.  As you travel around your town, you pass by many places that were once either special or routine to you and your late wife.  If you’re like me, sometimes you pass by them absentmindedly.  Other times it brings tears to your eyes.

    For me, the places are within a five-mile radius of my house.  Most are on our primary thoroughfare in Ballwin, Missouri, where I’ve lived for the past 39 years.  It’s a four-lane highway with numerous shops, stores, gas stations, and eating establishments.  It’s a typical American suburban landscape.

    Regardless of my travel direction, I’m bombarded by decades of memories.  Jan and I frequented every restaurant on that highway.  We hit them all many times.  There is not a drug store, a supermarket, a park, or a gas station, etc., that escaped us.  If I let my thoughts wander, I can see us in each one of those places on numerous occasions.  I can “hear” our conversations.  I can see her lovely face with her million-dollar smile that used to light up a room.  I can’t see when her life was ebbing in those memories.  The memories are all happy ones.

    It was tough enough for me when I would pass these establishments when she was an invalid at home being attended to by her 24/7 caregivers while I was out.  I would get nostalgic for those happy times, knowing that we would never be able to experience them again.  But while lost in those thoughts, I knew she was still alive.

    Those were the days of anticipatory grief.  Many of you know exactly what I’m talking about.  But what I experienced after Jan died was much more intense.  These establishments took on a haunting quality.  It became tough for me to enter them.  Going to the supermarket, drugstore, and our local gas station can be gut-wrenching.  I see her in every aisle of our supermarket and drugstore.  I see her making herself a cup of hot tea at the local QuickTrip that I frequent for gas and coffee.

    I make myself go into these places with other people I know.  I act like there’s nothing unusual, but I can see tables in these establishments where we once happily sat.  I avoid sitting at certain tables.  I usually keep my pain to myself.  Just being in these familiar places is challenging enough.

    I catch myself talking to her as I drive by them, asking her if she remembers our stopping there in the past.  Telling her how happy I was with her doing even the simplest of things.  I chastise myself for how I thought that we had forever ahead of us in this life.  Sometimes I just sigh; other times, I weep.  At all times, I tell her how much I love her and miss her; and how I look forward to reuniting with her for eternity on her side of the veil.  More than anything, that keeps me going.

    I wish I could say that it has gotten easier for me, but that would not be true.  However, I’m able to accept the truth more readily, that she’s never coming back to me and that I must get on with what remains of my life.  Mercifully, I have a purpose to my life now that is divinely directed.  I tell God that I am his.  He is directing my hospice ministry.  My workload of mercy to other men who are caregivers and widowers is rapidly increasing.  There is plenty of demand, unfortunately.  I know that when my work is all completed, he will gently call me home.  I tell him that I trust in him and that she will be there to greet me when I cross over.

    When Jan and I were young—dating and newly married- we enjoyed sitting and listening to The Lettermen sing old songs in perfect harmony.  One of their best songs was from the World War II era: “I’ll Be Seeing You.”  There were millions of goodbyes going on when that song was popular.  Tens of thousands never got the blessing of saying hello again.  That song is ever more poignant to me now.

    “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places,

    That this heart of mine embraces all day through.

    In that small café, the park across the way,

    The children’s carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well.

    I’ll be seeing you in every lovely summer’s day,

    In everything that’s light and gay, I’ll always think of you that way.

    I’ll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is new.

    I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you.”

    Someone once said that grief never goes away; rather, life has a way of filling in around it.  That’s what is happening to me now.  I’m blessed.  A purpose-driven life is, indeed, filling in around my grief.  I hope you have found—or are finding- purpose in your new life and that it’s also filling in around your grief.

