I was surprised by some of the reactions I got from family and friends after Adrian died. In fact, I am still surprised a year and a half later, because I’m still finding these things out.
Some people knew exactly how to respond. They said they were sorry. They sat with me. They walked with me. They listened.
I had a lot to talk about because the last months, weeks and days of Adrian’s life were intense and nightmarish. I kept reliving them, and talking about it helped.
My sister Laura flew from Florida to Ithaca the day after Adrian died in order to be here for me. She helped with the memorial service, the legal and financial matters, household chores—everything that needed to be done. And most important, her presence meant I was not alone in the house.
Being here physically was all Laura needed to do.
One neighbor kept giving me food. I know that bringing food to survivors is an age-old custom, and probably appreciated by most. But cooking for me is therapy, plus I’m picky about what I eat. I tried to appreciate this neighbor’s offering, but often threw most of it away. I finally convinced her not to give me any more. I don’t like to waste food.
Some people seemed to know from experience or hearsay that losing a long-time partner is a major loss with a difficult and long grieving time. But I had no idea because my first reaction when Adrian died was relief that our horrendous ordeal was over.
My grief kicked in a week or two after the event.
There was one time when I had to comfort the comforter, who was overtaken with her own grief. Possibly she was imagining the potential loss of her own husband, or was simply the kind of person who empathizes so much with another’s grief that she can’t contain her own.
But two good friends who live a distance away surprised me the most. They surprised me by not responding when I let them know that Adrian had died.
One friend sent a couple quick emails expressing her sorrow and kept promising to call, but always had reasons why she didn’t or couldn’t.
I was shocked because I couldn’t imagine not calling her if her husband had died, no matter how clueless I might be about what to say.
It took months before we finally connected.
I had another good friend who had already stopped communicating regularly even before Adrian died. I knew she was busy with her family, and I hadn’t been great about communicating either with all that Adrian and I had been going through.
I sent her a copy of Adrian’s obituary in an email. When I didn’t hear from her, I called and left a phone message. She was still at the same number. Her voice was on the answering machine.
She didn’t call me back.
At the end of the year in which Adrian died, I sent out a holiday card with a letter to family and friends explaining what we had been through in those last years. I sent one to this friend with a personal note.
Every year she always sent a card with photos of her children. That holiday, I received no card from her.
All I could assume was that something tragic had happened in her life. I worried about her. And I grieved at the loss of our friendship.
When we lose our partner to death, that loss is somehow compounded. Why? Because people don’t know what to say. They don’t know what to say because they don’t know who you are any more.
Have you been transformed into a black widow who can only suck the life out of everyone around you?
Have you fallen into a black hole that will absorb all light and energy?
It’s a scary place to go.
A year and a half later, I finally heard from my friend. She apologized for not calling me, labeling herself a “horrible friend” for letting the busyness of life get in the way of making that call.
I was just glad she had finally gotten in touch. I was relieved that she was OK.
I could judge her as a bad friend, but I know too well that she is a good person. What fascinates me is how frightened she must have been.
I know that I hide from the things I’m afraid of.
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I got a call from another old friend years ago. She was hysterical with grief over the loss of her husband to a sudden heart attack. “I never would have gotten married,” she said, “if I’d known it would hurt like this when he died.”
She was in such pain that she would have given up all the years they had had together in order not to feel it.
Adrian was alive and well then, and I was incredulous at the intensity of my friend’s pain. But she lived through it and even remarried eventually. And when she heard that Adrian had died, she called me immediately.
