5 Ways to Help Someone Grieving

In the last few months I have alternated between anger and apathy toward people that walked away after Ryan's funeral. The ones that haven't even bothered to reach out. I appreciate so much more the attempt to be helpful, even though it is occasionally hurtful. I do recognize that most people have no idea what to do and we naturally withdraw from uncomfortable situations.

You can find oodles of lists in a quick search. What has been most helpful to me?

1. Checking in

"Just thinking about you."

"How is today?"

I have never experienced such loneliness in my life. I've never felt as abandoned as I have since January. Checking in reminds me that I am valuable to someone. As a widow to suicide, value is not one thing I would attribute to myself, which makes me staying alive so much harder.

2. Anticipating needs

There are many things you don't realize will happen after a loss. I hit my lowest weight (losing 20% of my body weight) at 4 months and 1 day. Underwear doesn't fit when this happens. Clothes obviously fit looser, but it's frustrating to not even have a bra or underwear that is comfortable - it messes with everything. A Victoria's Secret gift card (because underwear shopping hasn't been high on my list of things to do/spend money on) is such a thoughtful and helpful way to notice and lend a hand.

A coworker brought soup in the winter and put it in the fridge for me and another vacuum wrapped and froze smoked turkey breast and brisket and left a card saying "food is in a bag for you in the freezer". I didn't have to think, I didn't have to come up with something that sounded yummy, because honestly, not much sounds yummy nowadays. It was perfect. Just do it. "I'm making extra enchiladas and was going to bring some up tomorrow, ok?"

3. Listening

I am a pariah. I was a contagious vat of Ebola after Ryan died. EVERYONE left. There were times where I'd schedule time with my therapist just so I could talk to someone. I wanted somewhere safe where I could have a person just listen to what I was thinking and feeling without shocked looks in response, without disruption, without judgment. Life is very silent after death - perhaps folks are around to help immediately after and to dote and perhaps they are not. You would be surprised who stays around and who does not and family is not a guaranteed support system. So ask to come over and just sit and hold their hand. They may not be ready to talk. They may be scared about your reaction to what they say. Really listen. Follow up with them in a note that reminds them you heard what they said or you notice them. Nothing is stable after death. Nothing. (related: Please Let Me Have My Meltdowns) A friend that saw a photo I posted (Glitter for the Stupid) sent me a vial of green (my favorite color) glitter with a small unsigned note that said "In case you need it..." I cried. Thank you for listening.

4. Sharing

Please tell me stories about Ryan. "Did you know him?" I've asked people... Please share pieces of his life that you knew. Share your interactions with him. Remind me that he's not forgotten. I remember him every day, but it hurts to feel like others don't.

 5. No Cliches 

There is nothing you can do to "fix this"

This is actually perfect, because it releases you from the obligation to find the "right" things to do or say. The most reflective person on the planet will not draft some great speech that "cures" me of this overwhelming pot of emotions. There are countless places you can go to find the What Not to Say (related: The "Worst" Loss) but it all boils down to: "I do not know what you are going through or what to say, but I love/care about you."  If you have experienced loss and want to share your loss with me, share your personal story. Mine may not look like yours. Remember the "fixing" thing? Expecting my journey to look like yours is a mistake. It may? It may not...

((Hugs))

Letters to Ryan: I Never Told You (T-shirts)

Hey Sweetie,

Your raw honesty inspired me to stop negotiating the "white lies" I'd learned to find acceptable toward past relationships and family. I know we talked about this being important: trust and honesty. You knew when I asked a question sometimes that I wasn't going to like the answer, but you told me anyways. I love you for that. You made me a better woman by that example.

I do have a confession, though...When I said I didn't know where some of your old t-shirts went, that was a lie.

The dryer didn't eat them.

You didn't get rid of them yourself at some point.
They didn't get torn up by the dogs.

In very calculated moves I pulled the worst of the worst - the ones with holes in the armpits, the ones that were too short after a decade+ going through the dryer that you were giving folks a glimpse of the happy trail when you stretched, the ones that had the faded Billabong and Hurley logos that reminded me of high school but reminded you of Cali - and I snuck them into my car in sets of 5 or so and dropped them off at the clothing recycling/donation bins.

It was over months at a time.
I don't know if you noticed.

When we met you said you knew you'd made it when you didn't have to order off the Dollar Menu any longer. You'd still not gotten used to spending money on yourself after years of working hard and running yourself down through overtime to pay bills.

I loved laying on your chest, feeling your heart beat. I loved snuggling up to you and burying my face in soft cotton resting on top of your great arms, shoulders, and chest. I loved the softness when I wrapped my arms around your waist and reached up to kiss you. Or just wrapped my arms around you to hold you.

I wanted to treat and spoil you, even if it was through simple new T-shirts, grabbing a pair of jeans that fit you well from Costco or (what I felt was) saving yourself from yourself and sneaking out the really old tennis shoes, the pants that didn't fit, and the holey t-shirts so they weren't even an option and subbing in something that made you feel great instead of something you'd kept just because.