    Michael Burroughs is the author of Moving Mountains.  He lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

  • Widowers Need To Step Out of The Shadows and Into the Light of Day

    By Herb Knoll

    Author: The Widower’s Journey

    Grieving men are misunderstood. And for a good reason. After all, men don’t believe they have permission to grieve in the first place. When a man experiences a loss, they frequently resort to their primitive behaviors, suggesting to those who will listen, “I’m fine,”  Oh really?  Is that why you sit in front of your TV, endlessly watching programming you have little to no interest in watching, frequently falling asleep in your darkened home, and your half-finished pre-fab frozen dinner resting on your belly. Is that how you define “fine?” I can relate.

    For months following the passing of my wife, I would go to work at the headquarters of the bank at which I worked at 4AM (banks don’t open until 9AM).  Upon my arrival, I would tune in my favorite radio station that played one love (sad) song after another. I was usually the last to leave the bank about 7PM, just in time to get home to another tasteless meal I stockpiled in my freezer, just to do it all again the next morning. This went on for four months until one day, a young female staff member entered my office with an important message for me. “The entire floor misses your laughter.” WHOA!  Say that again. My wake-up call had arrived. My behavior following the passing of my wife was precisely like that which I now routinely witness in others as I lead the Widowers Support Network. 

    It’s as though grieving men become comfortable in their grief, seldom accepting invitations to join others attending a gathering of one sort or another, refusing to see a doctor when they experience aches and pains, including what they know to be behaviors symptomatic of one who is depressed and is at risk. Yet they will continue offering lame phrases in their own defense. Some believe they can’t expose their vulnerability and are waiting to be rescued. One widowed man once said to me, “It’s not manly to talk with you about my grief.” How sad.  

    J. Scott Janssen, MSW, writing for Social Work Today offers, “I’ve known plenty of men who fit the stereotype: emotionally controlled, disinclined to talk about matters of the heart, as apt to seek out solitude as connection, focusing on action rather than talk.” Janssen adds, “there is evidence that men are more likely than women to remain silent or grieve in isolation, engage in action-oriented forms of grief expression, or lose themselves in distractions such as work or throwing themselves into a new relationship. And you have to know, more than one man has become the victim of a predator woman. 

    Given time, many widowers will relive portions of their past life with their wife, including the days they served as caregivers, mentally cataloging all of the ways they failed their deceased wife, convinced she left this world thinking their husband must not have loved them. Guilt sets in… giving the widower even more reasons to cocoon, almost barracking themselves behind the draped covered windows of their home.

    Yes, widowed men practice 1cocooning, a term coined in 1981 by futurist and best selling author Faith Popcorn; defined as “staying inside one’s home, insulated from perceived danger, instead of going out.” Widowed men will frequently retreat to the confines of their fortresses (aka residences), opting to “tough it out alone.”  

    Men electing to cocoon place themselves at risk, of isolationism from critically needed relationships and significant health risks, increasing the likelihood of self-abuse, including the use of alcohol, legal or ill-legal drugs, and more.  As if those risks were not enough, research has shown how 65% of widowed men and women are likely to have a life-threatening illness within one year of their spouse’s death. Still, more research suggests how widowers have a suicide rate 3-4 times that of married men. Beneath these risks is the notion, many widowed men hold that their new life is devoid of relevance. 

    Widowers and those who are concerned about a widower who may be cocooning have several options they can call upon while in search of answers.

    When widower John Von Der Haar was asked, “What was the best thing that happened to you during your grief journey?,” John replied, “When I told my family and friends, ‘I’m fine, leave me alone with my thoughts, they ignored my instructions and forced their way into my life and I am so grateful they did.’” Friends and family take note: don’t let a widower cocoon.  Force your way into their life if necessary. 

    Commenting in my book, The Widower’s Journey, Dr. Deborah Carr of Boston University said, 

    2 “The importance of social support cannot be overstated; for widowhood as well as many other stressors we face in life, having a confidante – even just one close friend – can do a world of good.”  Carr continued, “Both close-knit friendships and confidantes can be useful for heart-to-heart talks, but we also benefit from more-casual acquaintances that are just fun.  These can be clubs, men’s groups, sports teams, and the like.” As an example, my stepson, Jacques (23 years of age at the time), and I went to a minor league baseball game with my colleagues from the Farm Bureau Bank.

