The Widowers Journey

Category: Loneliness

  • Do You Have Male Friends?

    Noted clinical psychologist Edward Zimmer, MA, from Savannah, Georgia, is a friend of mine. You may recognize his name as he was a contributor to my book, The Widower’s Journey, and has been a guest on my podcast, Widower’s Journey Podcast. Better said, he is a childhood friend I first met on a baseball diamond when I was only twelve years old.

    Today, Ed sent me a link to an article written by Madeline Holcombe and published by CNN. The piece, “Why most men don’t have enough close friends,” struck me as what the research cites parallels what I have been experiencing since I founded the Widower’s Support Network.

    I have previously noted and reported how my followers’ number one complaint is loneliness. Secondly, I have mentioned how very few widowed men have friends they can count on when they need a confidant. Most friends come from their pool of co-workers or clients, and they become diminished once the man retires. Fewer men have genuine friends dating back to their youth. And fewer still know how – or think it less manly – to seek out new friends. Widowed men, frequently turn away those who offer assistance following their wife’s death – thinking acceptance is less manly. Yet, they wonder why their few male friends stop coming around, causing widowed men to complain further about feeling abandoned.

    I suggest widowers get off the sofa and volunteer for a worthy cause where they can interact with people or join a civic organization like the Knights of Columbus, Rotary, or Lions Club. The lack of friends or loneliness may contribute to widowed men’s eagerness to remarry the first or second girl they may date. This rush to the Justice of the Peace frequently ends in an expensive divorce. They become confused between “love” and “replacing what’s missing, their wife.”

    Here is the link to Madeline’s insightful article. See if you don’t recognize a few similarities between Madeline’s discovery and your widower’s journey.

    https://www.cnn.com/…/men-friendships-wellness/index.html

  • 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.

  • So Tied To You

    My late wife, Jan, loved music.  Her tastes in music varied widely.  We began dating in 1969, on the tail end of the fabulous 60s era of music.  Our first decade of marriage was the 70s.  The best songs of that era stayed with us throughout her life, as they reminded us of happy times as newlyweds starting our family.  Then there were the 80s.  That decade reminded us of our older son and his coming of age.  In the 90s, our younger son came of age.  Music from that decade reminded us of him.  In the first two decades of this century, we found new songs reminding us of the journey of our lives together as empty nesters.

    Jan loved Celtic music and church music So from England.  Classical music, especially Mozart, reminded us fondly of our four years in Germany.  Her varied taste in Christmas music was exquisite.  One reason that holiday meant so much to us was the variety of music she played on our cd player in our den.  The player can hold six CDs at a time.  Piled beside it was a couple of stacks of CDs always ready to be played.  Those CDs are still there, just as they were when I brought her home from the hospital following her third stroke in July 2019.  I have not touched them in over three years.  They are as she left them. 

    I have been a guitar player since the age of 10.  During my high school years, I was a member of a “cover band” that specialized in the harmonics of the Beach Boys.  Our band broke up when the lead guitar player went off to college.  Twenty-nine years later, we had a reunion in Nashville.  We surprised ourselves by how much better we were after a quarter century of continuous playing.  We decided to keep it up and scheduled a “gig” at a resort for the following summer.  Jan got a big kick out of that experience, as it was a side of me she did not know before we met.

    In those days, I had a keen interest in Brazilian “bossa novas.”  Among my instruments was a classical guitar that I dreamed of playing bossa novas on.  Jan always loved it when I would play and sing for her.  I would constantly lament my inability to play Brazilian music because I thought it would be too hard for me to do so.  One Christmas, after our kids were grown, she gave me a great gift: ten jazz guitar lessons (bossa novas are jazz).  She then said I had no excuse for not learning to play my favorite music.  The lessons were successful, and I played and sang many beautiful, romantic songs for a few years for her.  She loved it.

    When we had our horrendous wreck in January 2018, I stopped playing altogether.  Nor did I play during the three years she was an invalid stroke patient.  I regret that.  I think Jan would have wanted to hear me play, even though she could not communicate or reason.  I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  It was a selfish thing for me to do.  It was just too depressing.