I'm not sure if you would have found it amusing or would have been a little peeved. I don't think you noticed because you were struggling with much more than wardrobe choices. I love you and miss you.

All my Heart,
Stephanie

Wordless Wednesday: Seeing Yourself Through My Eyes

But to Be Alone

"How terrible it is to be called beautiful, smart, and strong but end up being alone every night."

I'm not sure that people understand the loneliness that accompanies widows of any age. When you lose that someone from your life that was there everyday, that you depended on for conversation and silliness, that you needed for physical contact and attention, their absence is so distinctly magnified.

It's not solely because sex is now gone.
You miss your partner, your companion.

You miss the person you showered with or heard showering in the morning.
You miss the routine of sharing coffee together or waking up to get ready for work.
You miss the person who was your alarm clock, the first face you saw in the morning.
You miss the person that helped you get the dogs fed and potty or walks.
You miss the person you text or called in the middle of the day, sometimes just because.
You miss the reason to stop and buy a bottle of wine just because it's just a beautiful day outside and you want to relax and share that moment with your Love.
You miss the person you made dinner for.
You miss your advisor when a big meeting is coming up.
You miss your couch snuggle buddy.

You miss your TV series partner.
You miss the experience of pillow talk.
You miss the one that held your hand, welcomed you home with a hug, put their hands on your hips when you were standing around waiting for dinner or in line.
You miss the person that always slept closer to the door, stood closest to the street, watched as you were out in public, told you you were beautiful, paid attention when you talked, formed plans with you.
You miss the perk of sleeping in on weekends.
You miss the person that made you feel safe.
You miss the person you know always loved you, would protect you and care for you.
You miss the person you longed to care for.






Physical contact decreases significantly for widowed...I cry when I get a hug sometimes just because there are massive stretches where I literally don't get physical contact with another human being. I remember someone reaching out to hold my hand as a gesture of comfort and it was surreal. I miss having an arm around me in public, a body to reach over to in the middle of the night, who I know would be first to the door. I remember a woman telling me I was "so pretty" and crying because I'd not heard that in months. You might hear "you look like you're good" or "you're looking good" but you don't hear the compliments often, or when you do, they're laced with pity.

My other half - the one that made me more lively, encouraged me out of my comfort zone, was the eye roll culprit in my social interactions - is missing and those pieces of him that I played off and behavioral pieces that tweaked, inside jokes that were shared as part of an "us" have just vaporized.

It's not that I have no go-to when a new movie was out. It's not that holidays aren't looked forward to because I won't see the appreciation on his face over a great gift. It's not that I don't go to restaurants any longer because it seems pointless to keep eating out alone. It's not that I now leave the Emergency Contact box empty. It's all the little things, all the tiny pieces where he filled my life with happiness that accumulate and make Ryan's absence so painfully obvious to me.

Wordless Wednesday: Inspirational Quotes

Letters to Ryan: What I Never Told You (Anniversary)

Dear Ryan,

It's been 9 months exactly. I miss your smell, the security of coming home to you and having your arms around me. Your confidence to assure me I'm doing the right thing or help me to know what to change to keep improving. I'm not sure I ever told you how much I love sharing the story of how we met. I absolutely love what became the beginning of loving you forever.

Nineteen days after driving 2 hours through traffic from an I-85 class in Oak Hill to meet a cute guy from match.com for coffee (or tea in his case) off Parmer I made myself a note. I had left it undisturbed in the 4 years since because even early on, I knew I'd met someone incredible. I wanted to tell this story and share this picture one day. I thought it would be at our wedding. I saved a note with just the date we met and your name: "8/11/11 Ryan"

I had iced coffee and you had tea. We talked, laughed, connected. As our cups ran dry I flirted a little: "So just in case this went poorly, I'd planned on going to this pho place down the road to make up for it...ummm, have you had pho before?" You said "Yes." "Well, you're welcome to come, if you don't have anything else going on tonight..."

They tell you not to do spaghetti for a first date. We didn't give a fuck. We kept the conversation rolling. I followed your black BMW 325i out of the parking lot and down the road to get noodles. We ate sloppy Vietnamese noodle soup because it didn't matter. It wasn't about showing off - we'd connected already and as long as we could keep talking we were happy. You were captivating.

It's been 9 long months Sweetheart. It's unreal still on so many days. I should have been a Mrs. by now; should have continued a lifetime of experiences with you - one of the most compassionate and sacrificial people I've met; should have my best friend next to me helping me with the zoo of fur babies we have; should be cracking jokes and fighting over who gets to be little spoon at night. I know that the "shoulda"s won't bring  you back but it hurts nonetheless. It's inconceivable that I've not held you, not talked to you, for 9 months already. I miss you every damn day. I am grateful for the people who have come through and been helpful - less than a handful over the last few months. But I'd trade every since one of them to have you back. You are irreplaceable. You are so painfully missed, Sweetie.

I've spent more than four years intrigued, infatuated, or in love with you; you changed my life.
You'll be carried with me for a lifetime Sweetheart.

All my Heart,
Stephanie