The Only Widow for Miles. Feelings of Isolation While Grieving.

There are few things that can be quite as isolating as becoming widowed at a young age. I was 37 when Keith passed away and I was the only person I knew who had ever gone through such an experience apart from my grandmother who had died two months previous to Keith. Always having lived my life as a social butterfly who could relate to everyone and everyone could relate to, I suddenly found myself on an island all alone, surrounded by an ocean that it seemed no one could cross.

When you are grieving, and this goes for any kind of grief, you will inevitably find yourself at the very least in a moment where you feel utterly and devastatingly alone. And the thing is once you’ve been there, it becomes nearly impossible to explain it to someone who hasn’t gotten there yet. And don’t get me wrong, I was so glad that my friends and the people I knew had no remote understanding of my experience. But that didn’t make me feel any less alone.

And it doesn’t help that society tends to have this weird collective horror when faced with widows. It’s like we are diseased Lepers and if they come too close, they’re going to catch it, and their people will start dropping dead left and right. I remember my mother and I going shopping to try and find an appropriate outfit for me to wear to Keith’s funeral. A female store employee came to check on us as I had just stepped out of the dressing room. She clasped her hands and said “Oh that’s beautiful! What’s the occasion.” I was still coming to terms with my reality and so without a thought I said, “It’s for my husband’s funeral.” The woman stared at me as if I had three heads and had just spoken full Russian, so I thought perhaps she didn’t understand so of course I was happy to clarify. “I’m a widow.” All the air was completely sucked from the room as the employee’s eyes widened and she stared at me as if I had let her know that I was in fact the herald of the plague and that this was the apocalypse. Silence. Just silence. I even looked around to try and figure out if I’d said something wrong and a group of young women nearby had completely ceased in their shopping and were staring at me with their jaws agape. That was my first trip to the Island of Isolation.

You see no one knows what to say in these moments and they look at you as if you are a glass vase, as if their words could tip you and shatter you at any moment. We don’t talk about grief in general. And there are generations of women who will tell you that you did not ever speak of being widowed because it would make other people uncomfortable. Well guess what? Life is uncomfortable and grief isn’t an affliction, it is a fact of life and sooner or later we are all going to experience it in one form or another. And I’m happy to announce that widowhood is not a transmittable disease.

After this particular event I started to notice the way, me discussing my widowed experience with those around me would create an uneasy tension. No one wants to discuss it, because no one wants to be the one who upsets the widow. But to be very honest I wanted to talk about it. No, I needed to talk about it.

In fact, I’ll tell you another story about my long stint on Isolation Island. I had met my husband out of state and so we (myself and his family) wanted to have his funeral in that home state where we’d met. I was so glad to catch up and reconnect with some friends that I used to game with on Friday nights in that state. I thought surely, they would have something to say or at least be ready to listen, that someone might finally get it and maybe I’d stop feeling so crazy. I told them I was stopping by and was told I was welcome, but when I arrived, all the chatter and good times in the room came to an abrupt halt. I sat down and they all sort of stared at me. Not knowing what to do, I tried to start a conversation about it, only to basically be ignored while they then moved on and went about their gaming night. Now, let me just say it wasn’t their fault. Toni of today knows what Toni 9 years ago didn’t yet understand. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, it was just that they didn’t know how to discuss it, and the subject matter was so foreign to them that they didn’t know what to say. People our age just didn’t go through such things. And, in that moment I realized I was alone. In a room full of people, I was overwhelmingly alone.

No one else’s lives had come to a halt the way that mine had when Keith died. It was then that I realized a terrible truth; while my life had been shattered and destroyed, everyone else’s lives just continued on as if nothing had happened. Life went on, for everyone but me it seemed. So, with no one to talk to about my experience, and not many willing to even discuss it, I slipped into a cave of depression, anxiety, and loneliness that felt impossible to return from. I started going online and searching for other widows knowing full well I couldn’t be the only one out there even if I felt like the only one for miles. That is when I found out about Soaring Spirits International.

For context let me just explain that Soaring Spirits International (soaringspirits.org) is a nonprofit organization that focuses on connecting widowed people together and helping them to not feel so alone on their grief journey. I thought to myself this is perfect and I signed myself up for something called Camp Widow. Laugh, or clutch your pearls all you like about the idea of there being a gathering of hundreds of widows in one place, but I am being fully honest when I say, and shoutout to Soaring Spirits, they saved my life.

That singular weekend meant more to me than anything before. I was yanked quickly and urgently off the Island of Isolation and enveloped into the arms of those who were walking next to me on my path. There is a crazy amount of healing that comes in the form of deep connection and community. It was that first camp (because oh man I’ve been to quite a few after that, even presented at some) that I first felt a sense of belonging, hope, and purpose. The friendships I made that weekend changed my life and have in turn helped shape who I have become and my desire to help others who are experiencing the deep dark pit of grief.

So, what am I telling you? I am telling you that if you want to get off the Island of Isolation, you’re going to need to find your people. Even if the prospect of talking to other grievers terrifies you, do it because I promise you that you can do the hard things WHEN you are ready and not a moment before. Find groups in your area, look up resources and find ways to connect with other grieving people (or other widowed people if you are one of my widowed peers).

There is healing in community. And nothing will help you start breathing again quite like someone who has been there, telling you that they have been there and showing you that it can be better, that there is hope. If you need to talk, send me a message I’m always happy to listen, whether you are a client of mine or not. You are not alone I promise. There are hands reaching out to take yours so that you can walk beside someone else on this journey and not alone on the path.