Q: What's the best way to acknowledge how far my widow friend has come without feeling cheesy?
Hello, From the Other Side #4
Welcome to the “Hello, From the Other Side” series, a (non)advice column from someone who's been there and (currently) lives to tell the story. This is one person’s perspective to help shed light on the grief experience and to help others feel less alone.
Please note that I am not a therapist and I don’t have any official expertise, but I do have experience. Lots and lots of experience.
Q: As we start another year, I want to acknowledge how far my friend has come (she lost her husband). What's the best way to do that without feeling cheesy? - Caring and Curious
A: Hello Caring and Curious,
If only the world were made up of more caring and curious friends like yourself. Thank you for this question. Thank you for caring for your friend in this way. Thank you for being curious.
My opinion?
Feel uncomfortably cheesy and tell your friend how proud you are of her. Let it feel weird. Let it feel vulnerable. Let it feel awkward.
And remind her of how far she’s come.
Because so often as grievers, all we see are the losses. The gaps. The holes.
Remind her of the fullness.
More than likely what she sees is all the ways she’s “failing” (which I now recognize as surviving).
I failed to get out of bed.
I failed to show up for my friends.
I failed to take care of myself in the way I needed.
I failed to make anything of this post-loss life.
I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed.
When grieving, it’s so easy to only remember what we don’t have, didn’t do, and couldn’t get done.
So please, remind her of her progress. Remind her of the tiny little ways she kept moving. Remind her of all the ways she survived.
Remind her again and again and again.
And in addition to saying it out loud, take the lead from my friend, and write it down.
As I approached the second anniversary of Brad’s death - and was silently struggling - my friend sent me this letter:
Your Year
It was hard. It looked hard. I can't imagine how tough it was. But I just keep thinking about how much you conquered!
Leaving Detroit and moving up north was HUGE. You lept out of your comfort zone and away from memories and tried something new. And now you visit waterfalls and stare off beautiful cliffs on a daily basis.
You became a caretaker, and not by choice. And you've been amazing at it. You spent so much of this year helping your parental figures - your mom with her work, your dad with his health, Brad’s mom as she dealt with death and rebuilding. You served others, over and over again, even when you didn't really have to and probably didn't want to. It was amazing to watch.
You made new friends! You had new flings! You sang karaoke! You put yourself out there. The thing that was more scary than even the wilderness and the wild! You were brave, and you were hopeful, and it's going to pay off.
You won 100 games of Sorry! because you are a ruthless motherfucker.
You were an awesome friend to your sister and to me, and to the other important people in your life. You are a fairy godmother-level awesome auntie.
Just want you to know that somebody else saw how hard you worked, and how much you hung in there, and how fucking stubborn you are. It's that stubbornness that is going to give you the life that you deserve. It will be new and different and unfamiliar, but it will make you happy again. I believe that with all of my being.
Love you, D. Here's to 2019
Thank you, Ash, for what was the greatest gift. I couldn’t see it. Any of it. All I felt was the pain and the pity and the heartache.
In fact. this is what I was actually feeling (these are experts from my journal during that time):
I don’t even recognize myself.
I need help. I can’t do this.
1:34am. I had another nightmare.
Very few people reached out to me today. No one acknowledged Brad or my grief. It’s just one more reminder of the fact that I don’t have a person here to think about me.
It’s 10pm on Christmas and I am completely alone.
I did not sign up for this.
I just can’t. It’s too much to deal with.
And on and on and on. Every day felt impossibly hard. Even through the (sometimes fake) smiles and (sometimes real) joy. It was hard. And no one understood that.
So, my advice to you, Caring and Curious, is to be motherfucking ruthless in your cheesy acknowledgment of how far your friend has come. It will go a long way.
Have a question for a future column? Ask it here. (while I ask for your name, in no way does it need to be your real name. In fact, I'm a huge fan of creative, made-up names. Let's think back to the old advice column days: signed, "lost and lonely in Louisville" or "wallowing widow from Wisconsin").
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What a wonderfully compassionate person the submitter of this question is and also how amazing that you have a friend like Ash in your life, Dana! I am a couple weeks away from the 5 year mark (I think we unfortunately share a death anniversary of 1/22, so I will especially be thinking and honoring you in my day as well) and it is baffling how little time and lots of time it feels has passed and how much I feel changed through that growth. We’re so stuck in our heads and in our daily lives that it is hard to notice the growth and even harder to know if anyone else sees it for the resilience that it is. Thank you for sharing all of this, I hope more people offer cheesy professions of recognition to their friends touched by grief. 😊♥️
What a beautiful letter from your friend!
I am a widow ( of 18 years) and just had an unexpected dialogue with a younger friend, a widow of 25 years....she’s in another tough spot now and I was able to remind her how incredibly strong and resilient she has been ALL these years. I was able to do that because she “invited me into her struggles”, many years ago and again now. Sharing, with compassionate friends, builds strong, loving bonds....we never know when we may need them.
Be cheesy....tell your friend exactly what you see.