    Not only are activities great for social contact but they can also be a great way to establish a new identity or rediscover an old identity that might have been put on the shelf while the widower was caring for their dying wife.  For instance, widower Keith Merriam got back into the Society for Creative Anachronism, an international history group that studies and recreates Medieval European cultures and their histories. Keith also sought out and joined a community theater group.  If you enjoy painting, take an art class.  Love to read? Join a book group. Athletic? Find a softball or basketball league you can join.

    Other recommended options are for you to volunteer in support of the efforts to help others stricken with the same ailment your wife suffered from. Help organize a walk/run to raise needed research funds or visit hospital rooms of those who have no one to visit them.

    Still struggling with the notion of venturing beyond your front door, let your supporters know you would welcome their involvement in discovering what works for you. Remember, allowing someone else into your life, allowing them to be of service, helps them grieve too.

    If you find yourself barricaded behind your four walls still, you may want to see your primary physician as you may suffer from a medical condition that requires attention. Enroll in a grief group like GriefShare.  Their program is widely available across America.  If you’re a bit shy, consider viewing Walking Through Grief, an educational nine-disc DVD series offering hope to the bereaved that you can watch in the privacy of your cocoon. See www.thegrieftoolbox.com.   

    But whatever you do, cocooning widowers need to get up off their sofas, open their blinds and walk outside. 

    1. Wikipedia
    2. The Widower’s Journey 

    Herb Knoll is a retired banking executive, an advocate for Widowers, professional speaker and author of the breakout book, The Widower’s Journey.  Available at Amazon.com in paperback and in all digital formats. Herb is the founder of the Widower’s Support Network (WidowersSupportNetwork.com) featuring the Widowers Support Network – Members Only, a private Facebook group page for men only, and a second Facebook page which is open to the general public at Widowers Support Network.  Contact Herb at herb@WidowersSupportNetwork.com.     

  • Boy’s Don’t Cry…right? WRONG! And That’s Okay

    by Herb Knoll

    Author: The Widower’s Journey 

    From the time little boys are first able to walk, in some cases even before they can walk, parents begin shaping the psyche of their sons by telling them, “Boys don’t cry. ” Oh really… who says so? Whoever it was, they should be picked up and prosecuted for the harm they have imposed on to men, young and old alike.     

    Who among us doesn’t know a man who when faced with a painful situation such as the loss of a spouse or life partner, turned to tears, only to quickly apologize for having shed them? Why is it society holds men to a different set of emotional standards vs. women?  

    Men Do Not Believe They Have Permission To Grieve.

    A few years back I was asked to lead a widowers grief seminar in Connecticut.  The audience comprised mostly of retired widowers gathered to share their grief.  Suddenly, the room took on a life of its own.  Once presented with an environment in which they were permitted to express their sorrow, the participants opened up with both barrels. There before me, a gentleman who lost his wife nearly two years earlier cried openly, and he screamed his loving words of sorrow about his loss and did so in front of men he didn’t even know.  I witnessed another attendee, reach out to the crying gentlemen with gestures and words laced with warmth and understanding about the pain a widower may experience.  

    Immediately following the dynamic exchange, it came to me. Men do not believe they have permission to grieve.  At least not in a public forum or where their ego-strength may go into harm’s way.  After all, they are men.  And men aren’t supposed to cry for to do so would raise the critical eye of family, friends, colleagues, fellow parishioners at their house of worship and even strangers.  Employers may suspect a man who cries is weak, and can not be trusted with select responsibilities. Sadly, the careers of some men have suffered for this very reason.    

    When Ashley Altus of the Baylor Lariat asked Baylor University’s Dr. Mark Morman, “How are boys forced to prove their masculinity in today’s society?” Morman replied: “The obvious is control your emotions, don’t be seen as emotional, don’t be seen as open, vulnerable, keep it under control.”  Dr. Morman went on to say how even the jobs we pursue as men reinforce our identity with those… “kinds of masculine things.” 

