A friend asked, how has widowhood changed your life? What do you
wish others knew about widowhood? Here are some thoughts . . .
Our family had been remarkably healthy for years. Ed had seasonal
allergies in the spring. One child had a few rashes as a baby which
she outgrew. Another baby had bronchitis twice that required
antibiotics. But most of our six children had never had any
medications stronger than Tylenol. None of my children had a broken
bone or stitches or been hospitalized since their birth. Our family’s
medical history could fit on an index card.
Do bad things happen in groups? They did for Job, though we know
those events weren’t random but a test from the enemy allowed by
God. Sometimes it feels as if once the wrecking ball starts swinging,
everything falls apart.
A few months after Ed’s brain cancer diagnosis, I heard screams for
help and ran to the door to see my son hobble toward me. Wet grass, a
small hill, and slippery boots somehow resulted in a collision course
with his brother pushing a lawn mower. For the first time, I rushed a
child to the emergency room. Ed left work and met us at the ER.
I wondered what the medical personal thought when they saw Ed’s
nearly bald head clearly displaying a long skull scar. Clearly our
family already had faced trauma. I rode in the ambulance with our son
as they transferred him to a larger hospital and watched him being
wheeled into the operating room twice in the next two days as
surgeons repaired his knee. Thankfully he hadn’t injured any bones
or tendons, and he healed quickly with only an ugly scar to remember
the event.
But the doctor visits continued. And not just for Ed, whose medical
file grew longer each month. In the two years between Ed’s
diagnosis and death, all but one of us needed medical treatment. A
broken arm, a bull’s eye rash, a UTI, a cut hand, and a leg rash so
severe the doctor called in his co-worker to look at it.
None of
these were chronic conditions and each healed quickly, but at the
time it felt overwhelming. What would happen next? I knew with six
children, accidents and illness were inevitable, but why all on top
of each other? Now? I wanted to hide our latest injury or illness
from our friends and family, because I didn’t want to be on the
prayer list yet again. I didn’t want pity, though I felt like
pitying myself.
After Ed’s death, I observed that widows have two reactions to
their personal health.
Some widows become more careful, almost paranoid. It was
understandable. Their heartbeat is the only thing that stands between
their children becoming orphans. Losing a husband, especially if he
was young, makes you realize that life is fragile and contains no
guarantees. It is easy to worry about every sun spot, push mega doses
of supplements, and panic about busy highways.
Other widows become more cynical. They may have tried to eat
healthful diets, taken safety precautions, and prayed for healing and
protection, yet their husband died anyway. Why try to live a
healthful lifestyle if death is inevitable? If you can’t grow old
with the love of your life, living a long life no longer has an
appeal. When dreams for a future together evaporate, life can feel
pointless.
Widows can experience survival guilt. Why are they alive and their
husbands gone? Why were they granted more years, more time with their
children and their husband did not?
Some widows face financial challenges which not only add more stress,
but also discourages spending money on their own health needs. A widow
with children may focus on her children’s needs to the
determent of their own. Not only is she parenting alone, and may be
too busy for time to unwind and relax, she doesn’t have a husband
to persuade her to get rest or medical help if needed.
After a traumatic loss, many people experience physical symptoms from
stress. Some women lose hair, maybe as much as 50% of their hair—the
result of hormonal imbalance from grief stress. Some women’s weight
fluctuates, and they become under or over-weight. The distraction of
grief and the inability to think clearly can cause an increased
number of accidents and injuries. Numerous studies have shown that if
you lose your spouse, you have a significantly higher likelihood of
dying in the next six months.
A few weeks after Ed’s death, I began having pain in my right
elbow. Sometime the pain even interfered with sleep. I couldn’t
remember injuring my arm, and the pain seemed to wax and wane without
reason. It was many months before it began to feel normal again and
several years later, I sometimes found myself still pampering that
elbow.
About the same time that the elbow pain began, I lost my voice. I
could still hold a conversation, but I couldn’t sing or read aloud
to my children. I struggled through homeschooling, and we listened to
an audio Bible for family devotions. At church, I didn’t want to
draw attention by not singing so I mouthed the words and choked back
tears while wondering if I’d ever be able to sing again.
Neither elbow pain or losing my voice were major health conditions, but
at the time, the questions felt heavy. Was my body reacting to
stress? Had I injured myself while caring for Ed? Was my body warning
me to slow down? Did I have a deeper health issues? Was I simply
getting older?
A few years after Ed’s death, I realized that I hadn’t had a
physical check-up since my last baby’s birth, seven years before. I
knew it was wise to get updated blood work and a general check-up,
but I kept putting it off. Even more important, with my family
history of colon cancer, was to schedule a colonoscopy, but it was
easy to ignore. Ed would have insisted that I schedule the
appointments, but it was hard to force myself to make the phone
calls.
Finally I visited my doctor for a physical, updated my blood work,
scheduled the colonoscopy, and asked a friend to drive me the
appointment since I’d be unable to drive home afterwards.
I dreaded the colonoscopy. I had never liked needles. Even though I
had birthed six babies in the hospital, I had never had an IV. When
Ed would get an IV during his many hospital stays, I always carefully
averted my eyes lest I get weak-kneed. I had never had any kind of
surgical procedure nor been under anesthesia, so I fought down
anxiety at the thought of the colonoscopy.
This is your public safety announcement: If you are over forty, consider getting a colonoscopy. Colon cancer is the third most common
cancer in the US and preventable with a colonoscopy. It wasn’t as
bad as I expected. With my family history, this won’t be my last one so I’m glad I
no longer have to dread it.
Grief affects people differently, but anyone who experiences
traumatic grief will be affected by stress. And stress impacts the
very cells and hormones of the body. Knowing this fact can help make
sense of the fatigue, distraction, maybe even mysterious ailments
after a loved one’s death.
I had a compassionate husband—one that said things like “You go
to bed, I’ll finish the dishes” or “Let’s get a babysitter so
we can go away this weekend.” Part of widowhood has been accepting
the loss of someone who knows my needs and cares for me as himself.
While the modern focus on self-care is perhaps out of balance, we do
need to care for our bodies as temples of God. If you are a tight-wad
cynic like me, you may need to force yourself to schedule the
doctor appointment or buy the vitamins.
And if you are close to a widow, help her care for herself. Ask if she is stressing about finances, offer to babysit so she has
time alone, and encourage her to get needed medical care. It might
feel like prying to ask about her medical needs, but she might not
have anyone else who will.
All photos from our delightful family trip to Outer Banks, North Carolina.
