Moving Forward, Staying Connected

Lessons Learned

Substack AI image: moving forward while staying connected

During Susan’s last weeks, she and our family were served by the competent and caring staff of Cooley Dickinson Hospice -- this included nurses, social workers, and chaplains, as well as staff contacts for direct and immediate communication. A number of months after Susan died, I participated in their 8-week grief support group with six others who had experienced the death of a life partner. The CDH hospice services helped our family immensely.

So when I received a request to share a few of my thoughts with others who had more recently experienced the passing of a loved one, I did not hesitate to accept. My talk will be part of their annual Memorial Service for families who had experienced a loss in the past year. They asked me to keep my comments to approximately five minutes -- that’s quite a challenge, because I have so much I COULD say. But it also gives me the opportunity to hone in on a few key points I hope might stay with those in attendance after the service ends.

Here is a draft of what I plan to say. I offer it here for two reasons --- to share with you a bit more of my journey and how I have navigated it, and to invite any feedback you’d like to provide. Feel free to add comments below, or DM me through substack or email me at halsubstack@gmail.com

Dear Friends,

My wife Susan passed away almost three years ago at the age of 75 following a neurodegenerative illness that was never fully diagnosed. When she was in her last weeks, we had the great fortune of being served by the capable staff of Cooley Dickinson Hospice. We experienced the competent care of their nurses, social workers, and chaplains -- and I subsequently participated in their 8-week support group, along with six others who had experienced the death of a spouse a few months prior.

So let me begin by saying: I’ve been where you are, and I see you.

Even though each person’s experience is unique, we all share the experience that a loved one is gone and our lives have been permanently changed.

For me, things were additionally complicated, because Susan’s death co-occurred with my retirement from a career that had been very central in my life and my confrontation with my own mortality.

I had to re-think everything -- living arrangements, relationships, my own medical care, and how to invest my time and energy --- but it also gave me a chance to gradually construct a new life. I’m thankful to friends and family who gave me the space and support I needed. I do miss Susan and the life we shared for 56 years. I also feel I’ve received an opportunity to build a new life -- I continue to be a work very much in progress at the age of 77.

Because each of our situations is unique, I do not presume to stand here today and give you advice.

However, what I can do is share with you a few things that have been helpful to me in navigating this past three years. Feel free to take or adapt what might work for you, and let the rest go. You are the best expert on you.

First, the mantra that helped keep me going during Susan’s illness and to this day came from the writings of Henri Nouwen, a Dutch theologian and prolific author. He said, We never know the full path ahead of us, but there is usually enough light to take the next step. Let me repeat that: We never know the full path ahead of us, but there is usually enough light to take the next step.

Some days, I felt paralyzed. So many things needed to be done, and it was impossible to know where to begin. So I let this statement guide me. Sometimes, the next step was simple -- like “make some breakfast.” That’s all. And then after breakfast, “Take a shower.” And after that, “Brush your teeth.” and so on. Usually there was enough light to take one more step.

Again, We never know the full path ahead of us, but there is usually enough light to take the next step.

The second idea that has been useful, but also difficult for me, is to be willing to ask for help. You see, I am much more comfortable offering help than asking for it. That works fine when you have it to offer, but I am now in the position more frequently of needing help. For example, a little over a year ago, I had to have cataract surgery, and my preferred opthalmologist is in Boston. I don’t have any family nearby, so I needed to seek help from friends. And guess what? They were happy to help!

It helped me to think this through by putting myself in their shoes. What if they asked me for help? I would be happy to do so, if I could. Rather than feeling put-upon, it made me feel useful to help in this way. Generally speaking, people want to help. Turning away their offers deprives them of something positive for them -- their experience of helping someone else. I often still have to think this through when my independent streak tells me not to ask for help, but I am growing in this area.

The third watchword that helped me was advice of my therapist, “Be open.” I found it much easier to do the opposite -- and close down, shut out invitations, and turn inward. But every time I allowed myself to be open to an invitation, to a new opportunity, or to just following through with routine life maintenance, it built social strength that endures - almost like building muscle.

In the spirit of being open, I joined an 8-week support group offered by CDH Hospice -- this brought me together with 6 others who had experienced the death of a spouse in past months. Through opportunities to listen, to talk, and to share, we gained respect and affection for one another -- to the point that when the 8 weeks ended, we all wanted to continue getting together. For the past two years, we have continued to meet almost monthly at one another’s homes for potluck dinners and socializing, just on our own. We range in age from early 60s to early 90s, and we have differing family configurations -- some with family nearby, others not -- but we understand that primary experience that brought us together in the first place. We “get it.” It is truly a beautiful thing -- one member calls us her “second family.” I call us “The Magnificent Seven.” We are all grateful that Cooley offered this supportive service to us.

In one way or another, all three of my points touch on the idea of reaching outside outselves and staying connected to others. It sometimes feels difficult, but it’s probably one of the most important things we can all do along our own journeys -- and we can also be connecting points for others.

Thank you for allowing me to share a bit of my experience with you today. I do see you, and wish each of you the very best on your journey forward.