    Not surprisingly, the double standard society applies to the behaviors of men vs. those they hold for women is not as prevalent among younger males. Clearly, baby-boomers and perhaps those generations that immediately followed are more likely to keep the belief that men should clothe their tears in what shadows are available. Suppression of one‘s emotions has been a long-standing behavior adopted by most men.  Seclusion is another; where men who are grieving opt to remain out of the public eye, adopting a lifestyle of cocooning within the confines of their home, rarely venturing out where they could risk embarrassment should let their emotions be stimulated by a triggered memory.   

    Charles Dickens once said, “Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.” Dickens wrote this in 1861.  Yet, over 150 years later, there remain those, including members of our own families who shy away from a man whose grief transitioned to tears running down his cheek.    

    “Get Over It!” 

    An excellent example of this occurred when a friend encouraged me to contact a local veterans organization whose membership included many widowers. As I outlined the programs and materials available from my ministry, the group’s program director, himself a widower interrupted to say, “I’m a widower, and I got over it. They’re just going to have to get over it on their own.” Huh!  Widowed members of his veterans organization are grieving their loss, and his only offer of support is to tell them to “get over it.” Old habits die hard. 

    Men Have A Place Where Crying Is Viewed As Manly 

    Among the communications channels employed by the Widowers Support Network are its website, WidowersSupportNetwork.com and two Facebook pages. The first Facebook page is titled Widowers Support Network.  After a couple of years, I noted how this Facebook page attracted both men and women alike, but it was the women who were commenting and contributing the most.  That caused me to establish the second Facebook page.  Its title is Widowers Support Network – Members Only or WSN-MO.  WSN-MO is a private members only page for men who are either widowed or are serving as caregivers for seriously ill spouses or life-partners.  First opened in March 2018, today WSN-MO is approaching nearly 500 registered members from 19 countries including the United States, England, India, Nigeria, Canada, France, Australia and beyond. It did so without the help of any advertising; instead, membership grew organically, a direct result of referrals made by WSN-MO’s members.  WSN-MO boasts members from all walks of life and social and economic backgrounds. From corporate officers and laborers, truck drivers to retirees, young professionals to military officers (including a couple generals) no one is denied membership. On WSN-MO, all who grieve are treated equally.  

    On WSN-MO, grown men cry, and they do so daily and openly. And they do so without the risk of ridicule from their fellow widower. Instead, they are encouraged to express their most private of feelings and emotions, this they do without hesitation. Members speak of their sorrow, their regrets, their failed dreams, and their cherished memories. To my delight, the brothers (the title they use to refer to one another) run to the emotional aid of those who may be having a bad day. They also laugh, kid one another, share memories and stay up to date on sports, cooking for one, personal finances, dating and so much more.  Best practices are routinely shared, and no topic is off limits. When one member celebrates a win in life, no matter how small, they all take a bow. And no one is shunned for their manly tears… for to cry is first to have loved.  At the Widowers Support Network – Members Only on Facebook, men of all ages have permission to grieve… and to shed a tear if they wish to do so.   

    Herb Knoll is a retired banking executive, an advocate for Widowers, a professional speaker and author of the breakout book, The Widower’s Journey.  Available at Amazon.com in paperback and in all digital formats. Herb is the founder of the Widower’s Support Network (WidowersSupportNetwork.com) featuring the Widowers Support Network – Members Only, a private Facebook group page for men, and a second Facebook page which is open to the general public at Widowers Support Network.  Contact Herb at  herb@WidowersSupportNetwork.com.  4

    Attention Widowers and Men who serve as Caregivers

    Apply today to join the Widowers Support Network – Members Only (WSN-MO) on Facebook. WSN-MO is a FREE private page exclusively open to MEN who have lost their wife or life-partner; men who are currently serving as caregivers for a seriously ill spouse or life-partner; and other good-hearted men who wish to help assist and comfort them.  

    Copyright 2019  Widower’s Support Network