Grief and new partners
A year ago, a longtime friend lost his wife, Jenny, to a brain cancer that killed her in two months. When Jenny died, he was adrift in the rambling house she had filled with her paintings and sculpture. An ebullient woman with a hooting, wild laugh, Jenny brought two young sons to their twenty-year marriage; Dave thrived in the vibrancy of family life. By last Christmas, he had a new girlfriend, Martina, news he announced during our holiday phone chat.
"Women grieve, men replace", another friend had once tartly commented, but by this spring the romance had withered. When I asked what happened, he said, "She wanted me to call her every evening to talk about her day, my day." Martina, widowed too, but ten years earlier, was eager for connection.
I listened beyond his bald words: Dave was not ready for the dailiness of coupled life, to be "us". "I think I used her to get out of grieving", he said, and told me that last week he'd taken a solo road trip. Overcome by the empty seat next to him, he pulled to the shoulder and cried.
A growing number of friends are now like Dave; what was once the province of my mother's bridge group is upon us. The bereaved cope with with waves of lurching sadness, the hallucinatory sense that the partner is just out of sight, and their friends' notions of support.
To be a friend to a widow is to witness the past, to tend their beloved's memory. Dave likes to talk about the small details, about how he handled the interior cleaning, she did the exterior, because she hated dusting and vacuuming. "Jenny's still looking after the garden", Dave told me, "because I use her pension cheques to pay the landscaping service."
And in time, being that friend may mean welcoming someone else. A new companion of the widow or widower is under the microscope, that's for sure, and friends' assessments are more severe after a death than a divorce. Unlike an ex, the decedent is remembered with all luminous qualities intact, even magnified: no one could roast a chicken like him, and the way he told a story!
The newcomer who steps into the clique is brave, but given a chance, will in time be seen for his or her merits. (One friend says she will never again date a recent widower, having been told by one man's protective pal that she "sure wasn't our Gretchen". "I couldn't agree more", she replied.)
Occasionally the opposite happens; the prospective partner is hailed with enthusiasm usually reserved for a free pair of courtside seats. Relieved friends can joke again, the chair at the table is filled. Sometimes, a fervent wish for the widow's renewed happiness makes them overlook warning signs. When Grace introduced her new boyfriend, Cam, it took awhile for her friends to admit that he was a scarily heavy drinker; when Grace brought it up, they initially told her no, it wasn't out of hand. But one weekend when Grace and Cam were guests at a cottage, he passed out, and everyone had to face facts.
I ran into another old friend in a shop last time I was in Toronto. I recognized him immediately, but who was that brunette? He said, "This my new partner, Sarah." She extended her hand. I must have paused a second too long, thinking of his marvelous wife, who had died a couple of years ago.
He smiled sympathetically, and said, "La vie continue."
"Women grieve, men replace", another friend had once tartly commented, but by this spring the romance had withered. When I asked what happened, he said, "She wanted me to call her every evening to talk about her day, my day." Martina, widowed too, but ten years earlier, was eager for connection.
I listened beyond his bald words: Dave was not ready for the dailiness of coupled life, to be "us". "I think I used her to get out of grieving", he said, and told me that last week he'd taken a solo road trip. Overcome by the empty seat next to him, he pulled to the shoulder and cried.
A growing number of friends are now like Dave; what was once the province of my mother's bridge group is upon us. The bereaved cope with with waves of lurching sadness, the hallucinatory sense that the partner is just out of sight, and their friends' notions of support.
To be a friend to a widow is to witness the past, to tend their beloved's memory. Dave likes to talk about the small details, about how he handled the interior cleaning, she did the exterior, because she hated dusting and vacuuming. "Jenny's still looking after the garden", Dave told me, "because I use her pension cheques to pay the landscaping service."
And in time, being that friend may mean welcoming someone else. A new companion of the widow or widower is under the microscope, that's for sure, and friends' assessments are more severe after a death than a divorce. Unlike an ex, the decedent is remembered with all luminous qualities intact, even magnified: no one could roast a chicken like him, and the way he told a story!
The newcomer who steps into the clique is brave, but given a chance, will in time be seen for his or her merits. (One friend says she will never again date a recent widower, having been told by one man's protective pal that she "sure wasn't our Gretchen". "I couldn't agree more", she replied.)
Occasionally the opposite happens; the prospective partner is hailed with enthusiasm usually reserved for a free pair of courtside seats. Relieved friends can joke again, the chair at the table is filled. Sometimes, a fervent wish for the widow's renewed happiness makes them overlook warning signs. When Grace introduced her new boyfriend, Cam, it took awhile for her friends to admit that he was a scarily heavy drinker; when Grace brought it up, they initially told her no, it wasn't out of hand. But one weekend when Grace and Cam were guests at a cottage, he passed out, and everyone had to face facts.
I ran into another old friend in a shop last time I was in Toronto. I recognized him immediately, but who was that brunette? He said, "This my new partner, Sarah." She extended her hand. I must have paused a second too long, thinking of his marvelous wife, who had died a couple of years ago.
He smiled sympathetically, and said, "La vie continue."
Comments
Your friend is lucky to be able to turn to you.
I have seen that any kind of significant loss really shows whether friendships were superficial (which is still to say pleasant) or deeper.
I know this is something we'll all have to deal with sooner or later, and I hope that I can be a supportive and sympathetic friend to those who suffer the loss of a spouse or partner.
I have never lived with any living being for that long, unless you count the unkillable sansevieria plant that is a bit older than he was... Not with any spouse, relative or friend, or other living creature. I'm terribly sad to lose my little buddy, but relieved that he had a relatively easy end, and died at home.
Certainly by 50 or so one has at least a couple of widowed friends; and doing a quick survey, more of the men I know quickly "replaced" their wife than the women their husband, and my sample of same-sex couples close to me fortunately has not produced such grief yet.
Is it because (straight) men have more choice, or find life harder without a spouse?
Duchesse, I notice that you have a "death" tag, which is welcome realism, but no "birth" tag, despite the joy of becoming grandparents...
I suppose, if my friend likes him... And there are no warning signs, like passing out?! I'll be welcoming. (I hope!)
emma: I too have friends who met new partners at bereavement groups. One had two men fighting for her. (She declined both, as it turned out.)
Sometimes the relationship flourishes, sometimes not. "Just friends" may be comforting and sufficient for these two.
My mother was very upset when my brother started a serious relationship with a woman less than a year after his wife of 20 years died following a 2 year struggle with cancer. 7 years later, our mom now loves her new daughter-in-law. As for me however, my mom has pretty much implied that she hopes I will follow her path of permanent widowhood (my dad died when my mom was in her late 40s). It is my intention simply to embrace life and be open to possibilities, including relationship possibilities. I'll be fine whatever happens. I hope my friends and family will be equally open when the occasion arises.
Unless we spot something obviously wrong (drunk, gold digger, etc) with the new person, it is unfair to judge. Who knows what we would want or need or even have the opportunity to experience.
Bereavement is a time when the surviving partner is vulnerable, raw, and often physically depleted. All of us are sitting ducks for poor choices when we're in that shape. I've seen successful fairly immediate remarriages (six months or less) and a few that were not.
Before my father died, he said to my mother (seriously) "Don't marry the first guy who asks you". We thought that this was especially sweet-that he saw her as beset by suitors- since she was in her mid-80s.