    When I am out and about, I hear music being piped in.  When I hear a familiar song, I get sad and anxious.  I have been told this is normal.  I stopped listening to music on my car radio for the same reason.  Music is no longer a part of my life.  There are just too many memories with which to contend.

    I did something different while in my car.  I have Sirius Radio.  There is a station called “Chill.” I can listen to the music on that station because 1) nothing is familiar, and 2) it soothes my soul.  I turn it on when I am out as it is a healthy distraction, devoid of pain-inducing memories.  Lately, though, they often play a song by an artist named, Lokii, titled: “Tied to You.”  It is a sad song that repeats a haunting refrain, “I’m so tied, so tied to you.”  At first, I got very distressed hearing that song because it perfectly describes my state of affairs.  I am, indeed, so tied to her.

     I’ve made myself listen to it each time, though.  I’ve found that it connects me to Jan in a special way.  When the song would end, I would tell her I am so tied to you and will remain so for the rest of my life.  It simply defines us–in a different way than the myriad of other songs that have marked our lives over the decades.  It is a perfect song for us…now.

    I am managing my life decently one year into her death.  I still avoid the other songs.  The triggers are still too much for me.  Just turn off the radio, and avoid playing our collection of CDs.  Also, I still avoid playing my guitar.  Piped in music, I can’t escape.  Some songs stop me in my tracks.  Christmas last year was brutal.  I don’t expect that to change for a long while.

    I’m so tied…so tied to you, honey.  Always have been; always will be.

  • 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.     

  • A Widower’s Christmas Wish List

    By Herb Knoll – Author: The Widower’s Journey 

    From as far away as Australia to the British Isles, from Canada to Nigeria, the Widowers Support Network hears the cries of men who mourn the loss of their wife, their soulmates, their partners in life.  Widowed men don’t ask for much, never have, never will.  After all, men who mourn are expected to “get over it,” right?  You know, be a man. Macho, if you will.  Unfortunately, that’s not the way it was meant to be.  

    It is said that to grieve, you first must have loved.  For without love, grief does not exist.  To have loved is among life’s greats joys.  As such, it is unrealistic to think one who once loved doesn’t grieve when it is lost.  And with grief, comes sorrow, tears, fright, despair, pain, loneliness, depression, aimlessness, and more.  Each of these behaviors is dangerous.  At times, life-threatening. Yet for some reason, widowed men continue to be held to a different set of expectations vs. widows when they experience the loss of their beloved spouse.  

    Following a speaking engagement in Connecticut, it hit me.  “Men don’t think they have permission to grieve.”  This is why they retreat to the shadows of our communities to mourn in private, many in total despair, for they wish not to be viewed as less of a man, then society would have them be. How sad for the widowers of the world; our fathers, brothers, uncles, nephews, grandfathers, neighbors, and colleagues. 

    In the Gospel of John (John 11:1–44), we learned of the story of Jesus’ dearest friend, Lazarus of Bethany, also known as Saint Lazarus or Lazarus of the Four Days.  Jesus loved Lazarus.  When Jesus wept after he learned of Lazarus’ passing, so painful was Jesus’ loss, he decided to perform one of his most prominent of miracles in which he restored Lazarus to life four days after his death.  For those of the Christian faith (and I invite others as well), ask yourself; does anyone see Jesus as less of a man for his tears?  Jesus’ reaction to the loss of his beloved friend reinforces the view that grieving is a natural extension of one’s love for another.

    As we approach Christmas when all of the Christian world celebrates the birth of the Christ child, and presents are bountiful, do so with a new awareness of the plight of the widowed man. You may know a widower who you are contemplating purchasing a gift.  But what does one gift to a widower? The answer lies in this article.

    From around the world, widowers have shared with me a listing of the gifts they would truly love to receive. Don’t worry about the cost. The presents widowers seek won’t cost a nickel.

    1. Understand that I am doing the best I can. With GOd’s grace and your support, I will endure.
    2. Afford me your patience as Iknow not how long my grief journey will last nor now many emotional valleys I will enter.
    3. Permit me to speak my wife’s name in public. Share my enthusiasm for the life and the years she shared with me.
    4. Emiminate any expectations you have for me for I fear I may cuase you disappointment.
    5. Check on me every week or so. A bried phone call to see if I’m okay would be most welcomed.
    6. Include me in events, occasions, and gatherings as you have in the past when my wife was still alive.
    7. Pray for me that I learn how to celerae my wife’s life by living mine.

