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What Widowhood Is Teaching Me About Compassion

Because many caring people have been willing to walk alongside me in my grief, I no longer feel anxious about being 'present' for others going through losses

By Paula Marie Usrey

Throughout my life, I've often acted like a hit-and-run grief supporter. When friends or family members lost someone close, sending flowers or a card was easier than having an uncomfortable interaction with anyone grieving. It's not that I didn't feel compassion, but I learned to avoid talking about death and grief from my parents and our family as I grew up.

A woman going for a walk outside. Next Avenue, widowed, widowhood
" I needed to replace the anger and blame I had directed toward myself with some self-compassion. For months, I replayed in my head the last moments of my husband's life."  |  Credit: Getty

To some degree, my parents reflected a larger cultural attitude about death that many of their peers shared:  If they didn't talk about it (other than at funerals), they didn't have to deal with all the discomfort and vulnerability it could involve.

A Caring Conversation

A year after my husband, Claude, experienced a medical emergency and had been life-flighted to a hospital 150 miles away, his health was still fragile. Nonetheless, I wanted to believe he was on the road to a full recovery.

A couple of months before I became a widow, Claude wanted to talk about his eventual death. I didn't want to have that conversation, but he insisted.

A couple of months before I became a widow, Claude wanted to talk about his eventual death. I didn't want to have that conversation, but he insisted. He wanted to make sure I understood his financial arrangements and other essential matters. As he held my hand and looked into my eyes, he told me how much he loved and appreciated me. I told him how much I loved and appreciated him too. I also added that I looked forward to spending many more years with him.

What I Didn't Understand

When the paramedics arrived and failed to revive Claude after a heart attack, I was already numb with shock — something I continued to experience for days. I didn't know how to process my unspeakable grief. Even after weeks, I still experienced moments when I expected to see my husband in bed, in his chair or at the kitchen table. How would I face another day without him?  

I felt angry at the universe because my husband had died when I didn't want to accept that he could leave me. Ironically, I even felt angry at times when some people had difficulty acknowledging that my husband did die, exhibiting grief-avoidant behavior. I was also angry and blamed an ER doctor for making a decision that may have hastened Claude's death. But most of all, I was angry and blamed myself for what I couldn't do to support my husband during his final moments.

At first, I didn't understand that what I was experiencing was fairly normal, at least according to current literature on grief. I didn't understand how essential it was to receive compassionate support so that I could gradually move toward acceptance and healing. I also didn't realize how much I needed to learn (and will continue to learn) about how to demonstrate compassion to others who are grieving.

A Lesson in Compassion

The news of Claude's passing spread quickly. During the next few days and weeks, family, friends and neighbors called, visited, offered lots of hugs and quietly sat with me while I talked about my husband and our life together.

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Although my family lives a few hours away, they drove down to be with me as soon as I was ready for company. When they visited, they provided emotional support, shared memories and offered to help me with practical matters. One family member said, "Show me your task list." Then she worked alongside me to take care of whatever I needed.

Through her words and actions, this dear woman communicated that she was with me for the long haul.

A neighbor friend, who had also experienced widowhood, joined me whenever she saw me walking by her house. Through her words and actions, this dear woman communicated that she was with me for the long haul.

Some neighbors would tell me something special they remembered about my Claude; I treasured those comments. Other neighbors helped me with practical home maintenance issues. Even now, neighbors periodically drop by or call to make sure I'm doing alright or ask if I need anything.

A couple of months into widowhood, I extended my community of support. I joined an online widows' group and soon became one of the group facilitators. This group has provided a safe space to share feelings, give and receive encouragement, and offer advice when asked.

Because so many caring people have been willing to walk alongside me in my grief, I no longer feel anxious about being "present" for others going through losses. I'm also learning to be more compassionate when remembering that everyone else is just as human as I am.

Learning to Replace Anger and Blame with Compassion

I initially felt hurt, invisible and even angry when a few people who had known my husband didn't acknowledge his passing or avoided eye contact when they saw me. Then I started thinking about my own grief-avoidance behaviors over the years as well as the grace and kindness others had shown me as I was grieving. I wanted to learn how to bridge feelings of discomfort, so I initiated communication when appropriate.

Widowhood has been a demanding teacher.

Sometimes I would bring up home maintenance tasks Claude used to handle and then ask for advice or help when I needed it. Other times, I brought up interests or activities that some had shared with my late husband. I learned that these small efforts provided an opening for others, who may have initially felt awkward, to express their genuine care and compassion.

Eventually, I also started thinking more about the young ER doctor I had blamed for hastening Claude's death. While some evidence suggested she made a wrong medical decision, I could no longer be angry with this doctor or blame her for trying to help my husband in a crisis. I am more convinced than ever that most of our health care professionals serve with compassion and deserve ours.

Finally, I needed to replace the anger and blame I had directed toward myself with some self-compassion. For months, I replayed in my head the last moments of my husband's life. I was standing next to Claude as he was dying in our bedroom. Why didn't I take his hand and tell him I loved him one last time? Instead, I was on the phone with a 911 operator and was starting to go into shock when he took his last breath.

Now, as I am learning to make peace with myself, I firmly believe that in those final moments, Claude felt my presence and knew I loved him with all my heart.

Widowhood has been a demanding teacher. But thanks to so many others, I am learning to live with a deeper understanding of compassion, its power and how to share it.

Paula Marie Usrey
Paula Marie Usrey is the author of Refusing to Be Invisible: Life Planning Empowerment Strategies for Women 50+. She is a retired associate professor of communication and a former educational researcher. She was also a TEDx speaker. Currently, she is working on a book about her first year of widowhood. Read More
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