    Merry Christmas!

  • Valentine’s Day Healing Heart

    By Herb Knoll

    Author of The Widower’s Journey

    Valentine’s Day, 2008, will forever live in my heart as well as in my mind’s eye. The day began when I was awakened by a noise coming from what seemed to be the vicinity of the kitchen.  As I approached to retrieve my first cup of coffee of the day, I found my beautiful wife Michelle busy working on her latest project: making pretzels sticks dipped in various flavors of chocolate; each stick beautifully wrapped in heart-themed cellophane, with a red or pink bow.  “These are Valentine’s Day gifts for your staff,” she said.  “Employees always like getting gifts from their boss.”  I didn’t know it at that precise moment, but Michelle’s efforts to spread joy among my team at work would be the last thing she did in our home before being admitted into a hospital for the last time, later that same day. Michelle lost her battle with cancer twenty-one days later on March 7, 2008, a dark and rainy Friday evening in San Antonio, Texas.

    Surviving holidays as a widower, especially as a new widower, is always tricky.  As an advocate for widowers, I have noticed how most widowers have one or two holidays that are harder than others to deal with, for they are laced with cherished memories that are more valuable than the Crown Jewels of England. For me, Valentine’s Day is one of those days. With perfect regularity, February 14th is always sure to give me pause, as each year I’m reminded of the sixteen years I celebrated it with Michelle. 

    For many widowers, Valentine’s Day delivers an endless barrage of love symbolism, perhaps never to be experienced again. From chocolates and flowers for their lady to memories of a warm wet kiss or a loving glance from across a room, the expressions of love around Valentine’s Day are inescapable. Valentine’s Day reminds many widowers of the emptiness they may have become accustomed to living with daily, even if for only a brief second when their grief of yesterday assumes its role at center stage in one’s thoughts. 

    Following Michelle’s passing, I assumed I would be a bachelor for the rest of my days.  It was about that time I decided to celebrate Michelle’s life by living mine.  Two and one-half years after Michelle’s passing, I met and fell in love with Maria. We were married twelve months later off the coast of Italy during a ceremony onboard the Ruby Princess cruise ship.

    Does this mean I never think about Michelle anymore?  Hardly.  I am proud to say I was married to Michelle as I am to Maria today.  Today, Valentine’s Day reminds me that the human heart can mend and is capable of loving more than one person over a lifetime. If a widower is seeking companionship, a life partner, or perhaps more, he should have hope that such joy may well be awaiting its discovery by him.  And it is likely to occur when he least expects it to do so. 

    I understand that some widowers, including those who, like me, may have discovered love again, have lingering difficulty in dealing with the visible triggers of grief Valentine’s Day presents. For them, please permit me to offer a few suggestions.  

    1.  Spend the day with your children or with members of your extended family, preparing your wife’s favorite recipes.  Once made, enjoy a family meal with each other while allowing each family member to share stories about your wife.

    2.  Spend some time working on your family tree, capturing memories about your wife for future generations to enjoy.  You may even want to write your wife a letter and insert it into your family tree’s archives.

    3.  Spend time with your grandchildren, perhaps taking them on a day-trip to show them their grandmother’s favorite park, the home of her youth, or where the two of you met.  And be sure to take the little ones to their grandmother’s favorite restaurant and buy their lunch while you’re there.

    4.  Focus your expressions of love on to others.  From volunteering for the Red Cross or your local veteran’s organization to spend some time assisting those served by your wife’s favorite charity. 

    5.  Volunteer to babysit for another couple so they can enjoy their Valentine’s Day as much as you enjoyed yours during years past. 

    6.  Be strengthened by reading scripture (1 Thessalonians 4) that speaks to Our Lord’s promise that we will one day again be reunited with those that we love. 

    Just because someone dies doesn’t mean the love they shared with others did likewise.  This Valentine’s Day, go out and celebrate the time you were blessed to be with your beloved wife.  And when you lay your head on your pillow later that evening, be sure to tell your deceased wife you love her.  Go ahead.  She’s listening.